by John Horst
“Oh?” He pretended to look concerned, but could not carry it off. He began grinning at his two little princesses. “Whatever it takes, my girl, whatever it takes to keep you two looking so beautiful is money well spent.”
Rebecca turned to Uncle Bob and Pilar. “This is Marta.” They smiled on at the child and Pilar could not help but think back on the day she’d first met Chica. This little child was obviously too much like the wild woman, but this time, Pilar didn’t mind.
Rebecca could not contain herself and grabbed Pilar, pulled her down so that she could reach and kissed the woman on the cheek. “I’ve missed you, Pilar.”
“And I you, my little one.”
“You sure had us worried, child.” Uncle Bob stood next to Pilar, beaming at the girl. “So, this is the famous little Marta.”
Marta smiled at the old man. She felt so queer. Evidently, the fine lady had told everyone all about her. It felt so funny to be such a celebrity. She didn’t fully comprehend the greatness of her deeds and could not believe that these decent folk wanted to give her any consideration at all. They were all so good. Good people. Chica was behind her and spoke up, “Marta, you remember this one?” The old man stepped out from behind one of the ranch hands.
“Old man!” She was pleased to see him. She looked up at Chica. “I knew you would find him! Thank you Señora.”
She ran up on the old man, not certain what to do. He reached out and touched her under the chin.
“Old man, what is your name?”
The old man smiled. He knew now that the little girl would be all right. She was learning from the fine good people, learning to be civil, learning to be a human being. “I am Ramon Jesus Santiago de la Garza.” He grinned broadly. “But you can call me old man.”
Everyone laughed loudly and the old man smiled.
“We are in El Mundo now, eh, old man?”
“Oh, yes, little one, we are in El Mundo for certain.”
Marta looked back at Chica again. “Thank you.”
Rebecca began looking about, searching for her grandmother and suddenly felt so anxious that she might not be well. Before she could speak, Abuelita could be seen galloping up on a lathered pony, riding English and sidesaddle. She looked grand in her outfit, quickly sliding off the horse and into their midst. She grabbed her little granddaughter and spun her around. Rebecca looked down and announced her to Marta.
Abuelita smiled, “So, we finally meet.” She kissed Marta hard on the cheek, leaving a big wet mark and the little former bandit was not certain what to do. Abuelita grabbed her by the hand, and Rebecca in the other, she moved deliberately toward the house. “Let’s eat.”
They got everyone to the table and had a grand lunch. The girls ate together and afterward Pilar ushered them into Rebecca’s bedroom. A second bed had already been placed next to Rebecca’s so that her new sister would be beside her. They prepared to change into riding clothes as Marta looked about the room, jaw agape at its loveliness.
“You can have your very own room, if you want, Marta, but I wanted you to stay with me for now, if that’s okay.” Marta stood, looking stunned. Her eyes moved about the room. She’d never known such a room. The maestro had a fancy, frilly room, but it looked like a bordello. This room was pretty and feminine and Marta wondered if, once she settled in, she’d ever want to leave it. She looked on at Rebecca’s library with so many wonderful books. She picked one up and looked through it. Until now, she’d only known the bible and an old World Atlas and the book about the man walking through hell with Virgil. Rebecca’s books were a special prize indeed.
“I want to stay in here, Rebecca, if you’ll have me.”
Rebecca had rummaged through her wardrobe and found two bathing suits. She gave the bigger one to Marta. She would be able to squeeze into her last year’s suit. It would do, and anyway, they always stretched once they’d gotten wet. She handed the new suit to Marta who looked at it, uncertain of its purpose.
“We are going up to Rebecca’s place.”
“You have your own house?” The little bandit was confused and Rebecca smiled.
“No, it’s a camp, an old Indian ruin on our land. There’s a nice deep pool and we can swim. It was named after my Daddy’s first wife. She died.”
She went out as Marta finished dressing for the ride. The little bandit was not used to the new boots, but wanted to get them right without Rebecca’s help.
As Rebecca waited for her she watched her father fumble with Tammy, getting ready for the afternoon’s ride. He looked so old and frail to her now and she realized what he must have been through down in Mexico. She saw that he had to shuffle. He used to skip around, like a young boy but now he shuffled and he had to use his left hand to make his right hand behave. She watched him until he noticed her.
“All ready?” He still had the wonderful smile though. Nothing would ever make him stop smiling, she was certain.
“Daddy, you are not well.” She looked as though she might cry.
“Oh, it’s nothing, darling.” He walked with her to the bench by the bunkhouse and sat down. He pulled her onto his lap and held her gently. “I’m getting better all the time.”
“What happened to you?”
“A broken heart.” She looked up at him confused.
“When I heard about you and Mommy and Grandmother, I just fell over, had a broken heart, and it made my face all crooked, made me all limp on this side.” He showed her his hand, pretending to lose control of it and she smiled weakly. “But I’m better now. Not back to my old self yet, but much better.”
She kissed him on the cheek and put her arms around him, squeezing him with all her might.
He became a little serious. “I’m awfully sorry this happened Rebecca. I’m awfully sorry I didn’t get you right away. God knows I would have traded places if I could. I…your mother sure saved the day, didn’t she?”
“She did, Daddy, but I never once thought you didn’t do your best. I never ever thought you weren’t trying.”
By late afternoon they were at the deep pool. It had been kept well since Chica had come into their lives as she meant for it to commemorate the memory of Rebecca the wife and Arvel’s first child. She also was fond of it as it was where she fell completely in love with Arvel, and where she guessed, by her best reckoning, that little Rebecca had been conceived.
They’d built a small cabin here and rebuilt the stone wall of the Indian cave dwelling. The girls ran inside to change into their bathing suits. They were splashing and swimming in short order. Rebecca began teaching Marta to properly swim.
“Shall we go for a dip, Old Girl?” Uncle Bob smiled slyly at Pilar.
“Old Man, you know I don’t swim.” She was working, preparing for dinner as everyone milled about, reveling in the return home, the community of their wonderful family, happy to be alive.
Arvel and Chica sat together, legs dangling in the pool and Chica whispered into his ear, “Remember what we did here the first time, Pendejo?” She smiled and gave him a wet kiss on the ear. “We made that one.” She pointed at her little girl with her toe. Arvel blushed and Chica threw her head back, laughing. The girls looked up, it was the first time Marta had heard her new mother laugh and it made her feel good, all fluttery in the pit of her stomach. She looked down at herself in Rebecca’s bathing suit.
“I never swam in clothes before.” She was pleased.
They were permitted to stay up as late as they wanted. Uncle Bob brought a guitar and they played and sang. Pilar made so many pan de muertos that Rebecca could not finish all of hers and gave them to Marta who’d eaten her share and was ready for more. She’d never tasted anything like them in her life.
Try as they might, they just could not stay up any longer and bedded down under the stars. Their daddy made up a big sleeping bag so they could lie down together. Marta looked over at her new sister. She listened to the happy voices of the adults nearby. Everyone was so happy and gay and they spoke of wonderful things.
They said no bad words and no one was drunk or fighting or retching or screaming or crying out. No one was threatening or dangerous or mean. “It cannot always be like this, can it Rebecca?”
“Like what?” Rebecca was drifting, she half mumbled her reply.
“So nice, and good and happy.”
“Oh, it is, Marta.” She snuggled down into the blanket and fell fast asleep.
Marta followed. She yawned and mumbled. “This isn’t El Mundo …this is heaven.”
Billy Livingston made it on a sunny day to the cool dark of the Bisbee Library. The old librarian was waiting for him and it was nice to be missed. She walked him to a quiet corner where she’d held a collection of the most recent editions of The Lancet, Nature, and the Journal of the American Medical Association. She noted that Dr. George had recently read them and asked the librarian to point out the articles that would likely be interesting to him. He smiled at her and sat down for a long afternoon of reading. He thought about Dan George’s wound and decided he’d leave at five to check in on the family.
As he read, his mind wandered back to the events of the last many days. He was a fortunate man as he was permitted to do things that reflected his talents. This he attributed primarily to Arvel Walsh. It was Arvel who brought him into this circle of friends and it was Arvel who was the glue that kept them all together. Without him, Billy would just be another eccentric genius, wandering the deserts of Arizona and Mexico. Now he was Billy Livingston the healer and famous throughout the land.
He was not getting younger, and thought hard about Ging Wa’s offer. He liked the young woman. She treated him as an equal. Certainly he was no physician and he appreciated his limitation in that respect, yet she always acknowledged his terrific powers of observation and his appreciation for science and objective medical research as the basis for medical practice. She’d known so-called physicians with university training who could not judge good scientific data if it hit them over the head, often choosing silly home remedies and old wives’ tale treatments to evidence based and empirically proven methods.
Ging Wa needed help and Billy could definitely serve as a capable man-midwife without further training, as he’d delivered many babies. He was also capable at tending to wounds and infections. And when he was not helping at Ging Wa’s practice, there’d certainly be time to work in the library on research and this thought was very pleasing to him.
He thought about the fact that he was an aborigine, and this worried him a bit. He’d never want the George family to lose their standing in the community by having him around. They’d both overcome the stigma, with Dan being an Indian lawyer and Ging Wa a Chinese physician, and Dan and Ging Wa had both candidly discussed this. The majority of their clients were poor and just glad for the excellent legal services and medical care. They did not see Billy’s race as a handicap and would just as soon lose patients and clients who could not see him for his gifts, see him as a human being.
At just after five he walked up to the front door of the George home. He could smell dinner cooking and thought better of it. He slowly turned from the front door, quietly making his way down the steps when Ging Wa saw him through the window. She called out to him, beckoning him in. He hesitated as he did not want to disturb the family at their evening meal.
Dan George came out, towering over his little wife. “You come in, Billy. Supper’s on.”
They dined together and Billy enjoyed little Bob. When he’d finished eating he pulled the baby from his highchair and placed him on his lap, helping him with the rest of his meal.
“Will you work with us, Billy?” Ging Wa gave him her little sideways glance, looking out through the long bangs of her raven hair.
Dan intervened. “Just bought the place next door, mate. It’s yours if you’ll come in with us. No strings attached.”
Billy looked down at the baby on his lap. “If you don’t think I’ll be a burden. Don’t want to tie you folks down. I know some folks might object to havin’ a bloke like me working on ‘em.”
“Then they can, how do they say, sod off if they don’t like it. Look at us, Billy. Do you think you'd put anyone off, being aborigine any more than an Indian and a Chinese? Besides, we don't want 'em if they don't want us, we don’t want or need their money anyway. If they’re too stupid to take advantage of Billy Livingston’s craft, then, in the words of old Scrooge, if they would rather die, they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.”
“You are so bad, Dan.” Ging Wa gave him a crooked smile. She looked on at Billy. “We want you with us, Billy, as long as you like, as Dan said, no strings attached.”
“Well then.” Billy raised his glass, “I guess I’m in.”
Chica settled in to home and prepared for the great celebration. In the year nineteen-hundred, on his eightieth birthday, Uncle Bob would marry for the second time in his life. Chica would make certain Pilar was beautiful and the old housekeeper would complain the entire time. She hated having so much attention paid her. She hated all the pomp, and she was certain she would jinx and ultimately kill Uncle Bob.
Uncle Alejandro made the journey up, but it was uncertain if he would ever leave the mule ranch. The kidnapping of Rebecca and the trip south had taken its toll on the old bandit and he had trouble catching his breath most all the time. He was content to sit on the veranda outside of Arvel’s room and watch the activities all around him.
Little Marta was most attentive to him. She called him uncle and this pleased the old man. She’d bring him his food and drinks, and constantly check to make certain he was comfortable and cool enough. He was so proud of his family of the North and enjoyed the fact that Uncle Bob, who was not much younger than he, was fit enough to take on the adventure of a marriage to Pilar, a woman several years younger.
Arvel had the habit now of sitting for a few hours every evening with his Uncle Alejandro. He knew the man was dying, they both knew it and Arvel wanted to be with him as much as possible until the end.
Arvel, on the other hand, was much stronger now and managed to walk easily, with just the slightest limp. He could throw a rope now with his right hand, but was still too weak to stop a galloping mule. He left that to the younger men.
Alice stayed through summer. She no longer harbored any delusions about getting Rebecca back East, until one day, just as casually as you please, Chica started talking about it as if there was never any question. She brought it up at dinner and looked on at the girls as they ate their meal.
“Abuelita, will you be taking Rebecca and Marta soon?”
The girls looked at each other, then at Chica, then at their grandmother.
“Oh, oh…” Alice was, for the first time in her life speechless. “I, didn’t, know you’d want me to now, Maria.”
“Sí, they will grow up like wild beasts if they stay here. You take them back to Mary-land and make them proper ladies.”
“Oh, Mamma, do you mean it? Both of us?”
“Sí.” She looked at Marta. “Will this please you, Marta?”
“I do not know. What is this place?”
“It is the land all the way back East. Where I showed you on the map, Marta. Next to the Atlantic ocean.”
“Oh, yes. I know this place. This is where Abuelita lives.”
“Sí, but you will have to learn many things, from books. If I send you to this place, will you be good and help Abuelita and not be a bandit, and look after Rebecca for me?”
“Oh, sí, señora. I will. I’ll be good. I like to read books, Rebecca has shown me all of her books and I can read them. The old man taught me and I love to read English all the time.”
“Yes, Mamma. She is good. She reads every book I give her with ease.”
Chica looked on at Abuelita. “Now you get two wild animals, not one, Abuelita. Can you do this thing?”
“With pleasure, child.” She beamed at the little girls. “With pleasure.”
XX Wedding Day
Uncle Bob insisted on a big celebratio
n and Pilar finally went along with it. She’d never had a real wedding. Chica worked on her and had her looking downright pretty. Uncle Bob got himself a fine wool suit, high collar shirt and white tie. He’d also gotten a priest, the same one Arvel had found, to do the wedding mass. Arvel and Uncle Bob were not Catholic, of course, but the ladies were, and it was important to them. The old man had also made certain that all the customs were followed. They’d had the big lasso around them and the gold coins. It was thoroughly Mexican and Pilar pretended that it was all nonsense. She was overwhelmed by her two former bosses’ consideration.
Bob also ordered hundreds of carnations, had them shipped from California and had the hands build a dance floor just outside of the corral. Arvel found a second-hand electrical generator from a defunct circus and had it shipped in from Tucson, hired an electrician to run electric lights everywhere, around the house, around the corral, strung from the barn, surrounding the dance floor. It was going to be like Christmas in summer.
This was going to be an event to remember and it was all for Pilar. Of all the people in the world, Chica ended up being Pilar’s madrina de velacion and it now seemed completely appropriate.
Uncle Bob chuckled at the memory of when, the day that Chica had first come into their lives, Pilar spat on the ground and declared that the wild young woman was no good. It was a strange transition, but, over the years, the two became devoted friends.
Pilar learned to take Chica as she was, a little coarse, very unpredictable and still completely wild. She knew that Chica had a difficult time in her young life. No one ever knew or asked Chica about it, not even Arvel. Chica never talked about it and no one dared to inquire.
But Chica softened as well. She learned that refinement wasn’t a bad thing. She wanted her little Rebecca to be raised right and always appreciated that Pilar’s stability would assure it. And most important of all, Chica had proven to Pilar that she was the perfect mother and wife, completely and unquestioningly devoted to her family, her Rebecca and her Arvel and all the good people on the ranch. Chica lived to serve and nurture and protect her family and this was the quality Pilar admired most in the young woman.
