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Fatemeh Karimi nervously entered Mesilla’s courthouse. She wasn’t certain what to expect. The courtroom was a simple affair. There were a few benches facing a wooden barrier with a gate in the center. Fatemeh was not surprised to see Luther Duncan sitting in the first row. She was surprised to see some sympathetic faces in the audience, including Mr. and Mrs. Castillo and Thomas Bull. Also in the audience was another somewhat familiar face—Ramon’s former deputy, Ray Hillerman. Fatemeh would have been glad for the company of Mercy Rodriguez, but suspected she was absent because of her sensitivity to sunlight. Behind the barrier was an ornately carved desk. A big chair stood behind the desk and another one sat to its side. Two tables with chairs faced the desk and two empty rows of benches sat to the side of the room. Fatemeh sat next to the Castillos.
A few minutes after Fatemeh arrived, a group of twelve men were ushered in by one of Mesilla’s Deputy Marshals. They sat on the benches at the side of the room. Soon after they arrived, Sheriff Mariano Barela led Ramon into the room. Fatemeh gasped when she saw him. His arms were handcuffed behind his back. His white shirt was disheveled and sweat-stained. His round glasses hung askew on his face, threatening to topple to the ground. It looked as though he hadn’t shaved since his arrest. Barela and Ramon sat down at one of the tables. Fatemeh stood, but Mrs. Castillo grabbed her arm and indicated she should sit quietly.
For the better part of fifteen minutes, an uncomfortable silence filled the room, broken only by an occasional muffled cough. Finally a door opened and another man with a star entered the room. Mrs. Castillo leaned over and whispered that he was the court bailiff.
“The Territorial District Court of New Mexico is now in session, the Honorable Judge Bristol presiding. All rise,” declared the bailiff. Fatemeh watched as everyone around her stood. She quickly did the same.
A man in black robes entered the room and sat at the large, wooden desk. “You may be seated,” he said. He shuffled through some papers while everyone resumed their seats. The judge took time to read two papers he singled out from the rest. He had gray hair and a long, gray mustache that made him look like he was always frowning. After a moment, he looked at Ramon. “Ramon Morales, you are accused of assaulting the Bishop of Socorro and it says here that afterwards, you abandoned your duly elected duties as Sheriff of Socorro. How do you plead, sir?”
Ramon stood up and his arm twitched, as though he was going to reach up and adjust his glasses. “I’m not guilty of assaulting the bishop, Your Honor. However, I do plead guilty to abandoning my job.”
“Well, that makes things a little easier,” said the judge. Fatemeh thought she saw the corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk. “Come have a seat.” The judge indicated the chair next to his desk.
Ramon moved around the table and stood in front of the judge. Sheriff Barela followed him and unlocked the handcuffs. Ramon rubbed his wrists and then straightened his glasses.
The bailiff stepped up, holding a Bible. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Ramon looked at the Bible for a moment, then cast a quick glance toward Fatemeh. Finally, he put his hand on the Bible. “I do.” He sat down next to the judge.
“Mr. Morales, I have an affidavit here from Bishop Ramirez that says you interrupted a ceremony at the San Miguel Church. You grabbed a torch and you lit his robes on fire. I’d like you to tell us what happened in your own words.”
Ramon swallowed. “Well, Your Honor, Bishop Ramirez had decided to take the law into his own hands. There was a new curandera in town who objected to his brother-in-law’s mining interests. The bishop decided to burn Fatemeh—the curandera—at the stake as a heretic.”
The judge laughed outright, even though he still seemed to be frowning. “Do you expect me to believe that? It sounds like something out of the Salem Witch Trials, not something from the Nineteenth Century.”
“Your Honor, I swore to tell the truth,” said Ramon. “When I tried to stop him, the torch he was going to use to light the pyre fell. It lit the bishop’s robes on fire.”
Fatemeh stood up in her seat. “That’s exactly what happened,” she declared.
Mrs. Castillo reached up and pulled her back to the seat as the judge banged a little hammer on the desk. “I’ll have order in this court.” He pointed the hammer toward Fatemeh. “What is your name, young woman?”
“Fatemeh Karimi,” she said. “I’m the…curandera.”
The judge nodded. “You agree with Mr. Morales’s testimony?”
“I do, Your Honor.” Fatemeh nodded emphatically.
The judge looked over at Ramon. “She your girlfriend?”
Ramon smiled sheepishly. “Yes, Your Honor. She is.”
“So tell me,” said the judge, his brow creased, “if the bishop was going to burn this young lady—who seems quite taken with you, by the way—why didn’t you arrest him and charge him with attempted murder?”
Fatemeh felt her cheeks grow warm at the judge’s words. Ramon shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “The bishop is popular, Your Honor. His brother-in-law owns one of the major businesses in Socorro. I was afraid I might have a riot on my hands.”
“You took an oath to uphold the law, Mr. Morales. Whether your story is accurate, or Bishop Ramirez’s, I don’t take kindly to what you’ve told me. You either committed a crime, then fled the scene, or you witnessed a crime and didn’t pursue it. Do I understand that correctly?”
Ramon looked down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yes, Your Honor. You do.”
“You may step down,” said the judge. As Ramon stood, Sheriff Barela approached and put the handcuffs back around his wrists and led him to the table. The judge then turned and asked Ray Hillerman to take the seat next to him. Once Hillerman was sworn in, the judge turned to him. “Mr. Hillerman, I gather you’re the new acting Sheriff of Socorro. What can you tell us about the day Mr. Morales is accused of assaulting the bishop?”
Hillerman shifted in his seat and he looked from Ramon to the judge. “I saw a lot of riled up people carrying wood to the San Miguel Church. I reported that to the sheriff.”
“Did you accompany Mr. Morales to the church?”
“No, Your Honor. I stayed behind at the office.”
“So, you didn’t actually see the events transpire at the church?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“What did you think was happening?”
“I’m not rightly sure.” Hillerman’s brow creased as he remembered the day in question. “I thought it could be something like a barbecue, but like I said, the people seemed awfully riled up. I figured some kind of trouble was brewing.”
“Do you have any reason to doubt Mr. Morales’s story?”
“No, Your Honor. A lot of people around Socorro still talk about Miss Fatemeh like she’s some kind of witch. I think they’re glad she’s gone. Others miss her, though. She helped a lot of people, too.”
“What about Mr. Morales? Are people glad he’s gone?”
Ray Hillerman smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know about most people, but I sure miss having the sheriff around. I wish he hadn’t left, but if I were in his shoes, I mighta done just what he did.”
“You may step down.” The judge turned to the jury. “We’ve already heard Mr. Morales plead guilty to the charge of abandoning his duties in Socorro. All I need from you is a decision about whether or not he really assaulted the bishop.” He handed some papers to the bailiff who passed them to one of the men in the jury. “That’s the affidavit from the bishop and you’ve heard Mr. Morales’s side of the story. The bailiff will take you to chambers where you can deliberate. Let him know when you’ve reached a decision.” The judged banged his gavel on the desk.
“All rise,” called the bailiff. Everyone stood as the judge left the courtroom.
Luther Duncan walked over to Fatemeh and the Castillos. “Well, that was about the briefest trial I’ve ever seen.”
“What do you t
hink’s going on?” asked Mr. Castillo.
Thomas Bull came over. “I’ve heard a little about Randolph Dalton. He doesn’t like it when other people get the better of him.”
“That’s right,” Hillerman said. “I wasn’t going to press charges against the sheriff, but Mr. Dalton and the bishop kept after me for the last six months. I didn’t have any choice.”
Fatemeh excused herself and went up to the rail. “Ramon, I’m so sorry,” she said.
Ramon looked around. His glasses had slipped down his nose again. “I’m not. The last few months have been the happiest I’ve ever had. I’d gladly do it all over again, even if I knew the price was jail.”
Fatemeh pushed his glasses back up on his nose and kissed him. She stepped back. “Where will they send you?”
“Probably up to the territorial prison in Santa Fe.”
“Will I be able to come and visit?”
“I hope you will,” said Ramon with a wan smile.
They were interrupted when one of the deputy marshals led the jury back into the room. Luther Duncan eyed them, his head inclined, as he went back to his place and opened his notebook. “That was quick,” he muttered as he passed Fatemeh.
“All rise,” called the bailiff.
The judge entered and took his seat at the big desk. “You may be seated,” he said. He looked over to the jury. “I understand you’ve reached a verdict?”
One of the men in the jury stood. “We have, Your Honor. We find Mr. Ramon Morales not guilty of assaulting Bishop Ramirez.”
Fatemeh let out a sigh of relief and Ramon smiled. The judge nodded and indicated the juror should be seated. He made some notes and then looked up at Ramon. “Please stand, Mr. Morales.”
Ramon stood up.
“The jury has found you not guilty of the crime of assault, but you have pleaded guilty to abandoning your duties as Sheriff of Socorro. I sentence you to five years in the Socorro County Jail.” He banged his wooden hammer on the desk. “Sheriff Hillerman, you will take the prisoner in your custody.”
The bailiff called for everyone to rise once again as the judge left the courtroom. Hillerman and Ramon looked uncomfortably at one another. “I’m sorry, Ramon, I’ll do what I can to keep an eye out for you,” said Hillerman.
“I know you will,” said Ramon, but Fatemeh heard a certain hopelessness in his words.
“What do you mean?” asked Fatemeh. “Ramon, I thought you said they would take you to Santa Fe.”
“That’s what I thought they would do…”
Mariano Barela stepped between Ramon and Fatemeh. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the courtroom.”
“But Sheriff Barela…” she started to protest.
“Please, leave now,” said Barela firmly.
Fatemeh nodded, a tear running down her cheek. She blew a kiss toward Ramon and turned away. Outside the courthouse, she found Luther Duncan, Thomas Bull, and the Castillos.
“I don’t like what’s happened here today,” said Thomas Bull. “Not one little bit. Ramon Morales is a good man.”
“Why are they sending him to Socorro?” Duncan shook his head. “Unless the county jail up there is a lot bigger than the one down here in Doña Ana County, it’s not equipped to hold anyone for five years. They should have sent him to the Territorial Prison.”
Bull let out a sigh. “He’s not being punished for leaving his job as sheriff. He’s being punished for defying Randolph Dalton and his brother-in-law, Bishop Ramirez. That’s why the trial was such a rush job. Once the judge got the guilty plea, he didn’t need to waste any more time.”
“Do you think he was paid off?” asked Duncan.
Bull shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. No judge wants to spend more time on a trial than he needs to. Maybe he was paid off; maybe he just didn’t want to sit around all day. The result’s the same.”
“That may be true,” interjected Fatemeh. “But why does it matter whether he’s a prisoner in Socorro or Santa Fe? He’ll still be locked up for five years.”
Frowning, Bull put his hands in his pockets. “In my opinion he’ll be lucky if he lasts five years in Socorro. I’m guessing Dalton wants him there so he can make an example of him.”
Fatemeh shook her head. “Can’t good men like Ray Hillerman protect him?”
“My dear,” said Mr. Castillo. “I’m afraid Mr. Bull may be right. Ray Hillerman can try to keep an eye on Ramon, but he can’t watch the jail all the time. If Mr. Dalton is as powerful as people seem to think he is, I’m sure it would be all too easy for him to arrange for Ramon to have an ‘accident’.”
Fatemeh’s eyes widened. Mrs. Castillo wrapped her arm around Fatemeh’s shoulders.
“We’ve got to do something,” said Fatemeh. “Whether he’s guilty of a crime or not, Ramon shouldn’t die because he defied a powerful man.”
“I agree,” said Bull, “but I’m not sure what we can do.”
Luther Duncan chewed on his lower lip and looked to the west. “I think I may know someone who can help.”
Chapter Six
Kid Antrim
Fatemeh Karimi tossed and turned under the blankets of her bed in the Castillos’ rooming house. Several times, she opened her eyes to the darkened room. Luther Duncan promised to meet her soon after sunrise. He indicated he knew someone who could help get Ramon out of jail. She thought he might have been referring to an attorney or perhaps another judge, but when she asked him about it, he was rather evasive. She suspected his plan to get Ramon out of jail did not lie along legal channels.
Sighing, Fatemeh fluffed up her pillow, rolled onto her back and stared at the darkened ceiling. She thought about Ramon at the trial—unshaven with his glasses askew. It broke her heart to think about him that way and a tear trickled into her hair. She wiped it away, wondering how a man could affect her so.
Back in Persia, Mohammedan women submitted themselves to their husbands. Only five years before, her family had been inquiring among their network of friends and acquaintances about a suitable husband for her. Fatemeh shuddered at the memory and pulled the blankets up around her neck. She had no desire to subject herself to a man she did not know. Around that time, she heard the words of Bahá’u’lláh. His teachings that men and women were equal appealed greatly to her. Over time, she learned more of the Bahá’í Faith and eventually converted, much to her parents’ dismay.
Staring at the ceiling, she realized that what attracted her to Ramon was how he really did seem to treat her as an equal—more so than any other man she had ever known. He spoke to her as a friend, not as an inferior or potential property. Not only did he treat her as an equal, he seemed to listen to everyone around him. It was almost as though he was Bahá’í, but didn’t know it yet. She smiled at that thought.
Lying there in the dark, her thoughts turned to Bishop Ramirez and the people he’d sent to abduct her in Socorro. She thought about them tying her to a post and how the ropes cut into her wrists and ankles. Her thoughts moved to memories of her friend, Nava, who had been strangled by religious leaders who considered her a heretic. Another tear fell as she thought about the people who watched, unwilling and afraid to help. When something similar nearly happened to her, Ramon had not been afraid. Now that Ramon was in trouble, she had to be courageous as well. She would listen to Luther Duncan’s plan and, unless she could think of something better, she would do her part to rescue Ramon. Even though she hoped the plan was legal, Ramon’s imprisonment in Socorro was not just. She would break the law to get him out, if that was required.
Wan light began filtering in through the window, bathing the ceiling in a soft glow. Fatemeh arose from the bed and went to the window. A small, burrowing owl stood outside the window on the porch’s roof. She pushed the window open as quietly as possible and whistled lightly at the owl. It turned its head and looked at her, then moved from one foot to the other.
“I don’t know if you can help me or not,” she said. “Be ready.”
The
owl bobbed up and down, then took to the air, and flew toward the horizon.
Later that morning, Fatemeh rode next to Luther Duncan. They were heading northwest, toward the mining town of Silver City. She left her wagon at the livery stable in the Mesilla Park along with one of her horses. She patted the horse she left behind on the nose and promised to return before long. The horse she rode trotted along contentedly, apparently happy to be on the trail and not confined to a stable. The landscape was flat and barren, dotted by scrub brush, prickly pear cactus, and tall, spindly ocotillos. In the summer, the heat would be unbearable on the trail, but it was November and a light breeze cooled the air. Mountains stood in the distance against a vivid, blue sky.
“Can you tell me who we’re looking for in Silver City?” asked Fatemeh.
“I’ve been hearing about a new deputy sheriff up there named Dan Tucker,” said Duncan. “I’m hoping he’ll be willing to help us out. If he can’t, maybe he knows someone who can.”
Fatemeh breathed a sigh of relief. She was pleased to hear they weren’t seeking help from an outlaw. As they continued to ride and she thought more about the situation, her brow creased. “What makes you think this Dan Tucker will help us?”
“According to what I’ve read, people think Sheriff Whitehill was crazy to hire Tucker.” Duncan looked toward Fatemeh. “It’s rumored he was involved in some trouble up in Colorado.”
“If that’s true, why exactly did Sheriff Whitehill hire him?” Fatemeh’s brow creased.
“Whitehill likes him because he has a strong sense of justice.” Duncan turned to face the trail again. He was silent for a time, apparently gathering his thoughts. “I suppose you could say he’s more interested in doing the right thing than following the letter of the law. He’s the one person I can think of who would listen to your story impartially and have any chance of helping.”
“That seems like a real long shot.” Fatemeh shook her head. “And, it seems like we’re going far out of our way to talk to this man who may or may not help us.”
“I know.” Duncan pursed his lips. “But do you know anyone in Mesilla or Las Cruces that could help?”
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