As Don Federico stepped out the door, he came face to face with a drunkard coming to visit Hanson. Thomas White was a small man, middle-aged, white-haired, and wearing faded overalls. He had drifted into town over a year ago and had been hanging around the local saloons.
"Wouldn't happen to have a quarter for a drink?" asked the drunk.
Don Federico reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver dollar. "Have four good whiskey shots on me!" he replied loudly, looking the man square in the eyes. Then, in a soft whisper, he addressed the man. "Have you found out anything?"
"Got the information you need. I'll get in touch with you later," the drunk whispered hoarsely.
Tom White saluted him by taking his hat off and nodding. Talking loudly, he glanced beyond Don Federico to see if anyone was watching them from inside the Ranger office. "Thank you so much, sir! Top o' the mornin' to you, mister," he said, as if they were complete strangers, then winked at Don Federico.
Hours passed as Roy and Fred had amused themselves by looking in the shop windows and discovering such things as mannequins wearing nothing but colorful, striped underwear. They were like two innocent children being led into the maddening world. This was the new style coming into a world of outlaws, cowboys, and vaqueros, amidst the mixed cultures and new modern ideas introduced by the Europeans.
"I wunder if by displayin' dos’ damn get-ups dat they inten's for us to become re-la-tives to the rat'lers, " snickered Roy.
"We'd become cousins to the snakes," agreed Fred, laughing.
"I wouldn't git caught dead in dat…dat…git-up!" Roy chuckled. "Sum' good-lookin' ol' gal might see me in dat and call me a sissie!" They both laughed.
Fred had immensely enjoyed the day. He had bought Victoria a beautiful silver music box, which would go well on her elaborate dressing table. He couldn't wait to see her look of joy and surprise when she opened her present. Most of all, he couldn't wait until the whole blessed ceremonial event would take place for her birthday. All kinds of people would be coming to her fiesta: people from all the ranchitos in the Valley; his grandparents from Monterrey; relatives from Brownsville from his Grandmother Juelson's side, which he had not seen in over a year. Other relatives he couldn't wait to see were John and Jaime from Mercedes City. Families from across the river would also join them in Victoria's birthday celebration.
Over a year ago, everything had been postponed by the death of his grandfather, George. How he missed him. The entire immediate family went into mourning for a long time, wearing only black clothing. Mirrors were draped in black cloth for over three months. The wakes! Those long agonizing prayers that followed one rosary after another, saying the same thing over and over again on bent knees after the funeral, for days that followed. This year, it's gonna be different! Fred decided. He told Roy, "Victoria is going to be sixteen, and everything is going to be so much fun. I can hardly wait."
Crossing the main dirt road, Don Federico met them halfway on Jackson Street. "Men!" he ordered. "Let's get the team and wagon and let's get goin'. The clouds to the Southeast look very unfriendly," he said, pointing to the dark, cloudy sky. "Manuel was right. He is always right. There's a hurricane on its way, and we had better hurry home. The wind is picking up and getting worse."
"Reckon we need to git. It's a gittin' to weathered-up. "
Roy tried to strike up a conversation with Don Federico but saw the sullen and bitter expression on his face. His instincts told him that something had gone wrong, and there were things bothering the great cattle baron. He looked like he had been pistol-whipped.
"How da thing’ go for ya'?" The amiable foreman asked the question in passing conversation. Don Federico did not answer right away. He was already chewing the inside of his jaw. It was a sign of deep thought and problems.
"We'll talk about it when we get home," replied Don Federico, somberly drained. "We must hurry home and get the supplies inside. Looks like the weather's changing and a hard storm is heading our way." Then he went silent.
Moving quickly with their heavy load, they took the shortest possible route straight north of Harlingen and then turned west. Eventually, they would arrive at the entrance to Spanish Acres by way of an uneven, dirt pathway that had not been traveled for many days. Old tracks from past wagon wheels were engraved in the hard dirt road; the land around it was covered in dry grass, and rough mesquite and untamed brush spread their heavy branches, shadowing both sides of the road. Very little was said, for their main goal was to get home before dusk. The wind was rising fast and talk had now become virtually impossible.
Roy began trail-blazing in front of Don Federico's wagon. He was familiar with the wild, harsh terrain and the shortest route, and he kept pace far ahead of the wagon. The mules snorted and wheezed when the wagon's wheels sank and hit the rough potholes. Don Federico and Fred held onto their hats and bounced in uncompromising positions on the hard wooden wagon seat, struggling to stay on the wagon. Tumbleweeds skittered and dry native Johnson grass rattled. The dust devils whirled, coming toward them from all directions.
Occasionally a jackrabbit jumped from the bushes out into the dirt trail, staring for a moment, and then hopped on, hiding in the thick bramble. Small, white-tailed deer always alert to movement, darted about in front of them, taking refuge in the impassable underbrush.
Hours passed. They came upon the resaca and hurried on. Soon, out in the far distance, they could see the familiar metal windmills of the hacienda, standing tall in the dust-laden air. The cacti, shrubs, and undergrowth had come alive in the late afternoon with creatures sensing the tension in the foreboding and volatile weather bearing down upon them. Hundreds of black tarantulas, out of their burrows, were crossing the dirt road, knowing instinctively that a storm was coming and that they needed to run for cover.
CHAPTER 5
Meanwhile, Doña Francisca had left the hacienda at the break of dawn and strolled to visit the hired hands' families, as she did daily. With her great devotion, acting from strong commitment, the lady of the hacienda would bring them medicine, mostly herbs and commodities from the hacienda's storehouse. With her deep religious convictions, she would start her day in prayer, attending the small chapel of La Virgen de Guadalupe. It was a small shrine, next to the water fountain in the main courtyard, built for her in the early days of marriage to Don Federico. Saying her morning invocations had always consoled Doña Francisca, giving her strength and courage for the coming day. There was always something going on in the hacienda, and each day had become a trying one. She would then attend to her household duties full of zest, giving Mamá Maria orders for what she expected for the noon and evening meals.
Mamá Maria, in turn, would delegate to each of the servants or women's helpers what needed to be done in the household. There was so much to do, and each day seemed to bring in more work. Food preparation took much effort and a great deal of time. The basic household duties ranged from rendering fat, called tallow, from the cattle to the making of candles and soaps from it. They spun yarn for their own clothes, did hand washing and machine sewing, chopped wood for the stoves, and cleaned the house and grounds continually.
Doña Francisca had brought to the region pride, and most of all, a gracious, inbred culture and humility. All were symbols that characterized her austere, aristocratic customs. Early this morning she had said her farewells to Doña Adela, who had stayed for two nights but had left at the break of day with more pressing emergencies at her jacale, taking with her slabs of dry pork and beef that were common bartering payment for her loyal service.
The dusty dirt path to the neighborhood workers' living section ran a quarter of a mile north of the big house and then angled into a big bend called Spanish Quarters. Doña Francisca passed the high arches next to the open kitchen's water pump with large washtubs used for pulling water in buckets to the kitchen and for doing the regular washing. Fresh eggs, cold milk, cheese, slabs of bacon, and leftover unprepared foods were kept underneath, below the kitchen in a large
, cement room built for storage next to the cool water pump, where they would remain cold and fresh.
She continued on, bypassing the stables where the well-bred horses were kept. Two large barns, several corrals, and high silos of grain stood next to the smokehouse filled with half slabs of pork and beef. Next to the barns was another large shed where the three different carriages were kept. There were two open-post canopy blacksmith shops with straw roofs to keep out the rain and the sun, where always the hot embers were kept burning for use in any emergency. The side walls were full of harnesses, bridles, yokes, and branding irons, with water gourds hanging on all four corners.
Most of the land had been cleared around the hacienda, except for a few cacti and chaparrals that persisted under hard, unyielding conditions. There were several big, tall cottonwoods next to the corrals, as well as ebonies, and many lilac hedges along the pathway that had been planted during the early development of the hacienda. To her right was a large natural pond, bringing water into the household, and also attracting many small animals to drink and quench their thirst. Around the ponds were many sabino trees, a swamp cypress. There was also a large, bald Montezuma cypress brought back from Mexico City when Don Federico was born. It was an old Mexican tradition when a son was born to plant a tree. These were grown close to the pond, as they required a lot of water. Miles beyond the pond were tall wire fences that separated Spanish Acres from Señor Esquibel's property to the east.
In turn, Doña Francisca, in her early years of marriage and with so much enthusiasm, had helped brighten the dreary scenery by transporting from Monterrey several kinds of citrus, avocado, papaya, and mango trees that were planted throughout the immediate area of the hacienda.
Doña Francisca had decided to walk this morning, instead of bothering poor ol' Manuel as she usually did to travel by carriage. The weather is changing, she thought. Perhaps it might rain. Rumors were that a chubasco was coming this way. She would welcome the cool fall days, as the hot summer, la canícula, had stayed so long. The sky looked like a gray blanket covering the heavens. It was a land of hard secrets— the difficulty in finding the location of precious water. In every direction were big metal windmills pumping water into large aluminum tanks that brought the cattle in to quench their huge thirst. Far beyond, the land swelled toward the quiet morning and shimmered in the undergrowth blending with the ashen color of the earth. Sounds of the bawling cattle continually echoed.
Doña Francisca had not slept well for several days. Besides her annoying cough, millions of thoughts were going through her mind. Could it be possible that Mexico was spiraling into war? The thought of her parents living in Monterrey worried her. Her father, a retired diplomat for President Díaz, was still doing cabinet counseling in the government and could easily be at risk. There were other worries, too. One concerning her was her husband's gold mine in Monterrey and the land he had inherited from his father, and its buying power in Mexico. There were problems with the mine and Don Federico needed to go see about the situation. Another worry was Victoria’s schooling—was it a good decision at this moment in time to be studying in Mexico? The coming of the injured Soledad into their household had bothered La Señora as well. What would happen to the young girl? She felt a deep compassion for Soledad and her unfortunate situation. Doña Francisca worried about the dead gringa, too. Why wasn't the body found? Whatever happened to her? And why was the body left so close to their land in the first place? Was it some kind of a warning sign?
A quarter of a mile farther on, La Señora passed the little, unpainted, wooden school building, in which she taught the children of the hired hands three times a week, with the help of Victoria. Around the bend, and snuggled in between a jungle of undergrowth, cacti, and shrubs, were the rough-hewn, unpainted quarters where most of the vaqueros and hired hands lived. While a few were single, the majority had families with several children, but all shared the tribulations of everyday life. Between the quarters were gardens: large stalks of corn; large, colorful squash, called Calabazas; tomatoes; several varieties of chilies; big striped watermelons; and cantaloupes. The land with water could grow anything. It made for an inviting environment rich in abundance.
Elena Garcia greeted Doña Francisca in the middle of the dirt path with a big "Hola" and a smile while carrying her youngest child on her left hip and a load of dry mesquite wood for her stove on her right. Elena and her husband Miguel were the second oldest residents in the working quarters. Miguel was the main vaquero on the ranch and had been with the Juelson family since he was a young man, always in charge of taking the cattle every year to San Antonio. The couple had a large family, including Yolanda, their oldest daughter, who worked and helped with chores in the main house.
Elena was perhaps in her late thirties, but looked fifty, as her hair was turning salt and pepper gray; she was short and heavy, with sagging breasts and large hips. Her face was brown and coarse from the tormenting rays of the sun, and she looked more Indian than Mexican. Her pleasant attitude and her robust vitality made everyone love and respect her, overlooking her rough appearance.
"How's the young girl doing this morning?" questioned Elena, concerned. "Nobody in the quarters slept last night. The men stayed up all night around the campfire outside talking into the wee hours. Most of the talk was about the body of the gringa and what happened to her. The women are worried sick and concerned about a revolution in Mexico. We are in a state of panic since we live so close and have relatives across the border."
Doña Francisca, who was very private in her personal life, searched for words. "Soledad is going to be fine. Señora Adela said it will be at least a couple of weeks before we know the results of her injuries. She still has several bruises on her body, but it's her face, and especially her eyes, that are the worst. That's what bothers me! The scar will remain, not only in her body but in her soul. And as for the revolution, only God knows!"
"Ay! Dios mío!" moaned Elena, walking back toward her house. "Those malditos gringos are going to blame the Mexican vaqueros for the death of the gringa. By the way, have they found her body yet?"
Concentrating on her own personal matters and with a troubled, anguished look on her face, Doña Francisca only answered, "No!" She began to cough, covering her mouth with her handkerchief.
"Say! I made fresh tortillas, and they are still warm," Elena said, walking up to the steps of her humble abode. "Let's have some hot coffee and agarita jam with them!"
It wasn't long before the rest of the women in the quarters had joined them in discussing the present circumstances of the gringa and the young girl called Soledad. It became a social henhouse of chatter concerning the present weather, the revolution across the river, Señora Adela's predictions, and the sharing of medicines and herbs. It was as if the woman could control and cure with a flick, all diseases and world situations. The women from the quarters had a cutting wit and made fun and laughed at themselves and their daily routine of life.
Children outside in the dusty dirt yard were playing catch with a ball and could be heard yelling and shouting with glee. Suddenly, there was a hushed wind that stirred, and the commotion from the little ones went silent. A sharp, loud, penetrating screech from one of the children came from outside the quarters. The women ran to the screen door and tried to see what was causing the disturbance.
"What is it?" questioned Elena, standing at the screen door and trying to count her children. The rest of the women stood behind her, with their necks stretched out, trying to figure out what it was all about.
"The dog!" yelled one of the children, pointing to the animal.
"What dog?" Yelled, Elena. She flew out the door and toward the petrified child. It was not hard to see that one of the neighborhood's mangy dogs had gone mad. It was the same animal that had disappeared weeks ago.
The other mothers ran outside and grabbed their little ones and fled with them inside their own homes and watched the scene from inside.
Elena's nerves were like steel.
She kept getting closer to her three crying children, trying to reassure them that everything was going to be all right. "Calm down!" she said, waving her hands as she approached the rabid dog. One of the women, from behind her screened porch, threw Elena a straw broom that landed on the ground next to her. Elena, watching her steps, managed to look down and pick up the broom and began using it as a defense, nudging the dog to distract it from the children.
"Don't let the dog bite you!" cried one of the women hysterically, who had come out of her home and was standing a few feet behind Elena.
"Don't get too close to the dog! The dog is sick! If he bites you, you will die!" yelled another from inside her screen door.
The comments and suggestions had not helped the panic-stricken, frightened children, but had only confused them into a state of chaos. Even in their innocence, they knew that something was wrong with the dog. He was not friendly as other animals were and not acting normally, as he kept growling, showing his teeth and snapping at anything that moved. The three startled children were bunched together and kept moving backward. The children were trapped; behind them and on both sides were walls of prickly-pear cacti preventing them from any way out, as they stood cornered, frantically yelling and crying.
Doña Francisca had walked outside the screen porch and stood bewildered. She felt helpless. Trembling, she put one hand up to her mouth, not able to speak, in fear and concern for the children.
The dog swayed erratically, advancing toward the children. Apparently, the loud noises upset him, and he was attracted to the movements of the frantic children. The beast's mouth was open, and there was a white, frothy mass of saliva flowing from his drooling tongue. He would occasionally rock, moving from side to side, showing his big teeth, and then snapped furiously, growling and staggering toward the children. His eyes rolled back in his head as if he were going blind. The yelling from the ladies continued, driving everyone into a state of panic.
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