Here even men had fewer choices. Jack Polansky, Sarah’s husband, worked in a factory all day. Separated from nature and from any vestige of satisfaction in his work, he felt no connection at all with the pulley he helped produce. He tightened a bolt on a wheel. Someone else assembled the pulleys for engines that would later be installed in hotels. Jack hated his supervisors, and they hated him. Tía shuddered at the thought of becoming one of those laborers, stifled and cut off from nature.
Here only the rich owned horses. It seemed a living death to her. In Tubac she had been free to ride when she wanted. Here she had to sneak away to the stables to keep her sanity. Without telling anyone, she had taken a job walking horses the young nabobs and debutantes rode. She sneaked away every morning for three hours. In exchange the stable owner let her ride any time she wanted, which worked out to any time she could get away. She pretended to take naps, to be sick, to have a headache. It was easier than trying to explain to Uncle Tyler why she needed to ride those “filthy horses.”
Usually she was required to sit in the parlor and pay attention while Uncle Tyler entertained boring people whose sharp eyes flicked over her the way tongues of snakes flicked onto startled flies. Now she understood why women said “Please excuse me. I have a dreadful headache.”
“Teresa!”
Her uncle’s voice jolted her so, Tía almost dropped her fork again. “Excuse me, Uncle Tyler. I wasn’t listening…”
“That was quite obvious, young lady. Sit up and pay attention,” he said sharply.
Andrea exchanged a quick glance with Tía. The servants cleared away the dishes. Uncle Tyler made a big production of opening the envelope of her letter, it looked as if it had been opened previously. Tía barely breathed lest he change his mind. As if he were performing a duty that was unpleasant and possibly unwise, Uncle Tyler read the letter in a deep, portentous voice.
Dear Señorita Garcia-Lorca:
It is my sad duty to inform you of the death of your natural father, William Zetta Burkhart, and to tell you that he has provided for you in his will. Your father owned the Lucky Cuss silver mine in Tombstone and Rancho la Reina in the Sulphur Springs Valley. His will left half interest to you and half interest to your half brother, Steven Burkhart. The only condition to your inheritance is that you must live and work on the ranch. If for any reason either of you finds this unacceptable or intolerable, the entire ranch and mine will revert to the one who remains on the property.
In addition to being his attorney, I was your father’s friend and confidant. His greatest fear was that all he had worked for would be thrown away or allowed to fall into decay. There is much more I could tell you, but I will save the rest for a more appropriate time. Please wire me of your expected arrival time, and I will notify Steven so he can meet your stage in Tombstone.
Your servant, James R. Furnett, Esq.
Attorney-at-Law, Tombstone
Arizona Territory
Tyler Caldwell folded the letter and inserted it back into the soiled envelope. The skin around her eyes burned and puckered the way it did when Tía was going to cry. She struggled to keep from crying. Mr. Burkhart had died. Ever since she’d reached Albany she had prayed for him and blamed herself for not getting his address from Mama so she could have written to him. Now he was dead. A feeling of darkness and loss filled Tía. Now she would never see him.
“Well?” Uncle Tyler demanded.
Tía looked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“We are waiting for your response.”
Andrea stood up. “She is crying!”
Uncle Tyler glowered at Tía. “Get control of yourself, young lady. That is unacceptable behavior at this table.”
“What do you expect her to do? You just told her that her father is dead.” Andrea looked as if she wanted to leap across the table and shake him by the scruff of the neck.
“I will not tolerate your disobedience and disrespect,” Uncle Tyler said coldly. Andrea glared at Uncle Tyler. Mrs. Lockwood looked shocked at such unladylike behavior.
Tía quickly stood up. “May I please be excused?”
Chunt, chunt, chunt. Uncle Tyler cleared his throat and looked around the table. His cold gaze settled on Tía.
“You may all sit down. I think you may as well know exactly how I feel about this whole sorry mess,” he said gruffly. “First I will take the liberty of clarifying what was not too lucidly stated by this Mr. Furnett, who purports to be an officer of the court.
“If we can believe his almost illiterate letter, I suppose this explains how Teresa was able to retain the Caldwell blondness. It is difficult for me to appreciate which could be worse: that Teresa be the daughter of a living Mexican bandit or the illegitimate daughter of a dead coward.” He paused. His gaze slid coldly past Andrea, who did not bother to hide her dislike for him. “Apparently there is no end to your mother’s calumny. I find this whole business revolting. Revolting and disgusting! Harumph!”
Teresa glanced from Uncle Tyler to Andrea. Uncle Tyler had no right to condemn Mama. He had driven Mama to run away. She might never fit into his world, but Mama fit very nicely into Tubac’s version of “polite society.” Vivacious, clever, and gracious, Mama commanded respect from her friends and from every man who knew her. She was probably one of the few women in the world who could work in a saloon and still command that respect. Of course Tía would not divulge that information to Uncle Tyler. He would neither believe it nor be impressed by it. But Mama was worth ten Tyler Caldwells.
Uncle Tyler directed his words to Tía. “Next, young lady, I would like to know your initial reaction to all this. Pray tell us what, if anything, you think of this presumptuous proposition.”
Tía did not hesitate. She had a half brother whom she wanted to see before something happened to him. “I want to go home to Arizona, Uncle Tyler.” Her tone was respectful and firm. Andrea smiled her approval.
A queer look of satisfaction gleamed in Uncle Tyler’s slate-gray eyes. According to Mama, once they had been pale blue, but the color had faded out of them as real vitality had faded out of him. Probably squeezed out…
“I was afraid of that,” he said heavily, looking at Mrs. Lockwood as if he had already discussed this with her. “Well, you may as well know, so there will be no misunderstanding later. If you choose to go off on this wild-goose chase, spurning my hospitality as your mother did twenty-five years ago, I will not be amenable to receiving you here again. As diligent as I am in fulfilling my obligations to my relations, no matter how vilely they return my generosity, even I can be pushed only so far. I do not condone your chasing off into the wilds on the chance there is some substance to this so-called inheritance of yours. The man says very little, actually. He gives us no estimate of what this Lucky Cuss mine or this so-called ranch might be worth, if anything. Even if there is value there, I doubt if you would be allowed to share it with any dignity. People do not take kindly to having a dead man’s bastard suddenly thrust upon them. No decent woman will have anything to do with you. I warned your mother before she ran away, but it didn’t stop her. She was headstrong as well. Now look at her. Married to a common Mexican bandit who would as soon kill her as look at her. And with good reason, as it turns out. Harumph!”
Looking at them with fierce, satisfied eyes, as if pleased with the way their mother’s life had turned out, Uncle Tyler cleared his throat again.
Tía bit back angry words. It would do no good to antagonize him. Not as long as they were dependent upon him. Tía Andrea had written one letter to tell them Mateo was going to recover from his wound. She had warned Rita, begged her to stay away from Arizona and never let her husband find her. Poor Tía Andrea. Torn between her love for Mama and her much older love and loyalty to Papa. Unfortunately Uncle Tyler was right about too many things.
“Even if this were not all true,” Uncle Tyler continued gruffly, “and even if there were considerable value in these acquisitions, I still could not condone two young ladies returning to
a savage environment in which they had not even learned the rudiments of proper manners. For a young lady, manners are absolutely vital if she wishes to make a proper marriage. Is that not correct, Mrs. Lockwood?”
Continuing without a breath, he shook his head. “Manners which should distinguish young ladies of your birth and breeding—at least on your mother’s side of the family.”
Tía glanced at her sister. Andrea’s lips tightened; her eyes flashed as if she were going to say something, but she only straightened in her chair.
“But Uncle Tyler, it seems like such a wonderful opportunity. We would have a home of our own. We wouldn’t have to impose on you,” Tía blurted.
“Poppycock! Only the sheerest ignorance could cause you to think such balderdash. There is nothing for you there except more shame and trouble. Your half brother already has control, and he is not about to take kindly to having a worthless, interfering female thrust upon him in addition to all his other responsibilities. If he is no fool, why should he do all the work and settle for half the profit? Unless he is a child or an idiot! Perhaps it runs in the family!”
Andrea bit her tongue to keep from butting in. What was their uncle doing now? she wondered. He had never wanted them in his house, not for one second. Their presence had been the gravest imposition. Mama had known it would be and had apologized to them when they’d parted in Douglas, her pretty face pinched with worry. I’m sorry, but I have no place to send you where I will know you are safe. Please try to get along with your uncle until I can earn some money and join you or send for you somewhere away from here, she had ended, shaking her head, the customary vibrant life quieted in her so she looked like a different, more ordinary person.
Tyler Caldwell’s face was set in righteous indignation. Andrea frowned slightly: was this only to insure that no matter what happened they would not return to upset his prim and proper household again? She glanced at her sister. Tía’s eyes were watchful. Did she know? Probably not. Tía was so eager to love everyone. A surge of protectiveness and love for her sister swelled and ached in Andrea.
“Uncle Tyler,” she said quickly before he could say anything else to hurt Tía, “could I talk to Teresa before we give you our answer?”
“Harumph!” He looked at Mrs. Lockwood and lifted one bushy, slate-gray eyebrow. “Very well.”
Tía sneaked into Andrea’s room after the lamps were out. Andrea lifted her covers, and Tía scooted under them.
“I’ve been thinking about it for hours, Andrea. I want to go.”
“Then we will go.”
“Aren’t you afraid that Uncle Tyler will be right? Maybe Steven won’t let us stay.” Saying her half-brother’s name caused her heart to pound. To have a brother!
Tía felt Andrea shivering against her. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “It’s not like you to be cold. I’m the one who gets cold at night.”
“Would you want to go back to Tubac if we could?”
Tía yawned. Sleep was quickly overcoming her. “I don’t know. But I don’t think we’ll have to. I want to live with my brother.”
A pang of jealousy stabbed Andrea. Tía had gained an inheritance and a brother, and Andrea had lost Mama and Papa.
“I thought you were happy living in that mess.”
“I was.”
“You liked Mama’s crazy friends. You liked Papa’s coming and going all the time.”
“I miss Mama and Papa,” Tía said. “Don’t you?”
“Maybe.” To Andrea it was not such a simple matter. No matter how unaccepting or disapproving Steven might be, if they returned to the Arizona Territory, they would have more to fear from Papa than from Steven Burkhart.
Almost as if Tía had read her thoughts, she asked, “Papa would never hurt us?”
“God only knows, Tía. We never stabbed him before.” Andrea was suddenly weary—tired of worrying about her father. Her family hadn’t been easy for her. She seemed to know far too many things she didn’t want to know. Countless tensions, conflicts, and moments of covert hostility had left her confused and afraid. Sometimes she questioned her own sanity. Did her parents hate each other? Or did they love each other? Watching them, no one could be sure. Andrea felt as if she had been holding her breath for years, afraid to say or do the wrong thing and not sure what that might or might not be.
It had been a shock to find out Papa was El Gato Negro. But part of her had seemed to know already. Maybe at one time she had known and then forgotten. She remembered a time when she had heard soldiers talking about how, when they captured El Gato Negro, they would cut off his head and parade it all over the territory on a stick. That night she’d dreamed about her father’s head shriveled up on a stick. She’d woken up crying, but Mama had laughed at her fears, saying that she had confused Papa with El Gato Negro. Papa was a businessman who could trace his ancestry back to Juan the Second of Spain. His lineage was impeccable. Papa was safe. Even El Gato Negro was safe from the soldiers. He had a hundred men and could raise another five hundred just by giving the order.
Andrea loved Papa desperately, but momentarily at different times she had filled with fury against him. Perhaps it would not have mattered even if she had recognized him in time. Knowing he had wanted to kill Mama confused Andrea. Long ago Papa and Mama had fought about something Andrea didn’t understand, and that time Andrea hid in her bed and cried. They slept, but she did not. She lay awake crying and finally walked into their bedroom and hit Papa as hard as she could. He opened one eye, smiled at her, and told her to get back to bed.
“I hope my brother likes me,” Tía said softly.
Andrea could tell by the quaver in Tía’s voice when she said “my brother” that Tía had already started to love him. Andrea pulled her sister into her arms. Guilt twinged at her. She had withheld her comfort from Tía all these weeks. Perhaps she had blamed Tía, but watching Uncle Tyler and Mrs. Caldwell mistreat Tía had reminded her she was still the little girl Andrea had more than half raised, that their mutual love was more important than which one had stabbed Papa to save Mama. When she thought about it, she realized Tía loved him too much. Tía could not have done it, even to save Mama. Only she herself could have done it.
Andrea kissed Tía’s forehead. “He will, Tía. How could he help it?” Hearing her own words of reassurance, Andrea flinched. How could she say that, given all she knew about human nature? Tía had always wanted a brother. She would go back to Arizona Territory no matter what threat Uncle Tyler held over her head. She would go even though Steven might not want her once she got there. Tightness closed Andrea’s throat. Tía had suffered enough. If anyone tried to hurt her again…
“Oh, Andrea, I hope you’re right. I want a real home for us! I want a place where we’ll be safe.”
Chapter Four
“Johnny!”
Johnny recognized Judy’s whisper and slowly sat up on the side of his bunk. The room was dark, but he hadn’t undressed. He should have been sleeping, but he had been restless, almost as if he had known she was going to search him out tonight. This afternoon she had deliberately gotten in his way as he’d tried to leave Steve’s office. Dark and searching, her eyes had held his, commanding his attention.
“Just a minute,” he said, walking to the door.
“May I come in?” It was barely a question. Johnny sensed that the Judy he knew was back. She had been wounded by her father’s death and more listless than he had ever seen her. But over the last month Johnny had watched the vibrant life in her slowly reassert itself. The part of him that loved Judy had been pleased, but the part of him that feared the consequences to him had watched with dread.
“I’ll come out.” Leaving the door open behind him, he stepped outside. The warm June night was heavy, fragrant with the jasmine Judy had planted several springs before. The moon was high over the mountains to the east. Crickets chirped in the tall grass behind the cabin.
Johnny leaned against the column that supported the porch roof and fished in his shirt
pocket for his makings. The Burkhart casa grande west of his cabin was dark and quiet. To the south, on one of the platforms, a man stood outlined against the lighter sky as he guarded the front gate of the compound. Burkhart had built a fort.
“Will you roll one for me?” she asked.
“What’d you do, run out?” Johnny had forgotten Judy smoked. Outside of two dance hall girls he had seen years apart, Judy was the only decent woman Johnny had ever known who smoked cigarettes. Decent women—even most dance hall girls—did not smoke. But Judy was not like other women. No decent woman in her right mind would come to his cabin alone after dark. To still the wagging tongues, any other lady of the spread would have sent for him or had him meet her someplace distant but clearly visible so anyone who cared could watch them. Even her father had given up trying to make Judy conform; it was a battle one could only lose.
“I hate these kind, but I’m out of the others. I’ll get some when we go into town tomorrow.”
Johnny rolled it for her. With the cigarette in her mouth, she watched him with dark, luminous eyes as he struck a match. She waited until he blew out the match to speak.
“She’ll be here day after tomorrow. I wonder what she’s like?”
Johnny shrugged. That same question had plagued everyone since the reading of the will. It had taken Furnett over two months to find Burkhart’s daughter.
Judy inhaled, expelled a choking breath, and dropped her cigarette on the porch. She ground the offending butt under the toe of her shoe. In the faint moonlight the blue gown she had worn at supper looked black. “I hate your tobacco,” she muttered.
The main bunkhouse stood behind Johnny. Judy’s face, illuminated by the yellow lanterns from the bunkhouse windows, was a pale, lovely oval. Her dark eyes reflected tiny squares of light. She was so beautiful it made Johnny ache to look at her, but he wasn’t sure if it was a new ache or the memory of an old ache in his loins.
After Eden Page 7