Safe Passage

by Carla Kelly

  “D’you think she’ll recognize us?” he whispered to Addie as Graciela stood at the turn of the landing.

  “You, maybe,” his wife whispered back. “You and your friends were all silly over her. She never noticed me. I was younger and quiet.”

  “And that’s one of the many reasons why I married you,” he said in her ear. “Plus you kill cougars.”

  Addie laughed out loud, which made Graciela turn and stare because she preferred to be the center of attention, and she wasn’t, just then.

  “Hola, Graciela,” Ammon said.

  Graciela looked and looked again, her haughty expression softening. She swallowed several times and came down the stairs slowly. She looked from Ammon to Addie and back to Ammon, her hand to her throat.

  “You married Addie Finch?” she said in English, still staring at them both.

  “Smartest thing I ever did,” Ammon replied promptly, which made Addie lean closer until their shoulders touched.

  “Did you come to rescue me?” Graciela asked, her eyes suddenly hopeful, the disdain gone.

  “Not really,” Addie told her. “Your husband saved my … saved my life in Colonia García. He gave me some money for you to use in getting out of Mexico. That is why we are here.” She smiled. “We’re having enough trouble rescuing ourselves.”

  “And then we’re hotfooting it to the border. I’ll go get the money.” Ammon looked at the baker. “Maybe you would let my wife and me sleep here today and then leave tonight?”

  The baker opened his mouth to speak, but Graciela began to cry, her hands in her hair, not tugging too hard, as far as Ammon could tell, but just enough to make the baker’s wife start wringing her hands. Simple soul, he thought, half amused. She’s just playing you.

  “You’re just going to leave me here?” Graciela asked, through her tears.

  “You’re welcome to come along with Addie and me,” Ammon said. “We travel at night and do a lot of walking. Let me get that money. You can take the train and be in El Paso in two days. At least right now, it’s all Salazar country. You couldn’t be safer; us, not so much.”

  The room got quiet, Graciela discarding her fake tears as quickly as she had adopted them. The baker and his wife looked at each other. Addie edged closer to him, and Ammon felt his stomach start to roam about his insides.

  “Graciela, what’s wrong with your husband’s plan?”

  Trust Addie to get right to the meat of the situation. While he was trying to calm his own fears, she had gone to Graciela, touching her arm lightly. “Tell us. We have to know.”

  It was softly spoken, simply said, and Graciela did not hesitate. “My husband”—she spit the word out— “has abandoned General Salazar and General Orozco and sides with General Huerta now.”

  And this is Salazar’s town, Ammon thought, shocked. He glanced at Addie, who seemed more perplexed than worried.

  “But your husband saved me, and General Salazar was in the room too,” Addie said. “Two or three weeks ago, that’s all.”

  Graciela’s words were bitter. “Since then, he has changed his mind. Oh, it chafes me! He leaves me in this … this wretched little town, living in a bakery …”

  Addie increased the pressure of her hand on Graciela’s arm, but her voice was no louder. Ammon watched them, grateful their conversation could only be in English because he could not imagine what the baker and his wife were thinking.

  Addie must have had the same thought as she exchanged a worried look with him. She stood a little taller then and interrupted Graciela, who had switched to Spanish. “Graciela, not another word in Spanish. You owe these kind people that courtesy.” She leaned closer, her voice kind but firm. “In fact, I think you should just burst into tears about now, and let Ammon do the talking. If you have to complain, do it in English.”

  To Ammon’s amazement, she did precisely that, collapsing into Addie’s welcoming arms, sobbing her misery about the perfidy of husbands, her lumpy bed, and the fact that there was no glycerin and rose water anywhere in town for her skin, which was turning into leather.

  “Addie, take her upstairs,” he whispered. “What in the world is the matter with her?”

  Addie gave the weeping Graciela a push toward the stairs again. “You know she’s not used to this sort of life, Am,” she whispered in his ear.

  “You’re an angel. Have I told you that recently?”

  She smiled and shook her head. When she looked directly in his eyes, he saw something more this time: He saw a confident woman. “I can manage her.” Her cheeks bloomed with color then. “I know what it is like to go a little bit crazy.” She followed Graciela upstairs, looking back once to give him such a glance.

  My goodness, life is full of surprises, he told himself as he turned back to the baker and his wife. “I will have her off your hands by nightfall,” he promised. “You are loyal to General Salazar?”

  “We are,” the baker said, drawing himself up.

  “Then I can only applaud your great courtesy to the wife of someone now disaffected from your cause,” Ammon said simply.

  “We have honor. The doctor left her under our roof, and we could not just turn her out.”

  “Although we have been tempted,” the baker’s wife added. Without a word, she turned to the table where pan dulces were cooling on a rack and handed one to Ammon.

  He gave her enough money for several. “For my wife, when she comes down.”

  “Your wife is a saint,” the baker said.

  “Why, yes, she is,” Ammon agreed. “And do you know, she saved my life by Rio Papigochic by killing a mountain lion.”

  The baker’s wife gasped, her eyes like saucers. “We have heard that story! How she wounded the lion, then killed it with her bare hands!”

  “Claro,” Ammon said, perjuring himself without a qualm. “She can handle Graciela.”

  “And you too, eh?” the baker said, a twinkle in his eye.

  Ammon felt his face flame. “Even me,” he said solemnly, then laughed, which made the baker and his wife beam at him as though he were a long lost son.

  Once they knew he was taking the Empress of Siam off their hands and understood he was the husband of the lion killer whose fame was spreading, negotiations went smoothly, requiring none of the lengthy diplomacy he was prepared to expend to keep Addie safe. With the crook of his finger, the baker led him into the alley, showing him the stable across the way, the one with the door nearly hidden, where he kept the two old geriatrics that pulled his baker’s wagon. The horses were as generous as their master, moving over to make room for Blanco, sharing their grain.

  In a further burst of generosity—he could see the regime of the Empress of Siam coming to a welcome conclusion—the baker even agreed to let Graciela take one of the old nags. When Addie came downstairs, assuring them that Graciela had cried herself back to sleep, the baker’s wife sat her down and gave her more pan dulce with powdered sugar, washed down with goat’s milk. Addie ate until she had to raise both hands in protest.

  While she was eating, the baker’s wife bustled around in the room over the kitchen, coming down to announce that the sheets were clean and there was even water for a bath. Addie took the woman’s hands in hers and kissed them, a gesture so full of humility, and so exactly right that Ammon felt the last bit of callus burn away from his heart.

  A pleasant glow replaced the callus a few minutes later when he washed his wife’s bare back, got in a kiss or two, and received the same treatment after she dried off. He decided he wasn’t as tired as previously thought, which seemed to dovetail with Addie’s plans too. When they woke much later, the shadows had changed. Now was the time for strategic planning, rendered more enjoyable by his wife in his arms.

  “We’ll just take Graciela along with us and head for the border. Depending on where the armies are, we might aim for the North Western Railway, just beyond Dublán,” he told her. “You know, take the railroad in style. At this point, we’re about the same distance from the ra
ilroad as we are from the mountains.”

  “Will you come out with us?”

  He wanted to lie, but he couldn’t. “I’m not sure, Addie. Just not sure yet. I still want you out, because it’s not safe.” He kissed her bare shoulder. “Okay?”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said after a long silence. “Maybe you’re right,” she said later in a quieter voice. And then, “We could probably use the five hundred dollars.”

  But man proposes and God disposes; in this case, Graciela dug in her heels and refused to go along with the plan. Even in her self-absorption, Graciela seemed to know that tears and tantrums wouldn’t work now. She became the young woman he remembered from Juárez Stake Academy, sitting so still—reminiscent of Addie— but with an intensity burning inside that neither of them had any proof against.

  “All I want to do—what I must do—is return to my home on the San Diego Ranch.” She raised her hand when Ammon opened his mouth to object. “I know you mean well, but I fear for my parents.”

  “They might be in the United States,” Addie said.

  “When did you last see them?” Ammon asked.

  Graciela smiled at him, her eyes lively now with the memory. “The last time I saw you! We were visiting Rancho Chavez in early summer. You were hauling grain and dusty. I wanted to offer you cool water, but Señora Chavez and my mother made me sit down again.” She looked away, her lips trembling. “My mother.”

  “I remember.”

  “Do you … could they still be there? I have heard nothing.”

  I hope to goodness they are not, he thought, distressed, remembering the stables. He glanced at Addie, who exchanged his worried look for hers.

  “You know something,” Graciela said simply.

  “I went to Hacienda Chavez three weeks ago. It was burned.”

  His words hung in the air like a bad odor. Graciela looked away and Addie took her hand. Both of them looked at him, and he knew they were going to Rancho San Diego, whether he wanted to or not. All he said was, “I’m having the hardest time rescuing anyone.”

  B

  They left when twilight started to work its magic in the plaza of San Pedro, that time of night when, in better days, the young men and young ladies began to walk around, observing each other in that coy Hispanic way. Ammon always enjoyed this gentle part of life in Mexico before the revolution, when nightingales sang and someone usually strummed a guitar with varying degrees of expertise.

  It was different now. The plaza made him sad, with too many flags and men with bandoleras and Mausers. He had no idea where the young girls had gone.

  Graciela had not been pleased with the baker’s poor excuse for a horse. He had found an equally antique saddle, generous now that the Empress was on her way, and saddled the rickety horse. Graciela looked around and frowned, then sighed. Ah, the beginning of wisdom, Ammon thought hopefully, careful not to smile.

  Trust Addie to make everything right. And to think he had feared she knew nothing of Mexico; how wrong he had been. After the baker’s wife, tears in her eyes, had stuffed Blanco’s saddlebags with more tortillas and pan dulce, she insisted on giving Addie a cheesecloth bag full of queso fresco.

  “Gracias, mi madre,” Addie said. Of course it wasn’t right or proper, except that it was. Ammon held his breath at the loveliness of his mujer kneeling in front of the baker’s wife while she traced a sign of the cross on Addie’s forehead.

  Addie rose so gracefully, so serene, and backed up to him, holding up her necklace, the one she loved so well. Silently, he worked the stubborn clasp and handed it to her. “I’ll get you another one someday,” he whispered.

  “No need,” she said so softly. “You’re all I want.”

  She took her wedding ring off the chain, then touched the pretty locket one more time before she handed it to the baker, gesturing for him to do the honors. With tears in his eyes, he put it around his wife’s plump neck. Now it was his turn to work the stubborn clasp.

  Addie handed her wedding ring to Ammon. “Put it on my finger, like you did in the St. George Temple,” she said, her eyes so kind. “I won’t take it off again.”

  He did as she said, then hoped the baker and his wife would not mind their lack of propriety as he gathered Addie close. He shouldn’t have worried. The kind couple had turned away modestly.

  B

  They traveled in silence that night, away from the Salazar stronghold of San Pedro. Graciela objected to dismounting to rest their horses, but Addie convinced her it was best if she wanted to make it home to her parents’ house. She and Graciela walked together, talking to each other, Addie soothing, Graciela complaining, until they were both silent. They saw nothing and only heard coyotes tuning up on distant hills.

  Luck found them at first light along a river he couldn’t remember, in the ruins of a town he had forgotten, blasted to pieces like Encarnación. The church still had a partial roof, so Ammon left the women to clear away broken glass and evidence of wandering animals while he led the horses to water and sheltering trees.

  When he returned, Graciela had already wrapped herself in a shawl, facing toward the wall, somehow looking like a portrait of indignation. “She’s angry at us. She’d like to blame us for this, but she can’t quite figure out how,” Addie said, amused. She stood on tiptoe to speak in his ear. “She wouldn’t be much fun on a picnic, would she?”

  Ammon chuckled. Trust Addie to make the best of the situation. In a dark corner somewhere, she had found a cast-off chasuble, much troubled by mice. Shaken out and rolled up, it made a passable pillow. Before they slept, he asked her, “Whose turn is it to pray?”

  She looked at him, a question in her eyes, which softened when she understood he was thinking back through two years of sorrow about to be forgotten forever. “Well, let’s see. If I remember, you usually liked to say the prayer before you left on one of your freighting trips. And I said it when you returned.”

  “That’s what I thought. My turn.” Her soft “Amen,” when he finished made him finally understand, at the advanced age of twenty-six, just exactly what a tender mercy was.

  The day was overcast and then rainy, which meant the three of them ended up sitting with their backs against cold adobe, where part of the roof remained to keep off some of the rain. Ammon found a dry enough corner where Addie sat and shivered between his legs while he thumbed through Alma, looking for the end of Old Ammon the Nephite’s missionary journey in the land of his enemies.

  “Addie, it says here that Ammon and his brothers were fourteen years away from home.” He showed her the passage. “All we have to do is get Graciela home and get two train tickets like civilized people. If what those soldados told us was right, the army is down near Namiquipa, and we’re heading north. I think we can do it.”

  Wet but not so miserable, they waited until the rain stopped and enough moon came out to show them the way, since this wasn’t a route he ordinarily took when he teamed. The road was too narrow, and he didn’t remember any villages. After midnight, they crossed what he hoped was Rio San Miguel. He knew the San Miguel joined with the Piedras Verdes to create the Rio Casas Grandes, which flowed by Dublán in the far distance. It was too cloudy to tell, but he also hoped they were in the valley that he knew led to Rancho San Diego, at 150,000 acres, one of the smaller holdings belonging to Luis Terrazas.

  Graciela seemed to know where they were once they started up the valley. “Hurry up!” she called, moving ahead of them. She dug her heels into her creaky old mount, who already looked like he was about to drop to his knees and crawl the rest of the way.

  “Have a little patience,” he called. “It’s time to dismount and walk them.”

  There was enough moonlight to see the vast disdain on Graciela Menendez Andrade’s face. Ammon shook his head and helped Addie dismount. “She’ll feel a bit different when that nag flops over and cocks up his toes.”

  He sighed with weariness when Graciela disappeared over the next rise. He knew Addie was as tired
as he was, but she just chuckled and bumped his shoulder with hers.

  “What do you think Evangeline would say if she could—”

  He stopped her, suddenly alert, when shots sounded where Graciela had disappeared. He peered into the gloom, his hand on Addie’s arm.

  “What should we …”

  Ammon never thought the baker’s horse could move that fast, but he galloped toward them now. Graciela rode hunched over, her hair streaming behind her.

  “… do?” Addie finished, her eyes wide with fright.

  “Say the fastest prayer you can think of,” he said and waved his arms to stop the horse.

  Its eyes rolling in terror, the baker’s horse stopped. Ammon jerked Graciela from the saddle just as the horse flopped over, dead. It looked like an army coming at them. Ammon closed his eyes, hoping there would be fewer soldados when he opened them again. No such luck; this nightmare was real.

  Graciela opened her mouth to scream, but Addie clamped her hand over her mouth and gave her a shake. Addie just looked at him, and he saw all the love in her heart. Please, Father, he prayed. We have to live.

  The soldiers slowed down. They had stopped firing, but they approached cautiously now, curious. Ammon willed himself to relax. Both of the women were looking at him, Graciela in terror, and Addie in utter confidence. He took heart and knew what to do.

  “Let’s see how well we can act,” he said. “Addie, you have to keep your head down because they can’t see your light eyes. I want you to cry and wail as though your heart is breaking.”

  She nodded, even as Graciela stared at him as though he had grown another head. He snatched up a stick and thrust it into Graciela’s hands. “I want you to start beating your horse.”

  “He’s dead,” Graciela snapped.