Emmy's Equal

by Marcia Gruver

“Take that with you,” John said, nodding at the Marlin.

  Willem hoisted the loaded rifle. “Will do.”

  Juan looked up and waved as they passed the spot where he’d dug a pit and started a fire.

  Bertha glanced back at Magda. “Feels strange not to be the one in charge of vittles. Makes me feel guilty.” She chuckled. “But just a mite.”

  They followed what appeared to be an ancient trail leading down to the river. Passing between walls of bushes on each side, they dodged overgrown branches and grasping vines until the path opened out onto an overhanging shelf. Willem held each of their hands and eased them onto the sun-crusted ledge that butted up to the lapping water about two feet down.

  Squealing, Bertha kicked off her shoes. “Turn away, Willem. I’m going in to wade.”

  “You be careful, Bertha,” Willem said anxiously. “Don’t slide down or step in a hole.”

  Laughing like a youngster, she stomped in. “Come on, Magda. It’s warm on top but cool on the bottom.”

  The cool part was all Magda needed to hear. She held onto Willem for balance and pulled off her shoes. Clutching roots protruding from the bank near a fallen tree, she held them to steady herself while she lowered her bare feet one at a time. Laughing when mud oozed between her toes, she called to Willem. “Roll up your britches and join us, dear. It’s very refreshing.”

  Her husband stood staring downriver to where the vaqueros watered the herd. The cattle drank at the river’s edge, their heads bowed together. Their contented moos echoed across the water like old men clearing their throats. Willem shaded his eyes. “Where’s that Wayne fellow? I haven’t seen him since we stopped.”

  Bertha raised her leg and kicked, the top of her foot scooping a shower into the air to rain down onto the surface. “Maybe we got lucky and he hit the road.”

  Magda lifted her hands as a shield. “Stop that splashing, Bert. You’re worse than a kid.”

  “Leave me be. I’m making sure no snake crawls up your dress.”

  “You can stop fretting about that. With all your ruckus, no clever snake is within miles of here.”

  Bertha froze and dropped her hem. Her eyes wide, she nodded behind Willem. “You’re right. Just sorry, no ’count, sneaky snakes.”

  Magda whirled in time to see Wayne’s leering face retreat into the brush. Releasing her own skirt, her feet made loud ploinking sounds as she high-stepped to the bank. “Willem!”

  He spun, alarm in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  She pointed, her finger shaking. “That nasty Wayne. Skulking in the bushes to get a peek.”

  Willem wasted no time heading for the steep rise.

  “Don’t hurt yourself, dear. He’s already gone.”

  “Get out of the water,” he shouted over his shoulder, the only sign that he’d heard her at all.

  Magda rushed to obey, her anxious eyes trained on Willem’s back as he struggled to make the high step to the area above. “Be careful with that rifle, now!”

  The top of his ears blazed red, and his panting desperation to be about the chase frightened her. Mentioning the gun flashed terrible possibilities across her mind. “Just catch him and let John handle this,” she called as he fought his way up the incline.

  He managed to get one leg atop the short cliff then leaned forward to haul the other foot up. As he pushed to his feet with the gun still in his hand, the dirt at the edge crumbled, and he lost his balance. Frantically pumping his arms was not enough to hold him up—especially when the gun went off. He sailed backward, seeming to hover briefly in midair before he landed headfirst on the trunk of the dead tree.

  Magda’s cry and the sound of gunfire roused the men downriver. With shouts and waving hats, they thundered into the water and raced toward them. By the time they reached Willem, Magda hovered over him, patting his cheeks.

  Tossing modesty aside, she lifted her hem to bathe his face with the cool water, her tears preventing her from seeing him clearly. “Open your eyes, dear. Willem, please. Open your eyes.”

  John crowded up next to her. “Move aside, Magda. Let me have a look at him.” He slid his hands beneath Willem’s head to lift him gently from the trunk then paused, his eyes going to Magda’s face.

  She tensed and her stomach sank. “What is it, John?”

  John raised his hand to have a look.

  Magda’s eyes jerked to the blood oozing between his fingers and dripping onto the ground. Her own screams impossibly loud in her ears, she stumbled backward into darkness.

  ***

  Emmy slammed her fist against the table. “I’m coming with you, Diego. Don’t try to talk me out of it this time.”

  They hovered around the dining table, a sobbing Greta with her head in her stricken mother’s lap, Cuddy behind them with his hands on Mrs. Rawson’s shoulders, and Diego standing behind Mr. Rawson’s chair, gripping the ladder back with white knuckles. “I’m sorry, Emmy. I can’t let you go.”

  She stood, shaking. “Let me? You can’t stop me.”

  Mrs. Rawson lifted her head. “Tell me again what Mr. Boteo said.”

  Diego swept past Emmy as if she wasn’t there. “He said Santos, his grandson, saw your husband’s wagon headed southwest, away from Catarina and Carrizo Springs.”

  She stared with hollow eyes and her head swung side to side. “It makes no sense. There’s nothing in that direction but the river.” She glanced up at Diego. “Could they have been going after water?”

  Cuddy patted her shoulder. “The river is miles out of the way, and the brush is too thick in that region to cross easily.”

  She wrung her hands. “Then why? Why would John drive a wagon filled with special guests to the middle of nowhere and disappear?”

  Looking less than sure of his confident words, Cuddy smoothed her hair. “Don’t fret, Mother. We’ll find them if we have to turn over every blade of grass from here to Mexico.”

  Emmy took Diego’s arm and turned him. “We’re wasting time. It’ll be dark soon.”

  He flexed his jaw. “Get it through your head, Emmy. You’re staying here.”

  Fury made her dizzy. She stared boldly into his flashing, determined eyes. “For your information, I’m not in the habit of taking orders, and I don’t intend to take any from you.” She lifted her chin and sniffed. “The truth is I don’t need your permission. Mrs. Rawson will help me.”

  She pulled out a chair across from Cuddy’s mother and perched on the edge. “Ma’am, I’m very good on a horse, and I can find the business end of a gun. I’m a decent shot, and I know how to defend myself.” She reached for Mrs. Rawson’s hands. “This is not even the first manhunt I’ve been on. Why, back home—”

  Diego pulled her chair around and leaned on the arms, so close to her face she felt the warmth of his breath. “It’s a ridiculous notion. Who will watch out for you?”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  He shook his head. “A woman will only slow us down.” Letting go of her chair, he walked away a few paces, dismissing her.

  Emmy stalked to him, pointing behind her at Greta and Mrs. Rawson. “I’m not like—” Catching herself before she said something hurtful, she dropped her arm and amended her words. “I’m not the weak, fragile female you make me out to be. I’m different, Diego. You should know that by now.”

  He gripped her shoulders hard, grit in his brown eyes. “Yes, you’re different. I can’t deny it if I try. But you’re not a man, Emmy. What makes you think you can keep up with a man’s business?”

  “I can answer that.” The quiet voice behind them spun Diego. Melatha stood under the arched doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. “Emmy can keep up because she has your same spirit, Isi.”

  She nodded at Mrs. Rawson. “Forgive me for coming unannounced, Kate. I just heard.”

  Mrs. Rawson held out her arms. “Oh, Melatha! I’m so frightened.” Melatha swept across the room, two thick braids dangling from the back of her head. She gathered Mrs. Rawson and pressed her cheek
against her forehead, speaking low in a language very different from Spanish. Emmy realized she was praying in her native Choctaw.

  Cuddy left his mother to Melatha’s care and started for the door. “Come on, Emily. I’ll show you what to pack.”

  Relief flooded Emmy’s limbs. Smiling warmly, she took his arm. “Thank you, Cuddy.”

  He winked. “Greta will sort out our rations while we get things ready in the barn. There’s no telling how many days we’ll—”

  “Hold up there.” Diego took her other arm as she passed, stopping her in her tracks. “Nothing’s been decided yet.”

  Mrs. Rawson interrupted from where she sat. “Let her go, Diego. It’s her right to choose.”

  Confusion and rage battled in his eyes. He frowned at each sullen face. “So I’m outnumbered here?”

  Their silence gave him the answer.

  “Very well, Miss Dane. You’ll have your way, I see.” His threatening glare scared her more than she dared to let him see. “Just remember ... I won’t allow you to slow us down a single second from finding Mr. Rawson and your family. When you get into trouble—and you will—I won’t lift a finger to save you. Not even from banditos and bloodsuckers.”

  ***

  Magda scrambled away from Bertha’s grasping hands and pulled herself upright. Hastily spread and bunched beneath her, the blanket that had cushioned Bertha’s behind for miles now cushioned her from the rocks and stubble. She looked around, noting the wagon and the campfire, heard the lowing cattle in the distance. She blinked up at her friend. “What’s going on, Bertha? How’d I get here?”

  Bertha pointed. “Those poor men carried you. It wasn’t easy getting you up that ledge, I can tell you that much.”

  The terrible memory came in a rush. Magda’s jaw dropped as a scream welled in her throat.

  Bertha clamped a hand that smelled of mud across her mouth. Her eyes brimming with tears, she wagged her head back and forth. “It’s all right. Willem’s alive, Magda. He’s hurt, but he’s alive.”

  Magda struggled to her feet, looking around in a panic. “Where is he? I have to see for myself.”

  Bertha led her to the wagon.

  The men had shoved aside boxes and crates to make room for Willem’s squat body in the bed. He lay so pale and still, it took Magda’s breath.

  She clutched Bertha’s hand. “Are you sure he’s alive?”

  Bertha nodded. “John said so.”

  “Is he...”

  “Gunshot? No. We found the nub of a broke-off limb covered in blood. It poked the back of his head when he fell on that tree.”

  Magda drew in a ragged breath. “But that’s even worse.”

  “Worse than taking a bullet in the brain? Not by a long shot, if you’ll pardon the pun. John said he likely has a concussion, though, since he won’t wake up.”

  Magda moved around closer to Willem’s ghostly white face. “You mean he hasn’t regained consciousness one time?”

  Bertha shook her head.

  Growing more concerned by the second, Magda raised up to scour the area. “Where is John?” she asked frantically. “Why aren’t we rushing Willem to a doctor?”

  “John jumped on that fast horse of his and said he’d fetch a doctor to tend Willem right where he lays.”

  Magda stared. “A doctor from where? We’re miles from Eagle Pass.”

  “He said we passed a little community called El Indio a few miles back. He thinks there may be a doctor there.”

  “And if there’s not?” Alarm made Magda’s voice shrill.

  “Don’t borrow trouble, sugar. John won’t let us down.”

  “Señora?”

  Juan’s gentle voice startled Magda so badly she jumped. Staring at his dark, weathered face, the realization struck. John had left Magda and Bertha alone with four strange men, Benito, Juan, Carl, and the terrible Wayne, with Willem as lifeless as a turnip.

  “You should eat, ma’am,” Juan continued, his eyes aglow with compassion. “Keep your strength up for your husband.”

  She raised her hand. “Food’s the last thing I want just now, thank you. I should be doing something to help him.”

  Bertha gave her a gentle shake. “There’s nothing you can do, sugar. John and the men made sure he’s comfortable. He’ll call out for you when he wakes up.” She took hold of Magda’s arm. “Come sit down and eat a bite.”

  Clinging to the rail, Magda dug in her heels. “No. I’m staying right here until John gets back with the doctor.”

  Juan motioned for Benito and Carl. The three of them cleared more space in the wagon then helped Magda climb in beside Willem. Only after she’d settled against the backboard clinging to his fingers did she accept a tortilla filled with shredded meat from Juan. The first bite tasted like dirt and refused to go down, so she handed the food off to Bertha when Juan wasn’t looking.

  Wayne was nowhere in sight. His brother Carl leaned against the tailgate, staring at the ground and idly chewing the end of a stick.

  Bertha, who had crawled up to sit at Magda’s feet, watched him with wide eyes. “Say, where’d that brother of yours run off to?”

  Carl drew up his shoulders. “Can’t say. I was just wondering the same. He was here when we stopped, but I ain’t seen him since.”

  He grinned, flashing a mouth full of yellow teeth. “Wayne’s like that, you know.” He made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Disappears with the wind and then blows right back.” Laughing, he ambled to where Benito and Juan sat on the ground in front of the fire.

  Bertha made a face. “I’d just as soon the wind had carried him off for good, at least until John gets back.”

  Magda set her mouth grimly. “Not me. I hope he blows back just long enough for me to claw his eyes out.”

  Bertha patted her hand. “I’ll hold him for you, honey.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Diego stared in wonder at the number of riders clustered on the road in front of the house. Word had spread throughout the county, thanks to Rosita and Little Pete. Friends and neighbors had gathered for the last hour, eager to do anything to help the kind and generous Mr. Rawson. Even Joe and Les Campbell showed up to offer their time.

  Diego tightened the horsehair girth and tied his leather quirt to the saddle. Luckily, these were tasks he could easily perform in his sleep, since his willful eyes were busy tracking Emmy’s every move.

  The soft clingy dresses and skin-revealing necklines were gone, along with the strappy suede shoes with little square heels. She wore men’s clothing, complete with Cuddy’s shirt, baggy slacks, and cowhide chaps buttoned behind her legs. Someone had even furnished her with a wide-brimmed straw hat. Only her boots were made for a woman, most likely lent by Greta.

  Cuddy hovered like a bee on honey, helping Emmy with her rigging and double-checking her gear. Afterward, he mounted up and rode alongside her toward the entrance to the ranch.

  Remembering the feckless boy’s declaration that he’d kiss her if she’d let him, Diego slapped shut the flap on his saddlebag with more force than called for. Whirling, he nearly ran over his mother.

  She gazed up at him with knowing eyes. “It’s not like you to pout, son.”

  He brushed past her to gather his reins. “You’re mistaken, Mother. I don’t have time to pout.”

  She caught his arm before he swung onto the horse. “There’s nothing between them, Isi.”

  Astonished, he met her probing eyes. “Your talent for reading minds has spread to Emmy and Cuddy now?”

  She shrugged. “Emmy’s too much woman. She won’t wait for Cuddy to mature.”

  He gave her a piercing look. “You champion her now? Exactly what did that girl say to you?”

  “Matters between women are best left to women.”

  He blew air from between his teeth and swung into the saddle. “On that point you won’t get an argument from me. Still ... Emmy managed to change your heart in one visit?”

  His mother tilted her face, using one hand to shade
her eyes from the afternoon sun. “She’s a very persuasive girl.”

  He held up his finger. “Ah, there, you see? Careful, Mother. I’m not sure her powers of persuasion are from God.” He reined the horse away from her.

  “That remains to be seen,” she called out behind him, “and this is Emmy’s chance to prove it.”

  Laying to rest the idea that his mother could no longer surprise him, he stored away the confusing conversation for later. The time had come to turn his thoughts to the pressing matter at hand.

  Anxious riders surrounded him outside the gate, all trying to speak at the same time. He held up his hand and whistled, and they stilled. “One at a time, please.” He pointed to Little Pete.

  “Sí, Diego.” Pete sat taller in the saddle. “Where do we search? Around Catarina?”

  “Well, Pete,” Diego said, dreading the faithful hand’s reaction, “you won’t be searching anywhere. I need a man I can rely on to stay behind with the women.”

  Pete’s countenance fell. “Sí, if you think it’s best.”

  Diego’s gaze took in the crowd. “As for the rest of you, I thought we’d split up. They were seen heading southwest, but the truth is, they could be anywhere. One group of riders will sweep in a wide circle around Catarina to the right, another to the left. The largest group will spread out in a line straight up the middle. We should all wind up near the road to San Antonio.”

  “And if we don’t find them?” one of the men called out.

  “We’ll widen the circle.”

  He whistled again to quiet the murmuring reaction. “Let me make one thing clear, I’m not coming back without Mr. Rawson and his guests. Any of you who can’t say the same, please stay home. I can’t have you pulling out later, leaving your group short of men.”

  Another round of discussion followed, this time interspersed with nodding heads and vows of commitment.

  Since Señor Boteo knew the area, Diego appointed him to head the Rio Grande search. He put Lester and Joe in charge of the opposite half of the circle. Diego and the rest would form the middle line.

  Displaying the order and quickness of those accustomed to making fast decisions, the men and horses divided to Diego’s specifications with the grace of a Spanish dance. Not waiting to be assigned, Emmy trotted her horse next to Diego’s, her jaw set and her gaze fixed straight ahead.