Emmy's Equal

by Marcia Gruver

  Diego couldn’t contain a stab of satisfaction when the seasoned ranchers and vaqueros stared at Emmy with disbelieving eyes. Forcing himself to contain his anger when their eyes lingered a bit too long, he thrust his arm out in front. “All right! Let’s ride!”

  ***

  Melatha watched the cloud of dust on the road until it dwindled to a faint puff on the horizon. Her thoughts turned to prayer for the men. “How excellent is thy lovingkindness, O God! Therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of thy wings.”

  A sense of foreboding had settled on her the minute Isi rode out of sight. She told herself the sinister slide of cold hands up her back had to do with her fear for John Rawson and grief for his dear wife. Yet watching Isi lead the solemn band of men toward the road to Catarina was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  An urge to cut and run welled inside her, though from what, Melatha did not know. She whispered a prayer for her son instead. “Keep him safe, Chihowa Palami. As the apple of Your eye, hide Isi beneath the shadow of Your wings.”

  She pulled her gaze from the empty road and hurried toward the house. The kitchen would be in chaos, so Rosita and the girls would need her. When the searchers returned, whether celebrating around a wagon heralding the prodigals’ return, or—she shuddered—mourning behind a wagon in service as a funeral bier, they would be hot, tired, and hungry. There was no way of knowing if they had hours or days to prepare.

  Melatha pictured Kate Rawson’s drawn mouth and tortured eyes. She prayed for her sake the wait would end soon.

  ***

  Emmy followed Diego and Cuddy off the road into an area thick with briars, brambles, and mesquite trees, more afraid than she’d ever been in her life. At the beginning of the last few torturous hours, she had tried to search apart from them, to prove herself to Diego, until an encounter between a rattlesnake and a startled horse left an experienced horseman hugging a cactus.

  The boots Emmy wore were so big her toes slid forward with each step of the horse, causing pain so intense she feared finding her feet covered in blisters. The heat was atrocious, even with the sun dipping closer to the earth. Her hair hung in dripping strands beneath the hat, but taking it off meant having her head baked.

  Now the same sun that seemed determined to bake her alive looked ready to bail out on her. Her heart crowded into her throat as the last bright orange sliver dropped into a deep pocket on the far horizon, and the vivid watercolor landscape became a child’s charcoal sketch on gray paper. Even a cluster of yellow green fireflies bobbing and dancing in the brush failed to cheer her.

  No matter how awful things were, she knew the nighttime would be worse. She also knew no matter how frightening the darkness, she’d never be sorry she came. To be stuck on the ranch harboring dreadful thoughts of her parents’ predicament would be hard to bear alone, and Emmy had never felt so alone in her life.

  Letting her guard down briefly, she explored the murky cauldron of fear that seethed inside—a mistake considering Mama’s smiling face swam into view, blinding her.

  “You all right over there?”

  Diego’s voice startled her but soothed her, too. More grateful for his presence than she’d ever let on, she hurriedly wiped her eyes. “Oh, yes. I’m fine.” Even to her ears, she didn’t sound fine. Her stuffy, nasal tone gave away her tears.

  Diego’s horse cut in closer. “We’ll find them, Emmy.”

  She shuddered, startling herself. “I ... I know we will. But no matter how I arrange the facts, it doesn’t make sense.” She sought the comfort of his brown eyes. “If you have a theory to share that ends with a positive outcome, I’d be grateful to hear.”

  He glanced away quickly then back. “I’d love to say something to comfort you, but I’m afraid I’m struggling with the same questions. The explanation I cling to is Cuddy’s—that Mr. Rawson is somewhere ‘playing the highfalutin ranchero’ for your parents, having too much fun to spare a thought for home.”

  She let his words sink in before she spoke. “Then where are they? They were headed to the Campbells’. Why didn’t they make it?”

  Staring into the distance, he blew out his breath. “If we had those answers, we’d be home in our beds tonight.”

  His words brought another involuntary shudder.

  Diego shot her an anxious look. “That’s the second time you’ve done that. Are you feeling all right? You can’t be cold.”

  “I’m the furthest thing from cold.” She gave him a tight smile. “To be honest, I haven’t looked forward to nightfall.” Her smile turned sheepish. “It’s a lot easier to be brave in the light.”

  Amusement flashed in his eyes. To his credit, he squelched it. “Don’t fear the darkness, Emmy. My mother taught me to see the lessons God intended when He created night and day.”

  Emmy raised her brows. “Lessons?”

  He nodded. “Nighttime represents the fall of man and how God mourned when sin separated Him from His children. Daytime points to His forgiveness and our restoration.”

  She stared, amazed by the simple truth. “I’ve never heard that before.”

  He smiled. “There’s more. The Choctaw believe that man can read the salvation story in the earth’s four seasons.”

  Mesmerized, she studied his face. “The seasons?”

  He held up one finger, citing Melatha. “Summer represents the time when Jesus walked the earth with man. Fall signals the death of summer and the death of Christ. Leaves begin to die and hang from their branches, drenched in gold and crimson. Fall represents the beauty of a blood-drenched King on a cross.”

  The breath caught in her throat. “Diego, that’s incredible.”

  “Winter is the tomb,” he said, his eyes closed. “A time when hope seems lost. Sap stops flowing. Plants and leaves decay. Animals stumble into hibernation as dens become graves. Creation is in mourning and mimics His death.” He opened his eyes. “Spring is a portrait of hope. Green buds, rainbow flowers, daisy yellow chicks, and lily white lambs tumble off God’s palette in a celebration of new life. The least subtle season, spring flaunts our risen Savior and begs us to see.” He smiled. “And there you have it.”

  “That was the most beautiful thing that I’ve ever heard,” she breathed.

  “It’s a fair translation. Better in the original Choctaw.” He shrugged. “I’ve heard it so many times, it loses its charm ... until I see it again through the eyes of someone else.” He smiled sweetly and nodded at her. “Like now. You’re glowing.”

  It felt good to laugh. “A reflection of my heart, Diego. Thank you for sharing that with me. It brought me great comfort and took my mind off things for a while.”

  He grinned. “My pleasure.”

  Cuddy had slipped up beside Emmy. “What are we sharing, and where’s my part?” he demanded with his usual charm.

  Leaning past Emmy to see him, Diego snorted. “Nothing I haven’t offered you a dozen times before.”

  “He was reciting his mother’s lessons for me,” Emmy said. “About the seasons.”

  Cuddy rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes. Winter is death and all of that drivel. Aren’t you two depressed enough?”

  Diego shared a glance with Emmy. “We were feeling better until you came along.”

  Cuddy flashed a grin. “Nonsense. I bring light and joy wherever I go.”

  Diego groaned and waved his hat at an approaching rider. The man trotted the rest of the way and pulled up alongside them. “We’d better decide where we want to rest and water the horses. About another hour is all I’d want to push them.”

  Diego glanced at Emmy. By the skeptical look on his face, he was thinking an hour was all she could take, too. He turned to the man. “We’re almost to Buck Campbell’s place. Spread the word that we’ll pull in there.”

  ***

  Exhausted, Magda dozed, waking up each time her head lolled to the side. She awoke for good to find the surrounding brush alive with the sounds of approaching nightfall. Filled with dread, s
he willed with all her might for John to ride out of the shadows on Faron, a doctor close on his heels.

  Straining to see Willem’s features in the last faint traces of light, she scooted around to lay her head on his chest. His torso rose and fell too fast and his heart beat in time with the crickets. She’d been trickling water into his mouth in small amounts so he wouldn’t choke, and she thought he might have swallowed some.

  Lifting her head, she peered into the crowding darkness. Benito and Juan lurked nearby speaking Spanish in hushed voices. Her eyes on them seemed to make up their minds, and they sprang into action, scurrying to set up camp for the night. Carl hopped from one to the other, trying to keep up with the orders they barked.

  Beside her, Bertha swatted a swarm of mosquitoes from her face. “We need to pull our beds closer to the fire tonight. Might help to keep these infernal pests away.”

  Frustration threatened to smother Magda. “Stop it, all of you!”

  Bertha stilled. The men paused mid-stride and gaped at her.

  “Stop making camp. We won’t be spending the night here.” Tears stung her eyes. “John Rawson will ride up any minute with that doctor. Then we’ll be taking my husband home.”

  Benito bowed. “Sí, Señora Dane.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugged at Juan and sat down in front of the fire.

  Bertha nodded at the men. “We’ll wait just a while longer, if you fellers don’t mind.” Patting Magda’s leg to soften her determined words, she added, “If he’s not here soon, we’ll have no choice but to go to bed. I suspect there’s a long day ahead for all of us.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Diego rode toward the Campbell ranch glowing with pride, thinking about the eternal lessons he had just shared with Emmy. For the first time he understood that his mother’s people were his Christian ancestors, those men and women whose decisions to follow Jesus Christ were the reason Diego knew Him. The proud swell in his chest turned to shame as he realized they were the same ancestors he had fought so hard to deny.

  The lights of the Campbells’ two-story, plastered-stone house beckoned in the distance. Standing against the dusky sky, it was a welcome sight. Diego was happy to see the end of the driveway, but no happier than his backside and the horse he sat. In some ways, Mr. Boteo’s Spanish mare had it better than Diego. She’d only made the trek to Catarina once that day.

  Buck Campbell stepped onto the porch as they arrived. Squinting and twiddling his bushy moustache, he surveyed the large group of men as if trying to put a name to every face. His gaze came to rest on Diego. “Any luck?”

  Diego dismounted, glad to be on the ground. “No, sir. Not yet.” The man ducked to scan the riders again. “My boys with you?”

  “No, sir. They’re with a party of searchers somewhere north of here. We’ve come in hopes of taking advantage of your hospitality for a bit. I’ve got some tired men and thirsty horses.”

  Mr. Campbell nodded. “Fine, fine. You get those animals tended then come to the house. The missus will be waiting with coffee and something hot to eat.”

  He turned to go, but Diego held up his hand. “That coffee sounds good, but there’s no need to put Mrs. Campbell to any trouble. Most of the men have trail rations.”

  He gave a curt wave. “Nonsense. A man can’t beat the brush all night on trail rations.”

  “Sir, I’ve got better than twenty men out here.”

  He chuckled. “That’s when a slew of daughters comes in handy. Won’t take them girls no time to fix your men something.” He pointed a warning finger. “So come back up to the house. You hear?”

  Diego grinned. “Will do.”

  He started to go inside again, but Diego cleared his throat. “Mr. Campbell?”

  “Yes?”

  Diego walked to Emmy’s horse and helped her down. “Would it be too much trouble if Miss Dane here freshens up inside?”

  Under less trying circumstances, Mr. Campbell’s bug-eyed stare would be amusing. “That is a female! I was thinking she was the prettiest fellow I ever did see.” He laughed wildly. “Sure, she’ll clean up inside.” He offered his arm to Emmy. “I won’t have no little gal splashing off in a watering trough.”

  Feeling more protective than he had the right, Diego handed her off to Buck Campbell. His restless men meandering behind him, Diego stayed rooted to the spot until Emmy disappeared through the door.

  Cuddy sailed his hat over his horse, hitting Diego in the chest and almost startling him out of his chaps. “Peel your eyes off Emily and help me get these horses watered.”

  He frowned at Cuddy. “Sí, amigo. I’m coming.” He took the reins of the big mare and started for the barn, deliberately tromping on Cuddy’s hat as he went.

  By the time the last horse had cooled then drunk its fill, Mr. Campbell’s womenfolk had a table pulled out to the veranda and covered with food. Exhausted, dusty men settled wherever they could, whether the steps, the edge of the porch, or the ground. They ate quietly. Most, like Diego and probably Cuddy, were disturbed by the fact they’d found nothing.

  The back door opened and Emmy stepped out, her eyes wide and searching. Spotting Diego and Cuddy, she lit up then pressed past the table to join them on the porch, limping and wincing with every step. Diego sat up straighter. “What happened to your feet?”

  She eased herself carefully to the porch and swung her legs to the ground. “Greta’s boots are too big for me. They’ve rubbed blisters.”

  Without waiting for permission, he pulled her foot across his knees. “That won’t do, Emmy. You’ll wind up with an infection.” He pulled on the heel and the boot slid right off. “No wonder. Knitted stockings. Look how thin they are.” He craned his neck behind him until he caught Mrs. Campbell’s attention. “Could we trouble you for a pair of thick woven socks?” He glanced at the size of her foot. “Make that two pair.”

  Emmy struggled to pull her leg down. “Diego, please.”

  “No arguments. This will make all the difference.”

  She sat quietly while he carefully peeled the silky material away from the balls of her feet. He flinched at the angry red skin, but only the side of her big toe had a small watery bump. “It’s not as bad as it could be. We caught it in time.”

  Mrs. Campbell dangled the socks across his shoulder, one pair red, the other a faded blue. “These do?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. And I’ll make sure these are returned,” Diego said, gently slipping them on Emmy’s feet.

  “Washed,” Emmy added, but Mrs. Campbell had already rushed inside for more clean plates.

  After Diego felt satisfied with the fit of her boots, he brought her a plate piled high with bacon, eggs, and flapjacks, evidently the fastest meal the ladies could prepare with such short notice.

  Emmy dug in like she’d not seen food in days.

  Cuddy leaned against the corner post with his arms crossed, silently watching. If Diego happened to glance at him, he’d wiggle his brows or widen his eyes.

  Diego was ready to thrash him when one of the younger Campbell girls approached Emmy and shyly held out her hand. “Some ladies from the church have organized a prayer circle for your folks in the parlor. Mama said you might care to join them.”

  Tears sprang to Emmy’s eyes. She took the small hand in hers, and with a backward sniff at Diego, disappeared inside the house.

  He spun on Cuddy. “What’s all the foolishness with those faces? If you have something to say, come out and say it.”

  Cuddy held up both hands. “Don’t mind me. I’m just doing a little speculating, that’s all.”

  “About?”

  “Just noticing you being extra accommodating to Miss Emily. Makes me think you might step between her and a goat sucker after all.”

  Diego blew out a breath in disgust. “Aren’t you ever serious about anything, Cuddy?” He pointed past the outbuildings. “That’s your father somewhere out there. Don’t you care?”

  Cuddy leaped up and stood over him ashen-faced, his hands balled
into fists. “You know I care! And don’t you act like you care more.” His eyes rimmed with red and a haze of tears blurred his eyes.

  Ashamed, Diego gripped his clenched fist. “I’m sorry, Cuddy. I had no right.”

  Resembling one of Mother’s young students, Cuddy snuffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Just because I don’t wear my feelings in plain sight don’t mean they ain’t there.”

  “I know, amigo.” He stood and gave Cuddy a hearty pat on the back. “I hope you’ll forgive me. It’s been a long day.”

  Mr. Campbell left his station on the porch where he’d been sitting all evening and took a seat on the top step. “So Mr. Rawson was on his way here, you say? Several days ago?”

  Diego spit out the stalk of grass he’d been chewing and nodded. “Yes, sir. I told him you had some cattle for sale.”

  He stuck out his bottom lip and angled his head at Cuddy. “You Rawsons looking to expand your stock?”

  The poised son of a South Texas rancher again, Cuddy lifted his chin. “Nah, we’re happy with what we have.”

  “Mr. Rawson’s inquiries would’ve been on behalf of a guest to the Twisted-R,” Diego provided. “A wealthy woman from Humble, a little town north of Houston.”

  Mr. Campbell nodded. “I’ve been through Humble once.” He rubbed his chin. “What do you make of them never arriving, Diego? Beats all I ever did see.”

  “That it does, sir. But we’ll find them. You can bet on it.”

  “I know you will, son.” He glanced toward the barn. “Tell your men to mind their tackle. We have a problem with blue rats around here. They’ll gnaw your stuff to bits by morning if they find it on the ground.”

  Diego nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell them.”

  They talked a bit longer, and Diego tried to answer his questions the best he could, but the horses were rested and the men were getting too settled.