After Eden

by Joyce Brandon

  Steve had designed and built a system to carry water to the pots from the tank beside the kitchen. Carmen turned on the spigots to start the pots filling with water, took the men’s money, and put it in a jar to be divided among the women who helped.

  Johnny and three of his men carried wood and started the fires, without which the laundry would have been left overnight to soak.

  Tía and Lupe gathered the dirty clothes and linens from every room in the house and added them to the mountains already piled on the ground beside the pots. The four women sorted laundry: white linen, collars, sheets, and body linen into one heap; fine muslins into another; colored cotton and linen fabrics into a third; men’s heavy pants into a fourth; and the coarser kitchen and other greasy clothes into a fifth.

  Each woman tackled a pile. Every article had to be examined for spots and treated with sal ammonia, then placed in a wash pot. Smoke and fumes swirled up and drifted over the house. It smelled like the place in Tubac where Tía had taken their laundry. Tía did not explain to Carmen that she had never washed in this fashion; she just watched what the other women did and tried to do the same. Andrea offered to help, but Tía shooed her away. It was hot, sweaty work, and it suited her need to earn her place. She did not want Andrea doing it.

  Tía examined and spotted the gowns entrusted to her, carried the pile to the pot Carmen pointed out to her, and dumped them in. When the clothes were covered by the lukewarm water pouring in from overhead, she mixed soda and water to Carmen’s instructions, poured the mixture over the clothes, and stirred. Then, again prompted by Carmen, she shaved a bar of lye soap and let the shavings drop into the pot.

  Tía alternately struggled with her skirts to keep them out of the fire, stirred the clothes with a wooden paddle, and wiped her hot forehead. The smell of lye soap singed her nostrils. Tears ran down her cheeks.

  Johnny stopped some distance away, in the shade. He leaned against the side of one of the legs that supported the water tank and rolled a smoke. Then, holding the cigarette in his right hand, he stuffed the fingers of his left hand under his belt. With his legs crossed at the ankles and his dark eyes shaded by his hat brim, Tía couldn’t tell if he watched her or not. He could just as easily be looking at Lupe, who had a ripe young body and used every opportunity to flaunt it. Lupe had taken off her sandals, hiked up her skirts, and pinned them to the waist of her gown to reveal her shapely legs all the way to her knees. She made no secret of the fact she found the handsome foreman to her liking.

  Tía was glad of having clothes to stir. Johnny’s presence agitated her. He hadn’t seemed to notice her for days, but every now and then he would position himself in her vicinity and just watch. He looked indolent and unconcerned on the surface, but something about his lithe body seemed to hint that even his nonchalance was a trick. Occasionally, before he walked away, he would raise one of his heavy black eyebrows at her and send her heart racing.

  He had stopped asking her to walk with him, but at least once each day she would catch his dark eyes following her.

  Steve walked out the back door, waved at Johnny, and strode purposefully toward Tía. He stopped beside her, and Tía smiled up at him. Any contact at all with Steve thrilled her, filled her with hope that he liked her.

  “I forgot to tell you. I brought a new catalog back from Tombstone last week. I want you to look through it and let me know what you need for the house.”

  Tía was so pleased he had actually sought her out that she flushed with gratitude. “When do you need to know?”

  “As soon as you can get to it. I have an order, but it’s not urgent.”

  “Who usually does this?”

  “For the house? Judy did it last time. Sometimes Carmen. I think whoever does it always asks around to be sure she gets everything.”

  Steve walked away. Tía was so pleased, she closed her eyes, took in a deep breath of the noxious lye soap, and exploded into coughs, which reminded her that this was no time to get dreamy. When she stopped coughing and glanced surreptitiously at the spot where Johnny had lounged, it was empty.

  Somehow his leaving like that, without even quirking an eyebrow at her, seemed a condemnation. She didn’t know what she might have done to cause it, but she felt like kicking the ground, in complaint, except that doing so would send a fine spray of sand flying everywhere.

  The water finally got hot, and the clothes cooked for a good long time. Finally Carmen pronounced them finished. Tía ladled the clothes out onto a long wooden counter, bleached almost white from soap and water, so they could cool enough to be scrubbed on the rub boards.

  By the end of the day her knuckles and the knuckles of every woman who helped had been scraped raw where hands had accidentally rubbed against the roughened ridges instead of the clothing.

  It was hard work, but Tía found she liked it. The women shared stories and complained the whole time, but as hot and miserable as it was, they too seemed to like the change. Tía hung clothes on the line between the orchard and the back of the house and could practically see the waves of moisture rising as the sun dried the wetness out of them. Nothing could stay wet in this dry heat. It was probably the wetness of the wash that Tía liked best.

  She hung out the last colored garment and came back to help wring out the sheets. Carmen and Lupe rinsed the last white sheet in blueing and lifted it, sopping with water, onto the counter.

  “We’ve washed everything in the world. The only dirty thing left is that gown you’re wearing,” Lupe said to Carmen.

  “We have to save something for next time,” Carmen said, smiling.

  “No, we don’t. Those filthy cowpunchers will see to it we have plenty.”

  “I thought you liked those filthy cowpunchers,” Carmen teased.

  Lupe picked up a handful of blueing water and splashed it on Carmen’s gown. “Here, scrub that.”

  Carmen laughed and picked up a handful of water from the rinse tub sitting on the ground and threw it at Lupe. “I don’t want to be the only clean one.”

  Lupe responded by picking up a handful of water and throwing it at Tía, who was so surprised her mouth dropped open. Lupe pointed a finger and laughed, and Tía picked up a bucket of clear water and sloshed it at Lupe, who jumped back screaming. Carmen and Cruz doubled over in laughter. Lupe, soaked to the skin, grabbed Cruz and tumbled her into the big rinse tub. The look on Cruz’s face as she struggled to get out of the blueing water was so funny that Tía and Carmen doubled over and howled.

  Lupe grabbed Tía’s hand and tried to pull her into the water. To save herself, Tía grabbed Carmen, and Cruz took sides against them. The two pairs then squared off on opposite sides of the tub. Lupe and Cruz pulled so hard, and Tía and Carmen laughed so hard, that Tía lost strength and she and Carmen tumbled into the water with a big splash with Tía on bottom. Even sitting in the rinse tub with Carmen on top of her, Tía still laughed until her belly hurt.

  Soaking wet, they all finally gathered behind the water tank, where the combination of trees and tank offered a shelter, and took off their wet clothes and rung them out.

  Johnny climbed the hill behind the house, found a level rock about halfway up, and stopped to rest. A flicker of light caught his attention. He scanned the valley. The wet season had failed this year. Usually the summer would be cooled by frequent rains, but this year the rains hadn’t come yet, and the grass had turned yellow.

  Light flashed again. It came from the ranch house. Johnny lifted his spyglass into place.

  The women were having a water fight. Grinning and enjoying the thought of her being that playful, Johnny focused on Tía. She had seemed different since he’d first seen her in Tubac. There she had seemed relaxed, confident, and sassy. Here she seemed as tight as a new growth of bark.

  The sight of Tía floundering under Carmen’s weight caused him to laugh outright with pleasure. She seemed the same girl he had met and kissed in Tubac.

  Dripping and laughing, the women walked into the shelter provided by
a growth of trees on one side and the water tower on the other. Encircled by the back of the house, the water tower, and the trees, they were safe from all eyes except Johnny’s.

  They started to disrobe. Sobering, Johnny lowered the glass. He was no Peeping Tom. But even without the glass, given this clear Arizona air, he could see for miles. Tía unbuttoned her gown, slipped it off, and stepped out of it. She slipped the straps of her undergarment over her shoulders. Johnny tried to turn away but couldn’t seem to.

  Sweat broke out on his forehead. As if it had a will and mind of its own, the glass positioned itself, found Tía, and would not leave his eye.

  Tía slipped the garment down. For a moment she faced Johnny, naked as a babe, then reached a pale, slender arm for the towel Andrea held out to her. The sight of her naked body surprised him and heated his loins.

  The glass burned Johnny’s hand. He laid it on the rock beside him, careful to keep the sun from flashing on it and giving him away.

  He’d done it now. He had spied on Tía. He’d never done anything like that in his life. He felt like a sneaky schoolboy.

  Now the memory of her slender body with its triangle of honey-colored hair would haunt him forever.

  Tía bathed, washed her hair, and dressed in her room. Then she went to check on Grant. Judy was stretched out on the bed beside him, sleeping. One hand rested on his forehead.

  Grant’s breathing was deep and even. His skin felt cool to the touch. Taking liquids for two days now, he had sat up for a while this morning. The fever had not come back. To Tía it seemed a miracle. She had been convinced when his fever soared three days ago that he would die.

  Judy had saved Grant’s life. Tía knew that as surely as she had ever known anything. Judy alone had saved him.

  That night at supper Johnny kept his eyes on his plate. He didn’t look once at Tía. He talked with the men about things Tía knew nothing about, ate very little supper, and appeared distracted.

  It was so unlike him that Tía felt the void instantly. Instead of being relieved by his lack of attention she was unaccountably piqued. She carried the coffeepot down to his end of the table twice. He did not look up or ask for more coffee. Usually he would drink his coffee quickly, smile at her, and lift his cup to summon her. Tonight he barely touched his cup.

  At last Tía carried the pot down to his end of the table and poured coffee in all the cups of all the men around Johnny. Still he did not look up at her.

  Finally she stopped beside him. “Coffee?” Suddenly her heart was pounding hard.

  “No, thank you.” His voice sounded so strangled, so disinterested.

  Tía walked back into the kitchen and stayed there until the meal was over.

  Tía threw herself into the housework to take her mind off Johnny, but she heard reports of his unaccustomed industry from Dap, who had apparently taken a liking to her. That boy even volunteered to dig post holes. To Dap everyone was a boy, even if he was the same age. A foreman don’t dig nothing. He must be off his feed.

  Tía couldn’t imagine what had happened to change him from a young man who looked like he couldn’t spit without leaning against something to a man who dug post holes. It was out of character. She began to worry that Johnny would cut his picket pin and drift on to another range, but she told herself she’d be better off if he did.

  Each day, in addition to cooking, the women tackled one other chore or set of chores. Tuesday they darned, ironed, and sewed on buttons. Wednesday they put fresh linens on all the beds in the house and bunkhouse. In the house, the feather mattresses had to be beaten into a state of freshness and turned. Carmen informed Tía each bed was made a little differently. Steve preferred his mattress perfectly flat. Judy liked hers swelling slightly in the middle. In the bunkhouse, the cotton mattresses were dragged outside and hung over the lines to air, then fresh sheets were applied.

  Thursday was cleaning day. Everything in the house was dusted, scrubbed, or mopped. Combs were brushed and wiped. Hairbrushes were dipped in a solution of soda and hot water until they came clean.

  Friday was set aside for canning. Navarone supervised the children in picking cucumbers from the garden. Carmen supervised Cruz and Lupe in pickling them.

  Andrea had finally given up trying to fight her own nature, even to impress Steve and Judy, and slept in until nine o’clock every morning. Steve didn’t seem to mind. And Judy didn’t get up in time to notice, but when she learned about it from Lupe, she was pleased Andrea didn’t outdo her in that area.

  Steve was an early riser. Sometimes he spent the morning in the barn. Sometimes he saddled a horse and rode out of the compound. Carmen said he liked to sit on the mountainside and think in the early morning hours. He would come back and spend the day in his office designing things. He had designed every improvement on the ranch. He only came out of his office to eat or take care of one of his horses. He shared Tía and Johnny’s love of horses.

  As the lady of the spread, Andrea spent her time as she pleased. She read books and old magazines, walked everywhere inside the compound, and familiarized herself with everything and everyone. Judy claimed Andrea was like a queen familiarizing herself with her kingdom. I hope she knows I’m not one of her subjects.

  A week went by so quickly that Tía didn’t realize it until it was over that she hadn’t been near a horse since the ride to the ranch. Rancho la Reina’s handsome foreman stayed away from her. She was bewildered by Johnny’s withdrawal, but too busy learning all that was expected of her to do anything about it.

  Friday afternoon she told Carmen she had something to do, slipped out the back door, and walked to the barn. She found the easy-gaited mare she had ridden to the ranch, saddled it, and led it toward the door.

  “You need a good workout, don’t you, girl?” she asked, patting the sleek mare’s neck.

  A familiar masculine voice stopped her. “You planning on taking that horse outside the walls?”

  Tía turned slowly to face Johnny. He leaned against the wall beside the barn door, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, his eyes carefully hooded. Dressed in dusty black vest, blue-and-white-striped shirt that emphasized the darkness of his face, and dark trousers, he seemed to be daring her to fight with him. Matador, the horse he had been leading into the barn, sniffled at Tía’s horse.

  “Does that meet with your approval?”

  “You don’t need my approval. I’m nobody to order you around. But it might not be safe out there alone.”

  Johnny looked hot and dusty, as if he had been riding hard. She’d heard from Steve that Johnny was working harder than any of the other men, longer hours, more onerous tasks. Matador looked tired. Tía smiled. “You were out there. Was it safe?”

  “Appeared to be, but I got to feeling uneasy about it and sent the men back in. I took a look-see, but didn’t find anything too alarming.”

  “So you’re recommending that I not go.”

  “Not alone, anyways. Not for any distance.”

  Tía walked almost up to Johnny. In the dim light of the barn his dark eyes regarded her with his familiar, careful expression. She had the urge to reach out and stroke his face, to feel the brush of his mustache on her fingertips. In Tubac or up in the hayloft she could have done it, but now he looked intimidating and unapproachable. Maybe she was just now seeing him as he really was.

  Tía hesitated. She had been cooped up in the house all week, ever since arriving at the ranch. She needed to ride, to feel the wind on her face.

  “I guess you’re too tired to ride with me,” she said. Her heart raced, and she immediately wished she hadn’t spoken. He would probably refuse her.

  Johnny’s dark face seemed to pale. He looked like a man struggling with a weighty problem. Finally he sighed. “I’m not tired.”

  “You look tired.” Tía could not imagine what had made her say that.

  His lips compressed in a wall of stubbornness. “You want me to go or not? Just say so.”

  “I asked you to go. W
hy would I not want you to?”

  Tía could not imagine how everything had become so difficult. Things had been easy between them from the first minute he’d stepped foot in Mrs. Gaston’s dress shop. At some point that had all changed, but she had lost track of where and when it had happened. All she felt for sure was the heat radiating from Johnny Brago’s lean body. She suddenly hated the cocky slant of his deep-set eyes. Anything could be going on in him—though if she had to guess, she would think he felt remorseful. But she couldn’t imagine why he should, unless it had finally dawned on him that she knew he had spent the night with Judy.

  As if he had made up his mind, Johnny levered himself away from the wall with his elbows. “Let me toss my saddle on a different horse.”

  It proved to be a lengthy process. He unsaddled Matador, brushed and curried him, turned Matador over to Tía to walk him, then strode out into the corral and roped a big red mare, another horse from his string, and brushed and curried her before throwing on a dry blanket and saddling her.

  Tía was content to walk Matador around the corral. She didn’t mind the delay, even though she was anxious to be riding. She enjoyed being with the horses, watching Johnny’s deft movements, the obvious care he took with them. She knew which horses he rode, and they were all well groomed. His equipment was mended and polished. No one would ever accuse Johnny Brago of mistreating his animals. Somehow that warmed Tía toward him.

  Navarone walked into the barn, and Johnny yelled for the boy, who came running.

  “Walk Matador for me, will you?” Johnny asked, taking the reins from Tía’s hands.

  “Sí, señor.”

  “When he cools down, give him water and oats.”

  The guard at the front gate was surprised to see Johnny going out again so soon. Tía had put on a divided riding skirt she had made herself in Albany before she’d realized she could not wear it because it would not be acceptable. In Albany decent young women did not ride astride in divided skirts. They wore elaborate riding habits that confined them to a sidesaddle.