by Peter Grant
“I’d say we’ve done a lot better. I hadn’t expected to find so many horses that meet what the Army wants, or to be able to afford them. I just hope Colonel Mackenzie comes through with the money for them!”
“I, too, señor.”
“All right, Angel. Go get some rest, and I’ll do the same.”
Two days later, in the half-light of dawn, Walt gathered the men together and reminded them of what to watch for on their journey. “In particular, take it easy with the horses,” he warned them. “If they arrive at Fort Clark in anything but good condition, the Army won’t buy them, and you won’t get your bonuses. That’s why we’re limiting ourselves to twenty miles a day. It’s slow, sure, but it spares the horses.
“We’re heading to an estancia near Rancherias, about ten days’ ride from here. We’ll spend a couple of days there, to let the horses rest and graze – there’s a lot of grass in that valley. After that, we’ll be joined by a dozen wagons and more people, and we’ll all go on to Piedras Negras and Fort Clark together. That’ll take about seven days more. When the Army’s paid me, I’ll pay off all you local hands, and you can come home.”
He waited until they were all in their saddles, then signaled to Angel to open the corral gates. “All right, move ’em out! Head ’em north!”
12
On the morning of the tenth day, Walt left Angel in charge, took Nastas with him, and rode out ahead of the herd towards the estancia. He was burning with eagerness to see Colleen again, and pushed his horse fast. Laughing, Nastas protested, “Amigo, you told us to be gentle with our mounts, yet here you are, driving yours as if bandidos were after you!”
Walt flushed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He reined in his horse to a more sedate trot.
“De nada. I understand why you are hurrying. I was that way, too, when I was courting my wife. Time not spent with her seemed like time wasted.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
They came in sight of the estancia by early afternoon. From a distance, Walt could see that each of the worker’s cottages had a wagon parked in front of it, clearly to carry that family’s possessions. The mules were grazing in a group to one side of the house, watched over by two horsemen. However, the guards were not in evidence, apart from one manning the watchtower, who waved when he saw them. The place had an almost listless, uneasy air about it.
Nastas picked up on it as well. “I think something is wrong, amigo,” he warned.
“I dunno, but it’s awful quiet compared to when we were here last. Let’s find out.”
They cantered through the gate and over to the main house. The sentry in the watchtower called down as they drew up, in a quiet voice, “Please don’t make too much noise, señores. Don Thomas is very sick.”
Walt signaled his understanding as they dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching rail. They mounted the porch and knocked at the main door. After a few seconds, it was opened by a maid, who blinked in surprise to see them.
“Señor Walt! You are back!”
“Yes. What’s this about Don Thomas?”
The woman shook her head sadly. “He would not listen when his daughter told him not to work, but let others do the packing. Three days ago he fell down, clutching his chest. She put him to bed, and we sent for the doctor, but he said there is nothing he can do. Don Thomas has suffered another heart attack. The priest arrived this morning. He is with him now, and the Señorita Colleen also.”
Walt’s heart sank. “I… I’m very sorry. Would you please tell the señorita that I am here?”
“Yes, señor. If you would please wait in the hall?”
“I will.”
As she turned away, Nastas said, “I’ll wait outside. She will want to speak with you alone.”
Walt looked at him gratefully. “Thanks.”
A few moments later, Colleen came out of a door at the rear of the hall. “Walt!” She hurried over, almost running, and fell into his arms, clinging to him tightly. There were tears in her eyes. “Oh, thanks be to God that you’re here! I was so lonely, trying to handle this without you!”
He held her tightly, bowing his head to kiss the top of hers. “I’m real sorry I wasn’t here to help you stop him trying to help. He should have known better.”
“He did know better – he just didn’t want to listen!” Her voice was sharp, almost angry, then she shook her head. “It’s no use complaining. That’s Papa, through and through. He never took a back seat to anyone before, and he wasn’t about to start now.”
“Can I see him?”
“He wants to see you. When Margarita came to tell me you’d arrived, he signed to me to bring you in. He can’t talk much, but he’s aware of us.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
Colleen led him into what proved to be Don Thomas’ bedroom. He was in a large four-poster bed, covered with a sheet, lying propped up against several pillows. A priest in a brown robe was seated next to the bed, fingering a rosary. He stopped and looked up as they came in.
“Papa, Walt is here. Padre Francisco, this is Walter Ames, from America. He’s the man who bought our horses, and has offered us a new life in Colorado.”
The priest inclined his head. He was an elderly man, thin and spare of build, his hair cut in a tonsure to indicate his clergy status. “Greetings, my son. Are you Catholic?”
“No, padre, but I’m Christian.”
Walt crossed to the bed, picked up Don Thomas’ hand, and squeezed it gently. He was horrified by its lack of strength and flaccidity. Clearly, Don Thomas was very weak.
He was struck by a sudden thought. He said, softly, gently, “Colleen, you know I have feelings for you. Am I right in thinking you share them towards me?”
She stiffened. “What – why are you asking me now, of all times, when Papa is so sick?”
“I’m asking because your father is so sick. It’s for his sake as much as mine. Trust me. Well?”
She flushed. “Y-yes. Yes, I do return them.”
“Thank you.” He turned to Don Thomas. “I may never get this chance again, and a man should ask, if he can. Don Thomas, may I please have your daughter’s hand in marriage?”
The old man blinked, and a slow smile spread over his face. He whispered, “Nothing would make me happier. Yes, you have my blessing.”
Colleen burst into tears. “Oh, papa!” She leaned over the bed and hugged him.
Walt turned to the priest. “Padre, can you perform a wedding right here, right now, in this bedroom? It may be Don Thomas’ only chance to give his daughter away.”
The priest frowned. “According to the Church, marriage should be solemnized in a consecrated church or chapel, if one is available. My church is in Rancheria, so we cannot use the excuse that none is nearby.”
Walt shook his head impatiently. “I’m willing to have another wedding in your church, if that’s necessary: but Don Thomas is in no condition to get there. Would you consent to a provisional marriage here, to be confirmed at a second ceremony later?”
Padre Francisco thought for a moment. “It is most irregular, but I take your point. Very well. If you agree to a proper wedding ceremony in my church as soon as it can be arranged, I will do it. One thing, though, my son. If you are not Catholic, the Church requires that you give your consent for your children to be raised as Catholics.”
“I don’t say I won’t encourage them to think for themselves once they grow up, padre, but I want them raised as Christians. I guess the Catholic Church can do that as well as any other.”
Colleen had listened to their exchange. Walt looked down at her as she half-sat, half-lay next to her father. “Colleen, will you marry me here and now, so your father can be part of our wedding, and give you away?”
She smiled, a great beam of joy. “Oh, Walt! Yes! Please!”
“We will need at least two witnesses,” the priest put in.
“No problem,” Walt replied. “Let’s get the heads of each of your workers’ fa
milies in here. They can witness it, and tell the rest of your people about it, too.”
Colleen jumped to her feet. “I’ll have Margarita bring them here at once.”
“I’m sorry,” Walt said, embarrassed. “I’m wearing my dirty trail clothes, and I don’t have anything better in my saddlebags.”
“That’s all right, darling.” She used the endearment for the first time, and both of them blushed as they realized what she’d said. “God will understand. I’ll put on a clean dress, though. I’ve been in this one all night and all today, looking after Papa.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
As she bustled out, Walt asked the priest, “What about marriage licenses and that sort of thing?”
“We can sort all that out before your second wedding in Rancheria. That ceremony will determine the official date of your union, of course.”
Walt snorted. “It may from a legal angle, padre, but as far as I’m concerned, we’ll be married from this day forward.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, my son. If you did not, I would not agree to officiate.”
“Excuse me a moment. I must tell Nastas what’s going on.”
He hurried out onto the porch, where Nastas was sitting on his heels against the wall. “Nastas, Don Thomas is dying. He’s agreed to let me marry Colleen, and we’re going to perform the ceremony right now, while he’s still able to give her away.”
“That is wonderful, amigo!” The Navajo beamed with pleasure.
“Yes, but I’m not going to be able to direct the herd when it arrives. Would you please ride to Angel, and ask him to take the herd past the house, and let it into the pastures further up the valley? The horses will be safe there, and the grass is still thick. They can graze for a day or two while we sort all this out. The men should camp near them, to keep them together. Don’t let them stray further up the valley into the mountains, the way we came down.”
“I will go at once. I wish you joy of your bride.”
“Thanks, brother.” They clasped hands. “I’ll see you and the hands tomorrow.”
Walt looked around as Nastas mounted, seeing some of the older workers running towards the house. Clearly, the maid had already passed the word. Half-smiling, he turned towards Don Thomas’ bedroom.
Six workers crowded in, forming a line between the foot of the bed and the wall. They all smiled when they saw Walt, and some held out their hands in congratulation. He whispered his thanks as they shuffled back. At the head of the bed, the priest had draped a stole over his shoulders, and was consulting a small book, moving ribbons around to mark places he’d need.
Colleen came in once more, wearing a white dress that buttoned to the neck, topped by a white lace mantilla over her head and shoulders. She looked beautiful. Walt could hardly keep his eyes off her. Margarita followed her into the room, and joined the men at the foot of the bed.
Colleen pressed something into his hand. “Here. This is Mama’s wedding ring – she always wanted me to wear it. I’ve got one of Papa’s to put on your finger.”
Walt shook his head. “How could I forget about rings? I’m a fool!”
“Hurry!” Don Thomas whispered, coughing. “Please hurry!”
The priest hesitated, then nodded. “I shall leave out most of the liturgy, due to Don Thomas’ condition. Let us pray.” He turned to a page of his missal and read a prayer in Latin, making the sign of the cross over Walt and Colleen as he did so. The witnesses did likewise, and Don Thomas tried to join them, but his hand just twitched on the bedcover. He no longer had the strength to raise it.
The priest asked, “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”
Colleen took her father’s hand, and Walt took hers, so that Don Thomas’ hand rested upon them both. The old man’s lips quirked. He was clearly trying to smile. “I do,” he whispered.
Padre Francisco led them quickly through the vows of marriage and the exchange of rings, then wrapped his stole around their joined hands. “What God has united, man may not separate. By the authority vested in me by the one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church, I confirm and bless your union in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, amen. I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Colleen lifted her veil, tears in her eyes as she lifted her face to him. He bent forward and kissed her gently, as the witnesses clapped softly in the background, their eyes alight with joy.
“Thank you, dearest,” she whispered as she clung to him. “Thank you so much!”
Before he could answer, Don Thomas coughed explosively, convulsing in bed. A terrible rattle came from his throat as he fell back, breathing hoarsely. “Papa!” Colleen cried, whirling around and kneeling by the bed, seizing his hand in hers. The six men and one woman at the foot of the bed craned forward, faces pale with shock and sadness.
Don Thomas coughed twice more, then suddenly jerked bolt upright. His face lit up with joy. He exclaimed, in a loud, hoarse but exultant voice, “Samanta! Samanta!”… then he fell back on the pillows and closed his eyes.
His breathing slowed, then stopped.
Colleen looked at her father in awe, then up at Walt. “That was Mama! He saw her!”
Padre Francisco said softly, “I have seen that before, señorita – I mean, señora. Sometimes, not always, when someone dies, one whom they loved greatly seems to appear to them, if we are to judge by their reaction. Holy Mother Church does not pronounce on that matter, but I have always thought it is a sign of the mercy and love of God, to reunite loved ones at such a time. Perhaps He sends them, to take their loved one home to Heaven with them.”
Colleen nodded. “Look at his face! He was so happy! He hasn’t looked like that in years!”
Walt squeezed her hand. “Let’s be grateful for that, dearest. He died as happy as a man can be. I know you’ll miss him, but you’ll always remember him at this moment. Nothing can ever take that away from you. Take comfort in it.”
She rose shakily to her feet, and hugged him. “Thank you so much for marrying me like this, Walt! He always said he wanted to give me away at the altar. Well, there’s no altar, and he didn’t get to give me away in the usual sense, but I think he felt it, anyway.”
“I am sure he did,” Padre Francisco agreed. “It is customary to bury the dead swiftly. I shall return to Rancheria, and prepare the grave next to your mother’s. If you will wash, dress and prepare the body, you can bring it into town tomorrow, and we shall hold a funeral Mass for him. We can solemnize your marriage as well, in the church. I shall prepare the papers for you. Shall we say noon?”
“I’ll have everyone there at noon, padre,” Walt promised.
“Then I shall leave you for now. Would someone please have my cart brought round?”
“I shall get it, padre,” one of the workers promised.
“And I shall summon the women,” Margarita said. “We shall prepare him while the men make his coffin. Señorita, you were up most of the past three nights. You are very tired. You should rest.”
“I must help,” Colleen protested.
Walt shook his head. “You’ve done enough, love, and you’re so tired you’re shaking. Come on. Let me help you to your bedroom. Margarita, please come with us, and help her undress. I’ll leave you to sleep in peace.”
“But… what about… us?” She blinked at him.
“We’ve all the time in the world for that. Rest first, darling.”
Margarita showed Walt to the same guest room he’d used on his previous visit. He fetched a change of clothing from his saddlebags, then scrubbed off the trail dust and dirt in a hot bath. Refreshed and clean, he ate a light supper.
He looked into Colleen’s bedroom after the meal, to find her fast asleep, worn out by the sadness and travail of the previous few days. He kissed the top of her head, tiptoed out, and closed the door.
He’d been vaguely aware of noises from the nearest barn. He walked across to it, and found most of the men of the ranch gathered around a pair of
trestles. Across them rested a half-made coffin. Some of the men were sawing planks to size, others were nailing and screwing them together and boring holes for rope handles, and one was standing by with a tin of varnish.
“Good evening, patrón,” they chorused as they saw him. Walt couldn’t understand their use of the term for a moment… then it hit him. He was now Colleen’s husband, and as such, by Mexican custom, he was now the custodian of the estancia and all who lived there. He had taken Don Thomas’ place, and inherited his title.
“Good evening,” he replied, a little gruffly. “Is all going well?”
“It is, patrón,” an older man answered. “I am Virgilio, one of the grooms. Are we all to go to the funeral tomorrow?”
“All of you who wish. I’ll ask my men and the guards to keep watch over the estancia while we’re gone. A few of them can come with us, just in case.”
“Gracias, patrón. We would not wish Don Thomas to go to his grave without us.”
“No, that wouldn’t be right. We’ll put Don Thomas’ body in a wagon tomorrow morning for the ride to Rancheria.”
“We shall be ready, patrón.”
He walked back to the house, to find Margarita waiting for him. She held a tailor’s measuring tape in her hands. “We have prepared Don Thomas for burial, patrón. Now we must prepare you for the funeral, and for your church wedding. We, the women of the estancia, will alter some of Don Thomas’ clothes for you, so you can be properly dressed. He would have wanted that.”
The determination in her voice warned him that she would brook no arguments, so he submitted to her measuring him with the tape.
“Thank you, patrón. All will be ready in the morning.”
13
A small convoy assembled in front of the ranch house next morning. At the head was Caroline’s buggy, harnessed to two horses. Walt would ride with her. Behind them came a small buckboard, bearing the coffin with Don Thomas. Behind that was a celerity wagon to carry the estancia’s womenfolk. The men would ride in another wagon behind that. Walt arranged for four of the gunhands who’d been protecting the farm to ride into Rancheria with them, including Sergeant Robles, the Guardia Rural representative. Even though he wasn’t expecting trouble, he told the rest of the guards and his trail hands to be on the alert, just in case.