Backlands (13 page)

“Mind if my boy and I ride along?” he asked.

“I welcome the company,” Whetten replied.

Patrick called to the house for Evangelina and Emma. Evangelina quickly appeared at the courtyard wall, and Patrick told her of his plans.

“Okay, señor,” Evangelina replied with a wave.

“Pretty girl,” Whetten noted.

“Yes, she is,” Patrick agreed. He went to the fence and whistled Calabaza in from the horse pasture.

***

W
hile Pa and Mr. Whetten lazed behind, jawboning, Matt rode with the two vaqueros, helping them chase an occasional cow back to the bunch. The vaqueros didn't speak much English, but one of them, who had a star on his front tooth, said that Patches was a real good
caballo.
That made Matt feel proud. He couldn't wait to tell Pa and Ma as soon as they got home.

At the Hightower outfit, cows were spread out grazing and loitering in a large open pasture between a ranch house and a one-room school. A rope corral under a stand of trees enclosed a small remuda of cow ponies. At the nearby chuck wagon, the cook worked fixing grub for dinner. Matt spotted one cowboy busy caring for the ponies and another two out with the stock. Mr. Hightower waved his hat as he rode out from the ranch house to greet them, and Matt waved back, thinking this was the best day he'd ever spent on the Tularosa. Maybe he'd be a cowboy rather than a soldier when he grew up. Or both, like CJ and Pa.

Earl Hightower drew rein next to Matt just as Patrick and Makiah Whetten came up.

“Gents, my wife wants y'all to stay for dinner,” he said.

“It would be my pleasure,” Whetten said.

“We'll eat early so you and young Matt here can get back to the Double K by dark,” Earl said to Patrick.

“We're obliged,” Patrick replied with a smile. “No sensible man can refuse a turn at Addie's table.”

Addie Hightower kept chickens, and at supper she served Matt a juicy thigh from a plump roasted bird and a pile of dumplings smothered in gravy. The youngest of the Hightower girls, Nellie, still lived at home. A tall, serious young woman who wore eyeglasses, she taught at the school and had eleven students this year. She questioned Matt about his school in town, what he studied, and what subjects he liked best. Finally and almost reverently, she asked him if it was true that he had a personally inscribed copy of one of Gene Rhodes's books.

“Yes, ma'am, I do,” Matt said proudly. “It's a copy of
West Is West.
He sent it to me along with the story he wrote about my ma.”

“I think everyone in New Mexico has read that story,” Nellie said. “Your ma is famous.”

Matt blushed with pride.

“I'd surely like to see that story,” Mr. Whetten said.

“I'll fetch you our copy to read,” Addie Hightower said, rising from the table.

After Mr. Whetten read “Emma Makes a Hand,” a discussion started about Gene Rhodes, his life on the Tularosa, and the various facts and fictions of his supposed outlaw past. Patrick told the story of how Gene came to the Double K with the law on his trail after getting into a brawl in a mining camp. Mr. Hightower told of Gene hiding out in the San Andres with the two men accused of killing Albert Fountain and his young son, a crime that remained unsolved. Stories about Rhodes's bronco-riding skills, his love of the game of baseball, and his habit of eating only other ranchers' beef kept folks anchored at the table for a good amount of time. When the conversation slowed, Earl Hightower eyed the remaining daylight outside the kitchen window and invited Patrick and Matt to stay the night.

“We appreciate the invite,” Patrick replied, “but we'll mosey on home.”

With thanks to Addie and Earl for a fine meal and good company, and a farewell handshake with Makiah Whetten, Patrick and Matt left, jigging their ponies to a fast trot to take advantage of the fading daylight. At dinner, Patrick had had an anxious moment when Whetten reminisced about first meeting Patrick years ago, but thankfully he'd steered clear of any mention of the trouble Patrick had caused in a Juárez whorehouse. His shameful behavior and quarrelsome nature that day cost him a beating and almost lost him Cal Doran's friendship and the Double K.

The lag between nightfall and moonrise slowed their progress, and when they raised up the ranch house, Matt was asleep in the saddle, his head bobbing against his chest. Lamplight spilled through the kitchen window, but all was quiet when Patrick dismounted at the hitching post. He carried his sleeping son to the veranda, pulled off his boots, wrapped him gently in his bedroll, and tended to the horses before returning to the house. In the kitchen, slices of bread and thick slabs of beef had been left out on a covered plate. Next to it was a note from Emma.

We waited up late for you two cowboys to come home and finally decided you either stayed over the night at Earl and Addie's or got in a wreck on the way back. If you got in a wreck, don't wake us unless you need patching up. If you're hungry, have a bite and put your dirty dishes in the tub.

Emma

He put the note in his pocket, carried the lamp into the living room, and paused for a moment at Emma's bedroom door to listen. All was silent. He suppressed an urge to look in on her, went to his room, shucked his clothes, and sank down on the bed. He could still work hard day and night and spend long hours in the saddle, but now there were aches and pains in his joints and muscles that sometimes kept him awake. He fell asleep within minutes, only to be roughly shaken awake by Evangelina, who hovered over him, the lamp in her hand shining in his eyes.

“You must come,” she said, the words spilling out of her. “Come now. Emma is very sick.”

He sat bolt upright, his head sluggish. “What's wrong?”

Evangelina grabbed his hand and yanked him to his feet. “She can't breathe. I'm afraid that she is dying.”

I
n the morning, Emma sat propped up in bed and in a raspy, breathless voice asked Patrick to take her and Matthew home to Las Cruces.

“I'm not carting you anywhere,” Patrick countered. He'd spent the darkest hours before dawn with her, wiping sweat from her brow and listening to her labored breathing.

“I'll see my doctor as soon as you carry me home,” she promised.

“I'll fetch him to you,” Patrick countered.

“You don't have to do that.” Emma stroked Matthew's cheek as he snuggled close to her. “We'll be fine once we're home. Isn't that right, Matthew?”

“You should do as Pa says,” Matt said sternly.

Emma wrinkled her nose at his disloyalty. “Bringing the doctor here won't do me one bit of good.”

“Then why did you say you'd see him in town?” Patrick demanded.

Emma quit arguing. “How long do you plan to hold me hostage?”

“Until the doctor says you're well enough to travel.”

“It will take a day or more to bring him here.”

“Evangelina can care for you.” He turned to Evangelina. “Will you?”

“
Sí,
for as long as you and Emma wish,” she replied.

“That seals it. Do you agree?”

Emma nodded her acquiescence.

“Good,” Patrick said. “Matt, you stick close, help your ma with whatever she needs, and do what Evangelina asks while I'm gone. You savvy?”

“Yes, sir,” Matt replied solemnly.

“I'm making horse tracks.”

Emma grabbed his hand. “This really isn't necessary,” she said softly, looking him squarely in the eyes, hoping he'd realize fetching the doctor was pointless.

“Can your sawbones sit a horse?” he asked, fully aware of her meaning, refusing to believe it.

“I don't know.”

“I'll take old Stony along and tie the doctor to the saddle if need be,” Patrick announced with a grin. “You take care, old girl. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Emma smiled back. “I'll see you then.” Patrick left, and tears filled her eyes.

“Are you crying, Ma?” Matthew asked.

“No, I'm not,” Emma answered with a sniffle. “It's just this darn cold.” But that wasn't the case at all; it was the astonishing realization that Patrick truly did love her.

***

F
or several hours after Patrick's departure, Matthew sat at the foot of Emma's bed reading a Western called
Arizona Nights,
a book of old cowboy stories told around a campfire, with some really super illustrations in it by an artist named N.C. Wyeth. It had been published in 1907, five years before Matt was born.

“Are you going to sit there with your nose stuck in that book all day?” Emma asked.

“Pa said to stay close,” Matt replied. Last night, he'd dreamt that he'd grabbed on to Jimmy as he was falling out of the tree and they both crashed to the ground dead. The fright of it woke him up. “Besides, I'm worried about you feeling so poorly.”

“There's no need for that.” Emma smiled and swung her twitchy legs to the floor. “It's too nice a day to be cooped up inside. I'm going to sit on the veranda. In fact, you know what I'd like even more? If you and Evangelina will carry my mattress and bedding to the veranda, I'm sure the fresh air will help me clear my lungs. I can rest there while you show me all the tricks you and your pa have taught Patches.”

Matt closed his book and nodded eagerly. “Wait until you see what he can do.”

“Before you jingle your spurs, I want you to know I've decided to ask Evangelina to come home with us. Is that okay with you?”

“You bet,” Matt said. “I like her a lot.”

Very slowly, Emma stood. “Good. Now, I'm going to the
baño
and then to the veranda. You do know what a
baño
is, don't you?”

“Everybody knows that word,” Matt groaned as he left to find Evangelina.

Alone in the privy, Emma coughed up thick brown phlegm from her waterlogged lungs. Every breath caused pain; every cough singed her throat. She was burning up, sweating profusely. She coughed until it turned into a rough, dry hack and finally, gratefully subsided. On the veranda, her mattress and bedding were laid out with her pillows plumped against the wall.

She stood for a moment marveling at the Tularosa: the wind-rippled sands, the flat-bottomed arroyos, the fingertip lava flows touching soft, narrow sand hills decorated by scattered squawbushes, thickets of yucca with stalks ten feet high, the gray, empty alkali flats, all framed and enclosed by majestic mountains.

She'd once read that treasure appeared only to those who did not seek it. She decided the same could be said of the stark beauty of the Tularosa. It always took her by surprise and captivated her.

Below, at the hitching post, Matthew sat mounted on Patches, ready to begin his demonstration. Emma called for Evangelina to join her, and together they watched, applauding each successful maneuver Matthew accomplished. When he finished, Emma summoned up a whistle that left her breathless and Evangelina shouted, “
¡Muy bueno!
”

Matthew grinned with pleasure, took his bow still ahorseback, and walked Patches to the corral.

“He's a fine boy,” Emma said. “He'll need someone besides Patrick in his life to care for him after I'm gone.”

“What are you saying?” Evangelina asked.

“When Patrick asked, you said you would care for me as long as I wished. If I guaranteed your wages, would you do the same for Matthew?”

“I would not work for Señor Kerney?”

“Yes, you would. But I'd arrange for the money to be there so it would never be a burden on Patrick for you to stay on.”

“How long would my job last?”

“As long as you, Matthew, and Patrick want it to.”

Evangelina hesitated. “I'm not sure.”

“You must decide now,” Emma urged. “If you agree, I'll send Matthew off to the mailbox with a letter to my banker.”

“My father will be angry.”

“But you will be an independent woman earning your own wages.”

Evangelina covered her mouth and giggled like a schoolgirl at such an outlandish idea.

“Well?”

“I will do it.”

“Thank you,” Emma said with great relief.

At Patrick's desk, she found pen, paper, and an envelope and stamp and quickly wrote to Henry Bowman. She sealed the envelope, gave it to Matt, and told him to take it to the mailbox at the end of the ranch road.

“Pa said I'm supposed to stick close to you,” he argued.

“Out here on the Tularosa, anywhere less than a day's ride is close,” Emma rebutted. “If you make horse tracks at a lope, you'll be back soon enough.”

Matt balked.

“Please do as I ask,” Emma said politely.

“Okay,” he said. He kissed her check and hurried out the door.

Emma turned to Evangelina and said, “I think it would be a very good idea to clean out the chicken coop and ask Patrick to buy some hens and a rooster.”

“It is not too late to start a small garden,” Evangelina proposed.

Emma beamed her approval. “An excellent idea. Let's make a shopping list for his next trip to town. There are staples you desperately need for the pantry.”

With Evangelina's help, Emma prepared a shopping list and then wrote to Patrick informing him of her wish to have Evangelina care for Matthew and her arrangement to have his trust pay her wages.

She handed the letter to Evangelina and said, “Make sure he gets this.”

“You can give it to him upon his return,” Evangelina proposed.

“I may forget,” Emma replied, pushing the sealed envelope back into Evangelina's hand. If she did get to see Patrick once more, she didn't want talk of money to tarnish the visit.

***

P
atrick returned in the morning with Emma's doctor, David Mead Sperry. With great effort she was able to pull herself to a sitting position and put on a bright smile before they dismounted and reached the veranda.

“I didn't think you'd make it,” she said to Patrick.

His eyes searched her face. “You should know better than that.”

“I do.” She turned to Dr. Sperry. “Now that you're here, please tell Patrick I can go home.”

“Not so fast,” Sperry replied cheerily. Tired, sore, dusty, and hungry, he smiled at Emma as he dropped to one knee, took a close look, and said to Patrick, “Give us a minute or two alone, if you please.”

“I'll have Evangelina fix you up some grub,” Patrick said as he reluctantly walked to the kitchen.

Sperry felt Emma's forehead. She was burning up, emaciated in the face, and flushed pink from her neck to her cheeks. Her pupils were dilated and of unequal size, a worrisome sign of a stroke.

“I'm a tough old bird, Doctor,” Emma said weakly.

“So it seems,” Sperry replied as he felt her pulse. It was rapid and erratic. “Your ex-husband is a very persistent fellow.”

“I told him not to bother fetching you.”

“He obviously didn't pay attention.” Sperry listened to her heart and her lungs and took her temperature. She had a high fever, a collapsed lung, fluid in the other lung, and a heart that could stop beating at any second. “Did you faint or fall recently?”

Emma nodded. “Yes, last night. I just collapsed. When I came to, Evangelina helped me back to my bed.”

“Have you lost feeling anywhere?” Sperry asked.

“My left side is numb and my vision is blurry.”

“Okay.” Sperry took her pulse again. Her heartbeat slowed, spiked, paused, and spiked again.

“I'm dying, doctor,” Emma whispered. “I can feel my body leaving me.”

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

Emma shook her head.

“You'll sleep soon,” Sperry said gently. “It won't be long now.”

“Good.”

Sperry rose. At the kitchen door he called everyone to the veranda.

Emma closed her eyes and smiled, remembering that when Cal lay dying she'd sent Gene Rhodes to fetch a doctor. Cal had argued it was a waste of time and money and proved himself right by dying two hours before Gene and the doctor arrived.

Willpower last night had kept her alive waiting for Patrick's return. Now she could let go. She wanted to let go.

She opened her eyes. Patrick, Matthew, and Evangelina surrounded her. Patrick and Matthew held her hands. She barely felt their touch. Holding a rosary, Evangelina silently prayed. A fuzzy shape in the background against the Tularosa sky might have been Dr. Sperry.

For an instant she panicked at the thought that she had something important to say, but words—all language—flitted from her mind. She smiled, closed her eyes, and vanished.