“Aunt Sarah! Are you home?”
I turned with a start, banging the table with my hip. I said, “Who is that?”
“It’s me. Zack. Mama sent me to tell you supper is ready.”
“Supper?” I looked out the window. Zachary sat astride Big Boy, who looked to be all but dozing in the cool breeze. “Zack? Were you in the kitchen, looking for me?”
“Yes’m. I just comed. Mama figured you’d be all alone, and she sent me to bring you to supper.”
“Just came,” I said, correcting him.
“Yes’m. Storm’s a-coming, and Mama said better hurry.”
“All right. I’ll be there shortly. You go on ahead if you’ve a mind.”
Zachary kicked his heels, but his legs were so short, their effect was lost on the big horse. He slid from the animal’s back to the ground and led him around, pointing him toward the Prines’ place. Then Zack climbed upon the rail of my porch and threw himself onto Big Boy’s back. Before you could say Jack Robinson, he was turned around and seated upright. Then he gave the horse a little slap on the rump with his hand and they started a slow amble up the hill.
“Oh,” Zack said, arched on the horse’s back. “By the by, Papa said if you’d bring the money box, he’ll see can he fix it.”
“I’ll get it,” I said. “Go along. I’m right behind you.” They’d hardly be to the gate before I could catch up. I’d fetch the box and start walking, and probably get there the same time Big Boy lumbered to his stall.
I put the shotgun over my arm, crossing the yard to the smokehouse. As I bent to retrieve my metal strongbox, I thought with a smirk that they should call it “a weak box,” or warn folks not to hang the key on a string in the bedroom. I knew the box still lay on the floor, but I couldn’t see it. I waited for my eyes to change to the darkness inside. A gust of wind swirled in the open door, and the heavy, salty smell of the place covered me like a blanket. I stretched for the thing, my weight on my toes, so I wouldn’t have to step all the way in and get my shoes black before walking on Savannah’s clean kitchen floor.
“Lose something?” a man’s voice said from behind me.
I dropped the box, not straight down, but flipping it in the air first. My foot slipped at the same moment. I lost my balance and fell against the door, which swung back and nearly threw me to the ground before I caught myself. I banged my ankle hard against the doorjamb as I swung the scattergun toward the voice. I panted and waited. My throat was dry in one little place and I tried to swallow a dozen times to fix it.
The voice spoke again, coming from the blackened stand of ironwood and horsetail. “What you seek cannot be found. Only ask and it shall be given.”
I knew that voice. I said, “Come out of there and show yourself, Lazrus, or I’ll fire blind with this scattergun, and maybe hit something vital.”
Lazrus stepped from under two ironwood trees grown closest by the smokehouse. “That wouldn’t be advantageous, nor righteous, nor wise.” He said the three words over again silently, just moving his mouth. Then he smiled.
“Anyone with any sense would think it might not be wise to sneak up behind someone carrying a loaded shotgun.”
“You’d never harm me. I know it.”
No jury full of men would believe how rattled and tortured he could make a person feel. How could I explain I’d rather take off his head with both barrels than forever be afraid of him slipping up on me? I said, “You promised you were going to leave me alone.” I was shaking. “If you go making yourself commonplace around here, you’d best know that I’m not above relieving the earth of a dangerous madman.”
He scratched his chin and said, “Dangerous?” He leveled his gaze at me, and it had the result he wanted, I suspect, for I froze in my tracks, listening to the beating of my heart, which was so loud, it seemed to be outside my chest. He said, “Why do you say dangerous? I come unarmed to you, a simple wanderer, a poor pilgrim in a strange land. We have all relieved the earth of its tormented. Its cracked pots.”
I did feel dangerous, both frightened and frightening. I said, “Wander away, then, back where you come from. I’ve got enough troubles right now without you being here.”
“I’ve come for the bath you ordered.”
I swung the shotgun up to my hip and leveled it at him, as straight and potent, I hoped, as his eyes had seemed before. Buckshot from this distance would be fatal, but I could aim low and scatter up dirt and rocks that would sting and smart without killing him—barring blood poisoning from the filth on him. “You’re not getting a bath here, today or any other day. Next time I see you, or if I even think you might be around, I’ll start shooting with this thing before I know for certain. That goes for your mule, too. I don’t want any more midnight visits from that animal, whether you wrap its feet or not.”
His eyes widened and he grinned again. “Why’s that box in the dirt here? It’s a keepsake? A memoir? A lock of hair from a loved one? Did it belong to … him?”
I racked the shotgun.
Lazrus’s hands flew into the air. He said, “Alas, I bid farewell but not good-bye. Out of your sights, as it were, but never far from your mind, dear.” He tore through the brush, disappearing like a coyote into the thick. I aimed high, at the top of the paloverdes, and pulled the trigger. Usually a shotgun would fairly kick me back a step, but I was so rattled and so purely mad that all it did was make a jerk as I held fast.
Supper at Savannah’s table had to begin with me explaining the reason for the shot they’d heard. Savannah was relieved it was only Lazrus. I was more terrified than before, hearing myself tell it again. Soon as the blessing was said, rain fell in sheets, waves of fiercely pounding drops, then thin places between them, which made us think it had stopped entirely. While the life-giving water fell from the sky, we ate chicken and pork cooked with potatoes, tomatoes, and chilies. We talked about Esther starting studies and Joshua returning to them at the university. Albert offered to pay my boy’s tuition as a gift. I told him it would just be good money after bad until they wanted to go.
After awhile, I asked Mary Pearl where she’d been hiding, as rarely did a day go by I didn’t see her. She seemed too quiet. She peeked up from her plate and said softly, “I’ve been—well, having a mindful day.” Savannah gave her a stern look. Mary Pearl said, “I’m learning to bridle my spirit.”
Too old to spank, that girl, I knew, could be a handful, much as I loved her. And while the older girls were made to toe a fine line, she got by with a fare-thee-well on a lot of things. Poor Savannah looked so worn and peaked, I felt sorry that she’d cooked this meal. After supper, I made her put her feet up and rest while the girls and I put the kitchen in order. This coming baby is taking its toll on Savannah. She fairly ordered me to stay with them until the boys get home, because of Lazrus sneak-thieving about.
“Stay here until Charlie gets back with Willie,” Albert said. “We can all go together.”
Savannah said, “Surely you can use the rest. Lazrus won’t bother you here. He wouldn’t dare. Please, honey. Come up to our house and just set a spell.”
The rain stopped, and as the clouds parted, the last bit of sunlight brightened the outdoors. There’d still be light to get home by. Savannah called Ezra and Zachary and told them to get ready to say their prayers and dress for bed. At last I said, “There are animals to feed. The men’ll be back tonight, I’m sure. I don’t want to leave my place empty.”
“Why don’t you take someone with you, then?” Albert said. “So you’re not alone.”
“I’ll go, I’ll go!” shouted Ezra from upstairs.
Savannah called out, “Young man, get in bed.”
“Savannah,” I said, “if it’ll set your mind at ease, I’ll stay here. I’ll just go do the feed and come back.” Rachel and Rebeccah walked to my house, helped me with the horses and chickens, and then we hitched my wagon and Rebeccah drove us up the road to their home.
The morning dawned clear, but the air was heavy as I re
turned to my place. I looked to the south and listened hard all morning, hoping to hear the unmistakable commotion of a herd coming this way. The sound would mean Rudolfo had found Willie and my cattle was driving them all back to where they belonged. I pulled up rocks and broke soil with a pickax for the flowers in the graveyard. Before noon, I had finished every chore I’d set for myself. I had sharpened all my kitchen knives. Cleaned the shotgun and my old rifle. I took the hoe and went to the vegetable garden, spent a couple of hours raking thorns. Got one through my shoe that made my toe burn the whole time. The chili plants were trying to come back, and they had sprouted new shoots from the burned stalks. I was walking slowly up and down the length of the garden, drizzling water from the tip of the can, when I saw Mr. Hanna coming up the road.
I called, but he only looked around, so I had to wave my bonnet before he caught sight of me in the garden. I shouted, “Hello! Heard from the men?”
Mr. Hanna got off his horse. “Not a word, Mrs. Elliot. Are you busy?”
“Well,” I said, “chores are a mite scarce lately.”
“Would you mind riding with me down to my place? There’s something I’d like to show you.”
It took me a few seconds to run through my mind what I wanted to do. In the end, I figured if Rudolfo came back from the south, it’d be nearby the Hanna place. It wouldn’t hurt to ride down there for a bit. “All right,” I said.
Mr. Hanna followed me to the barn. He pulled a saddle while I went out the side door and brought back a pony. I left my bonnet on the latch of the barn door and took my old straw hat from inside, where it was hanging over the ready oats for the horses. We headed south side by side. Mr. Hanna said, “Sure I’m not taking you from your work?”
“I was up early,” I said. “Finished and fiddling around.”
I straightened my hat. Neither of us said another word, but when he got to the flat pasture on his land, he gave his horse a knee and took off at a canter. I followed. We rode up to a line of stinking black bundles, the remains of his sheep ranch, rotting clumps of burned wool and flesh. He reined in his horse, which was jerking hard at the bit, not wanting to be close to the dead sheep. “I’m asking you to bear witness, I believe,” he said. “Do you see something odd?”
I studied the scene before me: a whole herd of animals killed where they’d stood. “I don’t, I reckon,” I said.
He pointed down the pasture. “Ever in your life know a herd of any animal, even people, to line up in a straight line?”
“Lord a’mighty,” I whispered. I wiped sweat from my face. I could feel it trickling down the center of my chest, too. I got off my horse and dropped the reins. Closer to the nearest animal, I pried at it just a little with the heel of my shoe. I held my breath and turned it over. Wrapped around the sheep’s hind leg was a piece of wire, running from the poor thing to a stake in the ground. The other end led to the next dead sheep. I said, “Somebody went to a lot of trouble to put you out of business, Mr. Hanna.”
“Who?”
I shook my head. Of course, the first name that came to mind was Lazrus. But cruelty like this, as furious as he’d gotten over the poisoned windmill? I said, “It’s not unusual for cattlemen to resent sheep coming to the land. But not a soul has said a word to me against you or your sheep.” Next names on my tongue would have been those of the Wainbridge brothers. Or, if I was looking for a mean streak, I wouldn’t have to look much further than Willie. But tying up these animals had taken some planning. One thing I didn’t think anyone would accuse Willie of was planning ahead.
We mounted up. Two miles southwest of his sheep pasture, we crossed a blackened hill that, from the rubble of stumps and ash, had been a thicket of brush and weeds. At the bottom of that hill, scorched land made a seam against fresh greasewood and brittlebush as neat as two quilt blocks. It made me sick down inside, thinking it had been intentional. Sicker still, because I kept feeling Willie had been a part of this. We led our horses awhile, then rode farther south. That little green patch had been simply that. The valleys and hills beyond were charred and gray. What looked like a thousand black arrows pointed through the ash toward the sky. We passed the carcass of a deer. The horses got skittish and wouldn’t go through the ashen land.
He said, “Someone set that fire.” Then he turned his horse and we rode back where we’d come. In front of his rebuilt house—no more than a tiny shed with room for the man and his son to sleep side by side on the floor—he turned to me and said, “First thing, I could have killed the man who did it. Now I’m mad, mad enough to dig me a trench and plan a strategy. I didn’t live through that war for no reason. I fought for this country and buried most of my family in it. My great-grandparents fought for the right to live here and do as they well pleased, and no man’s going to tell me what I can raise on my land.”
I said, “I have a deep-down belief that there are folks in the world who are good through and through, and others who came in mean and will go out mean. It’s like coffee. Once it’s roasted, it all looks brown. Until you pour hot water on it and see what comes out. Folks get into hot water, you see what comes out. When Aubrey gets home from the cattle drive, it’ll come out all right. You and he together.”
Mr. Hanna shook his head and smiled. “Mrs. Elliot, you have said a truth worthy of Scripture.” He swept his gaze across the sky. I couldn’t tell if he was watching something or just taking it in, the way I sometimes did. He said, “Will you stay for supper? My stove is out here next to the woodpile. I’ve made some little benches. My cellar was saved whole, for the most part. Dirt on everything, but it didn’t fall in. We didn’t have the stampede you all contended with. Mrs. Baker left it packed with a king’s feast. None of those jarred goods would travel, I believe. Will you take a meal with me? If you think it’s proper, that is, I’d be kindly obliged. It won’t be anything fancy.”
“Fancy doesn’t suit me.”
He leaned over a row of jars resting on two boards and said, “Will you have a seat, there while I cobble something? Good thing about having the stove outside is that it doesn’t heat up the house.” I poked kindling and rustled up the fire. Udell made corn pone on one of the stove lids and heated up a tin plate full of Mrs. Baker’s mixed beans on the other. We sopped the pone in pot liquor and ate the beans from coffee cups. Mrs. Baker had been a fair cook, and her canning was first-rate.
I showed him where a new leaf was budding on a burned-over greasewood bush. He leaned in close and studied it. “Starting over,” he said. Then he held my horse while I got on, and we rode to my place.
All the rest of the evening and into the night, Mr. Hanna and I sat on my front porch and talked until the stars came out. He asked me to call him Udell, and I told him I would if he’d call me Sarah. Udell suggested that since I didn’t have both watchdogs anymore, I should put something noisy by every door, so after he left, I strung metal coffee cups on every door handle, so there’d be a big noise if anyone opened one. I made myself a footbath with salt water and sat in my rocker. I’d string cups until my boys came home.
August 15, 1906
Charlie rode up this morning looking thinned out and old around the eyes. I called his name, and he heeled his horse and dropped from the saddle the way his papa used to do. It was so familiar a motion, I didn’t notice until he did it that Jack had done the same thing all his days. Neither of the boys had ever seen their papa do it; it must have come naturally after Charlie grew up. From the look in his eyes, he’d done some growing while he was gone. He said he hadn’t eaten for two days and would be glad to have anything, cold or not.
Charlie told me a tale while I fixed him a plate of food. They’d gotten down nearly to Douglas, when the rustlers laid an ambush for them and all-out battle broke out. The cattle stampeded every which way. Rudolfo Maldonado has been shot, but Charlie said he’d live. Rudolfo was at his house, getting well, he said. Charlie was bound to ride to Tucson to find a deputy or Ranger to give them a hand.
“Well,” I said
, “and what about Willie?”
Charlie took a drink of water to wash his food down. “He was in the bunch at first, right there with the rest of them shooting at us. Then they broke off in two groups, what was left of them. I found two running irons they’d left, where they were changing brands. We—we killed a couple. Buried two. There’re eight left. Most of them I’ve never seen before. Five in one group and three in another.”
“Which group is Willie with?”
“The three. A vaquero named Calderon from Maldonado’s roundup and a renegade Yaqui they picked up who’d been waiting down in Agua Prieta.” He made fists with both hands as they stretched on the table before him. “Mama? I had him in my sights. I—I couldn’t shoot that kid. I don’t miss him any more than I’d miss a toothache, but I couldn’t kill him.”
“No. Of course you couldn’t.”
“Don’t know if I could have stopped him. But Mama, I believe he’s the one shot El Maldonado.”
I gripped my elbows in each hand, held tightly to my sides.
“That’s about it,” he said. “The other part is that I did—I did shoot one of the others. Ain’t slept—haven’t, I mean—since.” He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand.
I laid my hand on his shoulder and he put his hand on top of mine. He sat there staring out the window, pressing my hand, holding tight. I knew every fiber of what he had gone through. That feeling wasn’t going to go away, nor tame down, either, until it could be held up to the light of what had brought him to it. I said, “And the cattle?”
“A couple of Maldonado’s men caught a bunch and are headed back this way. They’re pretty hot right now, and anybody rides up to them is going to taste lead. Tell anybody you know not to approach them without calling out first who they are.”
I patted his shoulder in the same spot I’d been holding. This was good news at least. A little good news. Since he didn’t mention the money from the strongbox, I reckoned it wasn’t worth asking about. I said, “I’ll get my horse.”
Sarah's Quilt: A Novel of Sarah Agnes Prine and the Arizona Territories, 1906 Page 34
