by Carla Kelly
“Most generally,” Ammon said in Spanish, switching to the language where he knew the general was more comfortable. “Still, I try not to cross her.”
Salazar chuckled, his rage forgotten. Maybe he had a wife too.
“Of course, you may have heard rumors from Ildefonso near the Rio Papigochic of a woman who killed three mountain lions,” he said, testing the waters.
Salazar’s eyes widened. “We have all heard of that woman.” He looked at the two women. “Your woman?”
“She saved my life,” Ammon said simply. “We were surrounded and she saved my life.”
“And now you are my prisoners. What do you think of that?” Salazar asked.
He heard a sound and looked around to see the soldiers going through Blanco’s saddlebags, pulling out the Mexican flag he had rescued from the broken standard in Encarnación. The Book of Mormon came next, to be thumbed, ruffled, and tossed on the ground. Next came the smelly canvas bag Dr. Menendez had stolen from his privy. Ammon watched as the soldier opened it. No money. What on earth had Graciela done with it?
Addie surprised him again. Releasing her punishing grip on Graciela, she walked down the shallow steps again into the circle of mounted men. She picked up the Book of Mormon, lying there in the dust. Elaborately, she brushed it off, handed the book to Ammon, and returned to Graciela.
“It’s just a book,” Salazar told her, sounding faintly apologetic.
“It means a great deal more to us, General,” she said kindly. “To the kitchen, you say?” She drew herself up proudly. “I learned how to make tortillas after Am rescued me.”
Salazar laughed again, genuinely amused. He nodded to Addie as she started down the dim corridor to the kitchen, Graciela tight in her grip. As Ammon watched them, Graciela tried to pull away, maybe to run. Addie grabbed her hair and yanked on it until the other woman slowed down.
Salazar gestured for the soldado to bring him the canvas bag. He held it at arm’s length, looking at the two Hs, then at Ammon. “Your company?”
Ammon nodded. “I’ve hauled for you and your patrón, General Pascual Orozco,” he reminded the general. “Also for your enemies, as you well know. We were told to be neutral.”
“You Mormons were also told, on pain of death, to leave my country,” Salazar reminded him.
“I had to find my wife,” Ammon said. He glanced at his Book of Mormon in his hand and thought of Old Ammon the Nephite, a prisoner before King Lamoni. If it worked for Old Ammon …
“General, how can I serve you?” he asked, which made Salazar laugh until he wheezed. The soldiers looked at each other, uneasy, wondering about a gringo in ragged clothes with two helpless women who seemed to think he had something to offer. “I am serious. Think about it for a while, if you please. If there is something I can do for you, I will.”
Salazar was silent. He gestured for Ammon to follow him, closing the door behind them.
“My horse …”
“… will be taken care of,” Salazar assured him. “Tonto, let me think.”
He waved Ammon away, and Ammon started down the hall after his wife. He could smell beans and tortillas far ahead and he wanted some. He was passing an open door when Addie called to him from inside. He stopped and looked in, appalled by what he saw.
A man lay on a blood-soaked chaise longue, the kind that privileged women reclined on in women’s magazines. Ammon had never seen a real chaise longue, because colony women never had that much time on their hands. The man was moaning and picking at the equally soaked sheet that covered his bare body. Graciela, her eyes wide and terrified, had flattened herself against the wall. Addie knelt by the man, her hand to his forehead.
“Am, he’s burning up. And there’s all this blood. I don’t know what to do, but I’m going to try.” She glared at Graciela. “You go to the kitchen. Bring me water in a basin, towels, and something to drink.” Graciela couldn’t leave fast enough.
Am knelt beside her, and she took his arm. “He’s in agony! Just bless him to die soon,” she whispered. “You did that for Serena’s brother.”
He kissed her forehead and looked closer at the wounded man. “I know him,” he said. The man winced at his words, so he lowered his voice even further. “He is Pedro Ochoa, the general’s second-in-command. He ranches near here, or used to.”
“Yes, he did,” said Salazar from the doorway. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to wipe his body with cool water, because he is burning up,” Addie said, keeping her voice low. “I’ll need a clean sheet to cover him, and another pillow or two to prop him up so he can breathe easier.” She spoke decisively, tucking away her fear in some quiet place out of reach. “He was shot through the lungs, wasn’t he?”
Salazar nodded, coming closer. “At Encarnación. We have no doctor.” He tapped the top of Addie’s head to make her look up. “Can you help him?”
“Not beyond making him a little more comfortable,” she said. “I will do everything I can for him. I pledge this to you on my honor.”
Salazar nodded. “Are all Mormon women so useful?” he asked Ammon.
“All the ones I know.”
“Perhaps I should not have been so hasty …” He stopped, frowned, then gave Ammon that searching look that had skewered Graciela so neatly on the porch. “Let’s see how badly you want to serve me.”
“Only ask it.”
He was standing with Salazar now, as Addie continued to press her hand against the wounded man’s head, doing nothing more than touching him and easing her fingers through his tangled hair. She performed no useful service beyond letting him know that someone cared enough to touch him, and Ammon knew she was perfectly right.
Salazar switched to Spanish. “I know where that worthless Dr. Menendez is. I am going to send you to bring him here.”
Ammon nodded. “I can do that. I’ll start right now.”
“I’m not done yet! When he is back here, and after he treats Pedro, you’ll kill him for me.”
Ammon cried out, and Addie looked at him in alarm. “It’s all right, Addie,” he said, as his heart plummeted into his boots. He looked at the general. You are a cold-hearted man, he thought. “I can’t bring Dr. Menendez back here and then kill him,” he said.
Salazar’s face split in a grin that Pa used to call a gallows smile. “Then tell me, Mormon, which of the women will die first? Or would you rather I just turned them over to my soldiers? That is your choice.”
“No!”
“On second thought, I’ll keep your wife for myself. She’s charming.”
Think, Ammon, he told himself. Addie was watching him now, her eyes anxious, and he wondered again how much Spanish she knew. It became so clear to him that everything in his life had distilled right down to this moment. He closed his eyes, not in fear now, because he was beyond that at last. The dead soldiers under the tablecloth, Serena sitting beside her dying brother, the rebel army at midnight, Addie’s pain in her miscarriage, his own grief—it was nothing compared to this moment. Please, Father, I haven’t time to think this through, he prayed silently. I’m doing my best. Maybe that’s all anyone does.
As he stood so silently in agony, it was as though someone stood behind him, speaking in a voice so quiet that he strained to hear it over the heavy breathing of the wounded man. Give it all away.
I have nothing left to give, he thought. I doubt he wants Blanco and he can’t have Addie.
All of it.
Salazar was pressing him back into a corner, both hands on his shoulders, as Addie started to rise, fire in her eyes. Please God, he prayed once more as he watched Addie look around for something to use as a weapon.
Then he understood, as sure as if the Lord God Almighty had given him—one of His denser mortals— a slap. “Stop, Addie,” he said, and Salazar looked around in surprise as she came at him with a stool. “It’s all right, Addie,” Ammon said as he grabbed the stool before it landed on Salazar. “I can fight this battle.” He looked at Salaz
ar, whose eyes were wide. “I would have to wish you good luck if you took on my wife, General.” He smiled, calm again. “General, I have a much, much better idea. Shall we talk it over in another room before my wife murders you? She killed three cougars, remember? Let’s go in another room, shall we? It’s safer somewhere else right now.”
SEVENTEEN
SALAZAR DIDN’T ARGUE. With a stern look at Addie, who had returned to Pedro Ochoa’s side, the general gestured to the door. His face inscrutable now, he stalked down the hall toward the kitchen, brushing past Graciela with her pan of water almost as if he didn’t see her. He stopped before a closed door, slammed it open, and stabbed his finger inside. Ammon followed, feeling better than he had in days, even though he smelled bad and wanted tortillas and beans, even Addie’s misshapen ones.
“Sit down.”
Ammon sat.
“This had better be good.”
“It’s wonderful, General.”
They sat at a small table in what might have been a card room at one time, a place for gentlemen to go after dinner and smoke. He knew Luiz Terrazas was a fine shot, and the walls testified to his prowess. Ammon looked around at the stuffed heads.
“No pumas. My woman is a better shot,” he said, then looked Salazar in the eyes. “How costly was your battle at Encarnación? Besides Pedro Ochoa, I mean.”
They stared at each other. Salazar blinked.
“It took a lot of ammunition to blast out the federales,” Salazar said at last, almost as if admitting it meant pulling the words from his throat with pincers. “And we lost guns. Ay de mi!” He pounded the table with his fist. “These indios and peones who come to fight know nothing about aiming carefully and firing. And at the first sign of trouble, they throw away their rifles and run, even though the battle is not lost! How can anyone win a war with such troops?”
“Easy enough, if you have more rifles and ammunition. General, I have a lot of money.”
“You?” Salazar said, his contempt undisguised. “Your woman is in rags and your boots are about to fall off your feet. I don’t believe you.”
Ammon started to rise, thinking of all the bargains he had made with Mexicans who wanted him to haul freight on their terms, not his. He knew Salazar would stop him. He did.
“Sit,” the general said wearily. “Tell me your fable of fabulous wealth, rivaled only by Coronado, I am certain.”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll take you to it. It’s not far, just in Pearson.”
Salazar’s expression changed. The skepticism vanished and was replaced by the cunning look that Ammon always knew came next in negotiations with Hispanics. “Why should I believe a word you say?”
Ammon leaned toward the general, getting closer than an American would let him get, because gringos backed off. “I never joke about money,” Ammon said, giving each syllable all the weight such a subject needed.
“Ahhh.” Salazar leaned back now, the cunning replaced with understanding. “How much?”
“Enough to buy many Mausers and shot and shell.” He shrugged. “I have heard that The Jackal has the ear of the American ambassador who happens to be in El Paso, so just go to Douglas instead.” He chuckled. “Would you be surprised to know there is a gun runner in Douglas who had me freight Mausers to Pancho Villa? Just mention my name.”
They looked at each other, appraising, measuring, like fighting cocks before the match began. Ammon went for the kill. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “It must be hard for you to get any backing now, if The Jackal has the ear of that fat man in the White House.”
“Nearly impossible!”
“Well, then …” was all Ammon said, and sat back to wait. Take your time, he thought. King Lamoni thought for a whole hour. I can wait that long if Old Ammon did.
Apparently the general needed weapons more than King Lamoni needed answers. “Very well, and what do you want in exchange?”
“Not much. Once I give you the money, I’ll find your worthless doctor. You will put the women on the train to El Paso.”
He had to give the general credit; Salazar wasn’t through yet. “Ah, yes, the women. I could kill you right now and tell your wife to take me to the money.”
Ammon leaned forward again, which forced General Salazar to lean forward too. They hunched over the table like conspirators. “General! Do you seriously think I would ever tell a woman such a secret, especially a wife?”
They laughed together.
“I put the women on the train, and you will still bring back my doctor? Why?”
It was easy to be serious because he knew the desperately wounded man in the next room. “I happen to like Colonel Ochoa, General,” Ammon said. “I want him to live too, and go home to his wife, Ramona, and their sons. I will bring back the doctor, but when Menendez has done all he can for your colonel, you will put him on a train to El Paso too.”
Salazar digested that. “What about you?”
“I don’t care what you do with me, General. I really don’t.” Ammon spread out his hands, a man with no guile or secrets, as he gave it all away.
“In Pearson, you say?” the general asked, after a long pause. It was the kind of pause that would have reduced an American to biting his nails, but not a Mexican like Ammon.
“I’ll take you there after I have some beans and tortillas. Could I borrow a horse? Mine is tired, and I want to ride him tomorrow for the doctor.”
“You will ride for Carrizal tonight, because Colonel Ochoa is dear to me.”
“Carrizal? That’s not too far. I will ride tonight, and the women will go on the train as soon as possible. I would also like a safe conduct pass for both of them and for me, as I ride to Carrizal.”
“You shall have it.” The look in the general’s eyes was proud then. “Not that you need a safe conduct pass in all of Chihuahua. I own it.”
And for how long, you pompous idiot? Ammon asked himself. He held out his hand to the general. “On your honor, señor,” he said as he always said to seal a negotiation.
Salazar shook his hand, and Ammon felt all the terror in the universe drain from his body. His woman was safe; nothing else mattered. He had the word of honor from a man he did not trust, the man President Romney feared. I am working with what I have, Pa, he thought.
While Salazar called to a man to arrange the horses, Ammon walked down the hall to the kitchen. Pia Sanchez still presided over the cooking stove as she had in better times, when he could always be sure of a good meal after a freighting job for Señor Andrade. As she filled a bowl with meaty chunks of pork and chilies, she scolded him for being so thin and dirty, and for dragging his pretty wife all over Chihuahua. She thrust it into his hands, much as she had always done, irritated because he was a man.
He asked for another bowl for the pretty wife he had dragged all over Chihuahua and carried it down the hall to her, where she devoured it almost as fast as he ate his meal. When he finished, he took her hands and told her where he was going with General Salazar. He looked for terror in her eyes, but he saw none this time. Obviously Addie had learned how to work with what she had too. Maybe marrying him in the first place was proof of that.
“When I get back from Pearson, I will ride for Carrizal and Dr. Menendez. You show Pia Sanchez what to do for the colonel here, and get on the train to El Paso with Graciela as soon as Salazar lets you. And he will. He gave me his word of honor.” He looked around. “Where is she?”
“In her old room, crying. She may be a problem. She is still convinced her parents will come for her.” She searched his face, worried. “Am, you said something about Hacienda Chavez …”
He rubbed his cheek against hers, unable to speak for a moment. “Get her on the train. I don’t care how, but get her on the train.”
She nodded, her eyes on the colonel now. She had wiped him clean, bandaged his chest, and propped him up so he could breathe easier. He appeared no better, but he was not soaked in blood. “He whispers for Ramona,” Addie to
ld him, her voice low.
“His wife. You’d like her.” He gestured to her and she was in the circle of his arms in a moment, her head resting against his chest.
“Why is revolution so hard?”
“Everyone wants a little power, and then a little more,” he told her, speaking into her hair. “People like us, like Serena Camacho, like the Salinas family—we just hang on and hope to be standing when the hot winds die down.” He looked at the colonel again. “I’ll give him a blessing that he stay alive long enough for Dr. Menendez.”
Without a word, Addie knelt by the bed as he placed his hands gently on the colonel’s head, asking the Lord to bless this man. “But in all things, Lord, Thy will,” he concluded, then kissed the colonel’s forehead. “He liked to ride along with me when I freighted around Chuichupa. He could tell the best stories.”
B
Ammon and General Salazar left for Pearson in early afternoon, accompanied by ten soldados bristling with weapons. “I have ordered them to kill you if you do anything strange,” Salazar said.
“I won’t even blow my nose,” he assured the general. Just let the privy be standing, he prayed silently, then wondered how many ridiculous petitions Heavenly Father listened to each day, on average.
The privy was standing, and so was his stable and wagon barn. The corral was full of sheep now, and a family was squatting in the quarters he had added on two years ago, when he left Addie and García in such despair. As they watched, a small boy came out of the privy, hitching up his pants. When the boy saw them, he ran into the corral, scattering sheep. The soldiers laughed and shot off their pistolas, which earned Salazar’s disgust.
“No wonder I have no ammunition,” he groused, after giving his troops a filthy look. “Now where?”
Ammon pointed. “There.”
“You’re joking,” Salazar said, and Ammon saw the telltale signs of anger blotch the general’s neck and forehead.
“I told you I never joke about money,” Ammon reminded him as he dismounted.
The privy was a mess, which made the general reluctant to come closer than a few feet from the open door. The family had been using it, to Ammon’s surprise, but seemed not to understand the need to add any lime. All the better, Ammon decided. Even the crown jewels of England and Scotland combined would have been safe in his reeking privy. Pilots in aeroplanes droning high overhead could probably smell the necesario of Señor ’Ancock.