Paloma and the Horse Traders

by Carla Kelly

  The Comanche woman’s expression told Paloma everything she needed to know about The People and water. “Well, never mind. If you fall in, I will save you,” she said.

  A few more minutes and Soli began to yawn and tug at her eyelids, which meant sand in her eyes. She shed a few tears until Eckapeta silenced her with no more than a stare. They stripped the children, washed them, dried them, and took them to the shade of a cottonwood back from the bank. New clothes went on, and then bread and cheese found its way into eager hands. Soli sighed with pleasure at the peeled cactus bits.

  Eckapeta lay down and put her hands behind her head. The little ones snuggled on either side and soon slept. Paloma unbuttoned her bodice. “If I won’t frighten you, I’m going to swim.”

  Drowsy, Eckapeta moved her hand to show approval. Paloma stripped and walked to the water. In another moment, she was floating on her back. Since the current of August bore no resemblance to the current of June, which roared from the Sangre de Cristos full of snow melt, she drifted along, always staying in sight of the tree.

  She remembered the July haymaking afternoon that turned into baby making, and wondered why neither of their children seemed to want to start life in a bed. Why, indeed? she thought. All I ever need is Marco, and he is portable.

  She laughed out loud, perfectly content, until she started thinking about all there was to do before the official end of summer. She had an excuse now to take life easier, but she knew the monumental effort required by everyone to prepare for winter. I do hope you find me some more help for the babies, Marco, she thought. She floated along and touched her belly, recalling with no regret her much slimmer waist.

  The days of starvation were over and she was fertile. Throw in the loveliness of a husband like Marco, and a woman could not ask for more, especially in the royal colony of New Mexico, where life was hard. She was truly blessed, and she knew it.

  “And I have friends,” she said softly, as she saw Eckapetta hurrying toward her.

  Paloma stopped, and let her feet swing down to the shallow river bottom. Eckapeta was running now, looking over her shoulder. Alert, Paloma started toward the shore at a half swim, half run. Eckapeta had a towel in her arms, which she wrapped around Paloma as soon as she clambered up the slight rise.

  Eckapeta pointed with her lips, and Paloma saw the dust cloud—one not created by the fickle wind, but by many horses. She grabbed the towel around her and dried herself as they ran back to the trees, where the babies still slept.

  Paloma threw on her clothes, grateful her hair was still confined by a ribbon. She scuffed her feet in her shoes, her mind a blank. Better not to even think about who this might be.

  “Have they seen us?” she whispered.

  “I don’t think so,” Eckapeta replied, her face stern. “We would only attract attention if we mounted our horses, so I will lead them into the bosque. Get the little ones.”

  The single cottonwood had been a prime location for a nap, but it offered no protection. Paloma glanced toward the growing dust cloud then resolved not to look again. With a hand on each small chest, she pressed lightly and spoke softly, waking her little ones and warning them at the same time.

  She didn’t think Claudio was old enough to understand, but she knew Soli was already a good child of Valle del Sol, born into trouble and raised to be wary.

  “My love, you must be ever so quiet now. Follow Eckapeta and the horses and do as she says,” Paloma whispered. “Go now!”

  To Paloma’s relief, the child did exactly as she was told, moving purposefully on sturdy little legs and without a glance back. Ready to put her hand over her son’s mouth, Paloma scooped him up, along with what remained of their gathering that Eckapeta had not snatched. She ran after her daughter and crouched with her in the welcome shade of the clump of trees.

  Eckapeta led the horses farther in, tied them, and left them. She hurried back and led Paloma and the children a little deeper, searching for the best place. When they were settled and both children were on Paloma’s lap, their faces turned into her breasts, Eckapeta climbed the tree with the agility of a much younger woman.

  “What do you see?” Paloma asked, after a pause that seemed to stretch for hours.

  “Many horses and a few riders. Maybe they are going to the trade fair in Taos,” Eckapeta replied, making no effort to speak quietly. “Still, we will stay here until ….”

  She stopped. After another long pause, Eckapeta spoke again, quieter this time. “But they are being followed by Nurmurnah, The People. Don’t move or make a sound. These are not Kwihnai’s people and I fear them.”

  Paloma did as she said, bowing her head over her darlings, keeping them silent. She wished that Marco was there to wrap his comforting bulk around the three of them. Calmly, she tucked the foolish wish away and prepared to fight to the death for her children.

  Eckapeta was too silent. “Tell me what you see,” Paloma pleaded.

  She could have screamed with the silence, but she only clenched her jaw tighter. Claudio began to whimper, so she opened her bodice and nursed him; weaning could wait. He suckled and was comforted, while Soledad burrowed closer.

  Paloma closed her eyes, remembering blessed moments of nearly four years, moments that would never have been hers, if Marco Mondragón had not ridden to Santa Fe to take his yearly records to the governor, and gone in search of a little dog to keep his feet warm at night. If this was all the joy she would know, it was better than none at all. She thanked El Padre Celestial for his kindness to her and put her terror away, too.

  To her relief, Eckapeta nimbly retraced her way down the swaying cottonwood and joined her. She put her hand gently on Paloma’s neck and gave her a little shake. “Be calm, dear one!” she murmured. “The smaller dust cloud has met up with the horse herd. I think they are fighting. They are closer to Santa Maria than to us, so let us ride for the Double Cross.”

  Silent, Paloma picked up Claudio and ran with him to her horse, Eckapeta close behind with Soledad in her arms. The Comanche woman helped Paloma put the cradleboard on her back again, stuffed in Claudio, then heaved them onto Paloma’s horse with no fanfare. Eckapeta handed up Soledad next and Paloma seated the little one firmly in front of her.

  “Ride and don’t look anywhere but ahead of you,” Eckapeta ordered. “I will follow behind you and stop anyone who might see us.” She took out the knife she wore in her belt at the small of her back. “Go!”

  Paloma jammed her heels into her normally sedate mare, which started in surprise at such unexpected treatment from her mistress. She was not a speedy horse, but maybe she sensed trouble. Perhaps she smelled strange horses. Whatever the reason, the mare shot away from the bosque and thundered toward the place where the road forked toward the Double Cross.

  “Fun, Mama!” Soledad said as she leaned back against Paloma, enjoying the wind in her baby-fine hair.

  “Yes, fun,” Paloma said as she crouched lower in the saddle, wishing she could turn herself into a Comanche rider. Her skirts billowed well above her thighs. She knew Marco would tease her if he were here, but he was not, so she struggled to keep her tears inside.

  Thank the Almighty that the guards were watching. As she raced toward them on her energized mare, the gates swung open to receive her and her babies. Emilio ran into the courtyard, summoned by a cry from one of the guards. The big patrol dogs began to bark, which made Soli put her hands over her ears and mutter something that sounded surprisingly like what her papa might say at such a moment.

  Emilio struck the iron bar that dangled from a chain, which brought Sancha and Perla from the kitchen garden and into the courtyard. Paloma handed down Soledad, who still had her hands over her ears, and Perla helped Paloma from the saddle.

  Paloma eased out of the cradleboard and handed it to Perla. “Take them into the kitchen. I will be in there in a moment.”

  Not waiting for an argument from Sancha, who would insist that she come too, Paloma followed Emilio up the ladder to the parape
t, where three guards had gathered. She looked where they looked and saw, to her relief, Eckapeta bending low over her horse, riding fast.

  The gates closed behind her as soon as she was through them. In one smooth motion, she dismounted, let the reins drop, and climbed up the ladder without even drawing a deep breath.

  She put her arm around Paloma in a gesture so tender that Paloma felt all her love and concern, but her words were to the mayor domo, who watched them both.

  “I believe I know these Kwahadi,” she said, only then betraying that she was slightly out of breath.

  “Is that good?” Paloma asked.

  Eckapeta shook her head. “Their leader, a man named Great Owl, had words with Kwihnai last winter in the cañón. He was angry because Kwihnai has sworn to your husband never to attack Santa Maria again, or anywhere in Valle del Sol. Great Owl and his band rode from the cañón, and we have not seen them until now.”

  “Will there be trouble? Paloma had to ask, even though she could read Eckapeta’s expressions well. I don’t want trouble without Marco close by, she wanted to say. Please tell me all is well, even if it is not true.

  “There will be trouble, Paloma. Let us prepare.”

  Chapter Four

  In which Paloma is proxy for her husband, the carefree fair-goer, drat his hide

  “We will keep you and your children safe,” Emilio said, after a long look at Eckapeta, who stared back at him with an equally impassive gaze. “By the Virgin, I promise you.”

  Paloma nodded to Emilio, thinking how kind he was to spare her tender feelings, and also grateful for Eckapeta’s unvarnished honesty. He sees me as a fearful woman and Eckapeta sees me as a warrior, ready to fight to the death for my children, she thought. Our ways are different.

  She held out her hand to the old man, who had faced a lifetime of uncertainty, living in Valle del Sol, that farthermost outpost of Spanish civilization in New Mexico. “Tell me what I need to do,” she asked, even though she already knew what course to take.

  “The Comanche moon is rising again,” he told her. “You will need to go underground tonight.”

  Paloma nodded, feeling suddenly like the fearful woman Emilio already thought her. Marco had taken her once to the hiding place under the chapel floor. She could almost smell the close air again and feel the dampness of the earthen walls.

  “Very well. For now, though, we women will stay indoors and out of your way.” She took his hand. “I know you will do everything in your power to keep us safe.”

  “On my honor and by all the saints who have ever heard of this colony, I swear to you that we will.”

  “Since you will all be watching from the parapets, we will bring you food,” Paloma assured him.

  “All anyone wants is something to do,” she told Eckapeta when they reached the kitchen. “Even Soledad here.” She knelt by her daughter, who clutched her skirts, fearful. “My dearest, I have a pile of napkins. Will you fold them if I show you how?”

  Soli nodded. Paloma sat her on the bench at the table and folded one napkin into a square and then folded it again. She repeated her actions, then Soli put her hand on Paloma’s arm, stopping her. As Paloma watched, her daughter folded the next napkin. The corners didn’t match exactly, but she handed it to her mother, the fear gone from her eyes because she was busy.

  “Exactly right,” Paloma said, and kissed her cheek. “Finish these for me, and Sancha might have a treat for you.”

  She left her daughter with the stack of napkins and carried Claudio to the room he shared with his sister. After a dry diaper followed by a long cuddle, she put him into his crib, where he snuggled and then slept.

  Sancha took food to the men on the parapet, and Perla bullied Paloma into eating a big bowl of posole she didn’t really want, not with her queasy stomach. Paloma ate as she was bid, not certain if her nerves or the new baby were to blame. Eckapeta shook her head at the offer of food, which made Paloma smile to herself, because Perla didn’t bully the Comanche woman.

  “Who is Great Owl?” Paloma asked after she swiped the last scrap of tortilla around the bowl—maybe she’d been hungry, after all.

  “He is a troublesome warrior, never content to be under Kwihnai’s eye, no matter how light the control,” Eckapeta said. She leaned closer. “It is said that he and his warriors even killed some Kiowa, our close brothers on the plains. This is not done.”

  “You … you recognized him?”

  “Yes. He wears the headdress of a great horned owl. His horse wears a similar face mask. I am not certain which is more frightening.”

  Such an admission from the bravest woman she knew sent a chill down Paloma’s arms. She sighed, wishing Marco would materialize suddenly. “Would that we knew what was going on in Santa Maria.”

  “I have noticed that trouble has a way of making itself known. Be patient.”

  As sundown grew near, two riders carrying Spanish lances approached from the direction of Santa Maria. Emilio brought the news himself, as he ushered the soldiers into the kitchen. Perla wordlessly pushed food toward them before they even delivered their message.

  Eyes on the bowls of steaming posole, the corporal wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He gave Eckapeta a wary look, then turned his attention to Paloma.

  “Señora Mondragón, where is your husband? We have an urgent matter.”

  “He should be arriving in Taos today. He went to the great fair.”

  “Dios! We need him here,” the corporal continued, evidently also thinking that the juez de campo would appear if summoned.

  “Tell me what has happened in Santa Maria,” Paloma ordered. “My friend and I saw something while we were at the river today.” She gestured to the table. “Try the tortillas.”

  The corporal and private needed no more encouragement. The corporal ate quickly, then put down his spoon. “Some horse traders on their way to Taos were set upon by Comanches.” He glanced at Eckapeta warily, as a child might observe a strange dog. “The … the Comanches killed one of the traders and got away with a few horses, but the private here wounded one of them.”

  Such initiative would astonish Marco, Paloma thought, looking at the younger man with some respect. “You captured him?” she asked the private.

  He glanced at the corporal, as though seeking approval to speak. “Yes, señora. I brought him back to the garrison, where he is now imprisoned.”

  “The others?”

  “They could be anywhere, and that is a worry,” the corporal said. He turned his attention to Paloma. “We need someone to interrogate the Comanche and thought maybe,” he lowered his voice, “this woman might help.”

  “What about the horse traders?” Paloma asked. “Surely someone among them speaks Nurmurnah.”

  “They don’t want to waste a minute on their journey to Taos, and Comanches can be stubborn.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “Our sergeant is uncertain.”

  Those are two understatements of the century, Paloma thought. She looked at Eckapeta, noting well the woman’s sour expression. “What do you think, my sister?” She spoke the Spanish word for sister, not wanting the soldiers to doubt for a moment her tie to Eckapeta, if they thought they might try coercion to get her to translate. “Should we help the garrison in Santa Maria? It is your decision.”

  “See here now, we need her!” the corporal burst out. “She must cooperate.”

  Everyone in the room looked at the corporal, even the private. He had half-risen from the bench, but he sat down again. He frowned and looked down at the food in his bowl, mumbling, “That is, if she will help us.”

  Eckapeta looked at Paloma. “Nami, I will do as you wish, if you will accompany me. I won’t ride alone with these two fools.”

  The two fools made no comment.

  “Very well,” Paloma said, after she stuffed her fear into a cupboard and closed the latch. “Emilio, please find us two fresh mounts. Fast ones.”

  Eckapeta followed the mayor domo out the kitchen door. Paloma went
to her room and changed into the riding habit her husband had commissioned for her from Aldonza Rivera, Santa Maria’s dressmaker since Señora Saltero had been carried off by smallpox two years ago. She glanced in the mirror, and a worried woman stared back.

  She looked in on Claudio, who slept soundly. Soledad glanced up from her toys in the sala and her lip trembled when she saw her mama dressed for riding. “I know that Sancha has more napkins for you to fold,” Paloma said, picking up her daughter. “I will be back before you miss me.”

  Soledad threw her arms around Paloma’s neck, proving the comment false. Paloma kissed her and gave her to Sancha, then hurried out of the hacienda, already regretting leaving her darlings.

  Emilio looked like a man ready to argue when Paloma said they would be safe with the two soldiers. “You know that garrison as well as I do, señora,” he said.

  “I do, estimato señor. I also know that my husband looks to me to carry out his will when he is not present.”

  Let’s see if he’ll buy that, Paloma thought. He knew better than anyone on the Double Cross the way she and the juez worked together. “The juez would expect you to keep his children safe, and you know I am in good hands with Eckapeta,” Paloma continued. “Give me no argument, Emilio. We will not be long. Don’t let down your guard.”

  What could he say? Paloma swung herself into the saddle, reminded that in a few months, she wouldn’t bend so well. She rode close to Eckapeta, and wished, as she always did, that some of the other woman’s enormous capability would rub off on her.

  They rode at a steady trot, eating up the distance with no words spoken. The private kept his eyes on the swivel, which earned an appreciative grunt from Eckapeta. “This one will live long in Valle del Sol,” the woman said at last. “The corporal, probably not.”

  “The corporal is watching, too,” Paloma said. “How are they different?”

  Eckapeta pointed with her lips. “See the fear on the corporal’s face? It masters him, even though he speaks brave words. The other soldier looks interested, but not afraid. And see how loosely he carries his lance? He’s ready, but not in a white-knuckle way.”