In a few minutes, the sun rose over the distant hills. Rays of light split through the distant peaks and scattered clouds like those painted fingers from heaven, spreading across the land. We stopped where the trail turned south toward Udell’s place. The marker we used, even when it was Baker’s land, was an ocotillo, fifteen or more feet tall, its branches twenty feet wide. It was prospering from the recent rain and was covered with leaves, hiding the treacherous thorns along its bark. We circled our horses under it.
Chess said, “We still should have hung him.”
Gilbert had an angry glare in his eyes as he said, “There were at least three vaqueros in that yard. You were right, Grampa, about taking him down first. He’d never let that happen. I say we go back and hang him, now.”
I said, “That won’t change things. What we need to do is go after Esther, now that we know where they are.”
“Mama?” Charlie said, “that place Willie’s talking about is only about two or three hours away. Where we first caught up with him was Galena all right, but it was a running gun battle all the way up, and a storm spooked the cattle north of Bisbee. By the time the kid was alone, he was kneeling in the mud of the San Pedro between Fairbank and Charleston, barefoot and praying. We dragged him the long way around from Sierra Vista because he and his gang raised such a ruckus here, we’d never have gotten him this far without him stretching a rope. I’ve got to head to town.”
Gil straighted and looked toward the south, saying, “Yeah, but it’s only two hours from here. We can get to her and back by sundown.”
Chess leaned toward Gilbert. “Spare me one of them pistols, boy.”
Gilbert followed orders. “Here, Grampa,” he said.
“You’re not going without me,” I said.
Charlie said, “Mama, I’m telling you. Don’t come. We’ll find Esther.”
Chess’s horse stirred, and he ended up facing me. He said, “Listen to your son there. Prines’ll be home tomorrow. We’ll see if she’s all right. If she wants to come home, we’ll bring her.”
“Take my horse, then,” I said. “You will need something for Esther to ride. Take my pistol, Gilbert.”
Gilbert said, “Don’t need it, Mama.”
Chess said, “Your ma’s right. Take it.” To me, he said, “Think Hanna will get you home?”
I told him, “It doesn’t matter. I’ve walked it before.”
My sons and my father-in-law rode into a rocky draw that hid them from sight, though I could hear hooves for a little while. Below where I stood, Udell Hanna’s tiny house lay in morning shadows. I started walking toward it. I didn’t want a ride home so much as a man to talk to, someone I felt I could trust. I found him kneeling by a fire pit in the yard, watching something in an iron skillet.
Udell looked up curiously at me, coming on foot out of nowhere. He stood. He eyed the shotgun in my hand and said, “G’morning, Mrs. Elliot.”
“Morning, Mr. Hanna.”
“I heard some shooting. Were you hunting?”
“Rudolfo Maldonado poisoned my well,” I said. “Burned your sheep to death.”
He frowned, Rubbed at his lips with the back of one hand. Scratched the back of his neck. Finally, he said, “I suspected. I did at that. You teach him some respect for his neighbors’ property?”
My face flushed hot and my lips tightened as I tried not to cry. “I shot his roof to pieces. I wanted to—meant to kill him.”
Udell’s arm circled my shoulders. He took the shotgun from my hands and cocked it open, then laid it carefully against a post. “Any man would have done the same thing. Shot him, I mean. Not his roof.”
I laughed a little, and then all the pain and anger boiled over inside and I bowed and wept into my hands. Udell held me, and we rocked back and forth. He didn’t say “Hush, now,” or “Don’t cry; it’ll be all right,” or any of the useless things people are inclined to say to someone sorrowing. He said, “Are you hungry? I caught a trout.”
He bade me sit on a seat he’d drawn up—a box any other time. He had one plate and two forks. He split that little trout in half, raking meat from the bones. It was a tiny morsel for a hungry man, and he shared it with me, bite for bite. Every fragment of it tasted so good, I told him I’d never known a trout done better. Then he took the plate and forks and washed them himself.
He brought me a cup of coffee. He’d put sugar in it. Usually, I didn’t waste the sugar in coffee, but it surely tasted fine. I reckoned he was trying to make it special. We sipped it slowly. The coffee was gone before he said softly, “Believe I’ll be moving those cattle back up to your place, then.”
“You are not like any man I have ever known,” I said.
“I loved my wife,” he said. “I don’t think she ever knew how much. No. I’m sure of it. She never knew. I wasted a lot of time being proud. Made up my mind to do things different here on out.”
I finished my coffee, then said, “I’d do a lot of things differently if I could, too.”
“Your life’s not over, Sarah.”
I shook my head and said, “I feel as if I’m standing on the brink, slipping in sand.” Lord a mercy. Had I really been counting on Rudolfo, somewhere in the back of my mind, to rescue me from the drought? Udell extended his hand across the space between us, palm up, and waited. He was so patient, so certain that I would do it, I had to smile a little as I took his hand. His fingers closed around mine, gentle and strong together. Calloused, soft. I wanted to find strength there, safety, the way I’d let myself believe Jack kept me. But I knew that Udell could also slip away. Tire of my company, like Jimmy. Betray, like Rudolfo. Die, like Jack. I loosened my grip. I didn’t need any more dying. I’d seen enough. Maybe that was why I couldn’t really shoot Rudolfo, though heaven knows he deserved it. Just couldn’t look upon another headstone.
Udell held on tighter. “Right now,” he said. “Don’t look down. Keep seeing the here and now. This is what you’ve got. It’s all we’ve got. Any of us.”
I put my other hand on top of his, and he clasped both mine in his. It was the second time in my life I’d felt as if I were being held to the earth by the strength of a man’s hands. It got harder to draw a breath, and I felt tired down to the depths of my bones.
“I’m going home,” I said, “and rest. I was up all night. Then I put in a busy morning, what with killing all that tile.”
Udell smirked. He said, “He’s lucky you are such a good shot.”
“I planned to kill him.”
“I know you did. It would have been the usual thing to do. I’ve heard from more than one person hereabouts that if you aim at something, it’s as good as shot. I’ll ride you home. Wait while I saddle up. My horse’ll take two.”
I unloaded the shotgun while he saddled the horse. The shotgun wouldn’t fit in a scabbard, so I had to carry it in one hand, sitting—all but in his lap—on the saddle. We went slowly because of the extra weight, although the horse was nearly the size of Big Boy and probably could have kept up just fine.
Udell kept the reins in his left hand; his right hand, he laid gently against my side. As we rode the uneven path, as far wide of Rudolfo’s house as possible, now and again my back touched his chest. As we neared the last rise before my house came into view, I said, “What was I thinking? I must have lost my mind.”
“Making the man pay for poisoning your cattle? Sounds reasonable to me.”
“It isn’t like I never—I nearly shot someone I used to think of as a friend.”
“You didn’t. A woman ought to have a level of mercy.”
“He did all those things so I’d be forced to marry him, because I’d have lost so many cattle.”
“Mutual affection being a silly reason to marry these days.”
I turned and tried to peer over my shoulder at him. “I suppose I was hoping there was a little affection and a measure of respect,” I said.
Udell’s legs pushed against mine as he spurred the horse up the knoll. “I was hoping there
was very little affection, myself. Or am I equally mistaken?”
Baffling questions seemed to hang in the air whenever I was with Udell. I said, “There was a little, once. Not—not the kind I felt for Jack. Just a practical kind of friendship.”
“Never heard of that kind of friendship.” The horse stepped in a little dip and rocked us forward. Udell wrapped his arm right around my middle and squeezed me to him. Then he loosed his hold. After awhile he said, “Sarah? Is there any possibility—I mean, could—” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I had a hard time placing you with Maldonado. Not because I had aught against him before now, but I couldn’t figure you as a matched team. What I’m asking is, did I only take advantage of your fainting the other day? Or is it possible you feel—What I mean is, now there’s no promise between you and him, would you be inclined to let me call on you? Call, that is.”
He sounded so formal. “There was never a promise,” I said. “If he told you that, he lied.” The horse’s hooves clopped along. After awhile, I teased him a little, saying, “I believe I do feel inclined to that prospect, sir.”
When we reached my yard, Udell got down and said, “I’m not sorry I kissed you, you know.” He held up his hands for me, setting me lightly on the ground.
Standing so close to him, his hands still on my waist, I said, “I’m not sorry you kissed me, either.” Then we strolled toward the house, not touching each other, although I could still feel the warm impression of his hands.
Udell said he’d drive up the eleven herd of cattle wearing my brand. Seven of them were heifers, the rest yearling steers.
I said, “You keep those. The boys brought back ten more. One’s a champion bull. Next year, you send those girls home after they give you a little herd of your own.”
After a minute’s thought, Udell said, “You’d give away half of all you own, just to keep a promise?”
I hadn’t been thinking of them as half of a whole twenty head. I’d been thinking of them as ten out of eight hundred. Odd how the same cows seemed more sacrifice the way he put it. I looked hard at Udell and said, “I don’t promise things I won’t stand to.”
He said, “Promise you’ll get a little rest now? You look exhausted.”
“I will,” I said. We drew into each other’s arms at the same time, and his lips touched mine sweetly and gently. Then he also kissed the tip of my nose before he turned and settled his hat on his head. He mounted the horse and waved, whistling as he rode out of sight. Immediately, I ached for his company.
I walked up to the graveyard. There by Jack’s grave, I knelt. I surveyed my house and the barn and all. That was when I saw it, nestled along the rock border. Tufts of green. The sweet-grass was returning. It would be a long time before the hills would sustain cattle, but if I had to feed only ten, why, I could make it. We could last until calving season. It was more than we’d come here with, and it would do.
I pulled weeds from graves, starting with that of my two-year-old girl, Suzanne. Paloverde sprouts were everywhere. A bit of stinkweed had taken hold by one of the unnamed soldiers’ mounds. I never pulled that stuff without gloves, so I had to let it lie. As I worked, I thought of my sons and Chess going south. Reckon any mother could find reason enough to worry about that, but I saw them differently right then. They were men with their own minds and skills.
I’d done all right by them. Chess had nailed it right through the bull’s-eye, telling me I was choking them with my apron strings. They were grown, and I’d have to let them go. I resolved to myself right then and there that they would catch up to Esther. And if they didn’t, it couldn’t be done. The world would be a bit better off, having my men in it. Then my eyes settled on the smokehouse. I’d clean forgotten Willie! Oh my heavens. I dropped the weeds and headed toward the place.
The smokehouse was a pretty miserable place to enter, much less sit for several hours. I had an idea to take Willie to the house and tie him to the porch rail. Then I remembered how easily he’d broken it. Even in his bare feet, the boy was big and strong. The barn had two posts made of tree trunks holding up its center beam. Those posts were at least thirty feet high, and they had been sunk six feet into the ground when this barn was built. There was no way a fellow could get over or around one, if he was caught to it good enough. I laid a circle with my mind, ten feet in all directions, and took away every tool, every lamp, even a dropped horseshoe nail, leaving nothing but the straw on the floor.
I pulled the hopsack bag that held Mr. Sparky’s remains off the headstone waiting for me in the barn. As I did, I felt a hard twinge of guilt. Gilbert had been right. I’d wasted money on that stone, money I’m sorely longing for now, as I longed for what the stone meant when I did it. Foolishness. Savannah was right. The worst sin most decent people have is foolishness, and sometimes they don’t even see it until they have to raise the claptrap and dust off their folly, looking for something they need far more. Tucked behind the stone, where I couldn’t accidentally run across it and give myself torment, sat an unpainted wooden box of Jack’s things.
There was an old army-issue bridle bit in there, wire twists, odd pieces I had never had use for on the ranch. I raised the lid carefully, checking for spiders and scorpions, and found what I wanted: two sets of army leg irons, the kind they used to use on prisoners in the stockade. In one corner, next to a broken whetstone and a leather awl, lay the key that opened them. I worked some axle grease into the irons and wiped them down. Then I called Nip to come with me while I carried the irons to the little window in the adobe smokehouse. I called out, “Willie, how are you doing in there?”
“All right, I reckon. It’s sorta hard to breathe, Aint Sair.”
“You want to sit in the barn instead?”
“All right.”
I said, “Put these on your feet and tighten them up good.” I pulled the bug netting off the slit of a window and pushed one set of leg irons through. I heard some fumbling and the rattle of chains. I said, “I’ll be waiting for you with a shotgun. Don’t think I won’t wing you if I need to, boy.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m ready.”
I unlocked the padlock and swung the door open, stepping back as I did, ready with the shotgun. I said, “Come on out.” The boy came, his hands over his eyes. Nip, seeing Willie, raised his hackles and growled low. I said, “You got those tight? Hook your foot over that rock there and give it a tug. Now the other one.” When I was satisfied he was caught, I marched him to the barn. Nip stayed close at my side, growling threats the entire time. There, the other set of irons lay on the floor, wrapped around one of the posts. “Link that one with the ones you’re wearing,” I said.
As Willie obeyed, he chuckled and said, “I smell like a ham dinner.”
“Yes, you do,” I said. That humor was his papa’s for sure. There was that much of Ernest in him.
Willie said, “Aint Sair? Kin I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“How come you didn’t just marry Maldoraedo? He’da give you the money and the cows.”
“Because my self-respect is worth more than any amount of money.”
“My ma would a married him. Shoot, she’d marry anybody with twenty dollars. Sometimes the barkeep did the wedding.”
“I’m not your mother, Willie.”
“Naw, you ain’t.”
“You going to be all right out here?”
“Yes’m.”
I jerked on the leg irons. Those blessed big feet would not be able to slip through. “I’ll be watching you from the house. I can see any move you make.”
“I ain’t leaving, Aint Sair.”
A rattling noise out in the yard made me turn. A little Mexican two-wheeled buggy pulled up. Luz and Magdalena Maldonado were in the front seat. A white handkerchief flapped from the buggy whip Magdalena waved as if it were a flag in a parade. The pretty filly was tied to the back, her saddle and bridle still in place. I pushed the barn door halfway shut and anchored it with a chunk of wood we al
ways kept there. No sense having to explain why I’d got this boy chained to the post.
Luz drove the cart closer to me. She looked around nervously. Her face paled and her lips quivered as she said, “Señora Elliot, Papa told us to bring back your horse. He wants to make it up to you, he said. He owes you much for the property you lost. Please accept this horse, he says. Please take it. He wants to be friends again.”
“I don’t want it.”
Luz said, “The priest from the mission has been staying at our house, waiting to perform a marriage. Papa talked with him for an hour. The priest says he must make it all up to you, or he will never win the election. He will repay you tenfold, he said.”
Sarah's Quilt: A Novel of Sarah Agnes Prine and the Arizona Territories, 1906 Page 45
