The door opened. A white man about forty years old, with thinning hair and bad teeth, looked at Sammy as though he'd been rudely disturbed from some favorite pastime.
“Yeah, what do you want?” It was more of an accusation than a question.
Sammy could see from the man's expression and tone that he was probably going to be a hard case about it. He decided any politeness would be a waste of time. “Since you put it that way, mister, I want you and whoever else is in this house out of here in the morning. And you'll be takin’ only what you came with.” Sammy had his right hand resting on the butt of his gun and casually eyed both windows. A woman and three boys and two girls were peering out at him.
“Who are you?” the man asked.
“I represent the owner of this property, who is presently in town and will be here in the morning to take possession of her home. Look mister, you and I both know this isn't your place and you don't belong here.”
The man looked unsure. He rubbed the stubble on his chin as if it were helping him to see the clarity of the issue. “We came by here a while back … on the way to California. My wagon broke an axle and I got no more money. We was campin’ nearby. There wasn't nobody here in over a week, so we was looking after it. We been in here over a month and nobody's come yet.”
“Well that's right neighborly of you to look after it, but now the owner is back. Did you get your wagon fixed?”
“Yeah, finally. It took all the money we earned locally.”
“I'll tell you what. Seeing as how you're hard pressed for money, I'll give you fifty dollars for your trouble to pack up right now and leave.”
“Fifty dollars? Right now?”
“Yep, right now.”
The man rubbed his chin some more then scratched his head. “It could be you're just tryin’ to get me outta here so you can claim it for yourself.”
“Yeah that could be, but it ain't the case. If you want, I'll leave right now and come back in the mornin’ with the sheriff and the owner with her deed. But you won't get a penny then. And if there's anything missing that should be here, you'll be accountable for it whether you're still here or not. And if you're not, we'll be comin’ after you.”
The man suddenly looked mad, but even more worried. “Hell, it could be somebody took somethin’ before we ever got here!”
“Yeah, that could be. But it won't matter in the eyes of the law. You'll have been the last party in this house.”
The man ran his fingers through his hair several times. “If we go right now and something is missin’ from before we got here, what's to keep you from pinnin’ it on me anyhow?”
“Well, I'm gonna stand right here and watch you pack up and go. So I'll know what you took … or more to the point, what you didn't take.”
The man paused for a minute without rubbing his chin or running his fingers through his hair. He stood there slowly realizing that Sammy was on the level, and that his best chance for profit was to pack it up and get. Sammy knew he was close, so he got out fifty dollars of his own money and held it out to the man. The man looked Sammy in the eye and held his gaze for several seconds, then took the money. He turned his head in toward the house. “Amylou, start gettin’ packed. We're leavin’ … now. You boys go hitch the team up and bring the wagon ‘round front. You girls help your mother.”
Chapter 41
Claire and Margaret checked in to separate rooms at the Exchange Hotel and immediately availed themselves of the bathing facilities. The Exchange was the only hotel in Santa Fe that had such facilities as part of its offering. The rooms were the best in town, so most of the stagecoach traffic and other travelers stayed there. After they bathed, both the women slept for a while and then Claire collected Margaret and they went to the lobby, checking with the clerk to see if Sammy had arrived. When they found out he hadn't, Claire suggested they get something to eat in the hotel. “Don't you want to go out?” Margaret asked.
“No, not really. Not yet. Do you mind? It's just that I feel out of place. It's all so strange. I don't care to see anyone I know yet. They'll ask what happened. I don't want to talk about it right now … or ever, really.” Claire's eyes suddenly misted up. She took Margaret's hand and squeezed it gently. “I miss Emily already.”
“I know, I do too,” Margaret said, suddenly relating to all that Claire had just expressed and realizing how difficult it would be when she returned home and saw people that she knew. What would they think? What would they say about her in the whispers and the gossip? What boy would be interested in her, knowing what the Indians had done to her? “That's fine that we stay here,” she agreed.
They found a table next to a window looking out at the courtyard. Several men pitched coins against the wall as the shadows of late afternoon stretched across the open ground. A waiter came and they ordered their meals. Claire also picked a bottle of wine. “Will you have some with me?” she asked Margaret.
“I've only ever tasted some once. Yes, I'd like to have a little.”
“Good.” Claire gazed thoughtfully out the window. “You know, Robert and I lived here nearly three years and I've never been in this hotel.” Then she quickly changed the subject. “I wonder where Sammy is? It's getting late. We should go see Blaine after we eat. I hope he's back before we go.”
“Do you think Blaine will be all right?” Margaret asked.
“Oh, I pray so. They're such good men.”
“I think you were right when you said that God sent them.”
“Now we'll pray that God heals Blaine.”
The waiter brought the wine, and Claire and Margaret drank and talked as they waited for their meals. Margaret had been thinking about it, but was unsure of asking. With the sedation of the wine, she was a little more confident and went right to the heart of it. “Claire, could I stay with you for a while? I'll help out and work hard.”
Claire had a slight look of surprise that quickly melted to a warm smile. “Of course you can. You can stay with me as long as you like. I'd be so pleased not to be alone right now. But what about your family, your mother and brothers?”
“I'll write a letter to my mother and let her know what happened and that I'm all safe. But I'm not ready to go back yet. Kind of like you not wanting to go out here and feeling strange. I feel like I need some time to settle. Besides, my mother and I are not that close. I love her, but … and my brothers are in their own worlds. I'll see them. I love them, but I don't know if I'll ever move home again now. I'll be seventeen next month.”
They smiled at each other. Claire reached across the table and took her hand. “We'll make the best of it, together. You can go when you want, or stay as long as you want.” Claire took a deep breath. “You know I'm pregnant, don't you?”
“Yes, Emily told me she thought you were. She said you'd tell me if you wanted to. I'm glad you wanted to.”
“Well, it won't stay a secret much longer anyway.”
“You're barely showing. I mean I can see a little difference, but that's because we've been together for so long. What are you going to do?”
“I'm going to give this baby a home. I think it may be Robert's. I pray it is. The timing seems about right. We were trying just before I was taken. I had morning sickness the day they murdered him. I'll just have to wait till it's born.”
“Oh Claire, I'll pray hard for you … and I'll help do whatever you want me to.”
“Thank you, Margaret. That means so much to me.”
Sammy walked up to the table. “Mind if I sit down with the two best looking gals in the place?” Margaret smiled as if she'd just won a beauty contest. Claire scanned the room.
“We're the only two gals in the place.”
“That'd make you the best looking gals then. But I was referring to all of Santa Fe.”
“Nice to see you so chipper, Mister Winds,” Claire said.
“I prefer it that way. I also prefer to eat when I'm starvin’. Did you eat already?”
“No, our food should b
e here any time now,” Margaret answered.
Sammy saw the waiter walking by. “Would you bring me whatever they're havin’ … twice.”
The waiter raised an eyebrow. “They ordered different meals, sir.”
“Then bring me one of each, and some water too, please.”
“Yes sir. Right away.”
“Polite hombre,” Sammy mused. “Everybody I've met in this town has been polite. You can move back into your house anytime you want, Claire.”
Claire's eyes met Sammy's directly, looking for confirmation of what she thought she just heard. “What do you mean? What about what Doctor O'Malley said about somebody living there?”
“They're gone now,” Sammy said casually as he reached for a piece of bread from the basket.
“When did they leave?” Claire asked with a tone of wonderment.
“Not long after I asked them to.”
“You were there?”
“Yep. Was a man and his family livin’ there … ‘bout a month. They were passin’ through and broke an axle on their wagon. Also, I happened upon a neighbor. Pablo Hernandez I believe it was. He said that some other folks out that way, name of Grimes—they have your cow, some livestock, and a buckboard.”
Claire'e eyes brightened. “Yes, I know Mister Hernandez, and the Grimes’ are close friends. We were on our way to their place when we were attacked. Oh my. Thank you, Sammy, for taking care of that. It's such a burden off my mind. Thank you!”
“You're welcome, Claire. I'm just glad it smoothed out without a fight.”
The waiter came with Claire and Margaret's meals. “Yours will be out in just a minute, sir.”
“I'll be here,” Sammy said, and stuffed another piece of bread in his mouth.
“We're planning to go see Blaine after we finish here if it's not too late,” said Margaret.
Sammy finished chewing and took a drink of water to wash it down. “I saw Blaine earlier. Doctor O'Malley said it's wait and see. I won't lie to you. He said if the infection spreads he could lose his leg—or maybe his life.”
“Oh no, no!” Margaret exclaimed.
Sammy shook his head. “Hold on. It hasn't spread yet. It seems to me there's a good chance it won't now. The doctor took out some bullet fragments and said the infection was still local, which I figure is a good sign, being that's its been four days now. He's young and strong. Now he's sleepin’ hard and gettin’ good rest and care.”
“Can we look in on him yet tonight?” Claire asked.
“I think so. The doc's assistant lives in the back—that side door off the courtyard over there.”
Blaine did not wake up while Sammy, Claire, and Margaret stood around his bed in the room's dim light, talking about him in whispers. He woke up later after a dream about busting broncs caused him to move his injured leg suddenly when he was thrown from the horse. The pain was not severe, but it was enough to bring him to a groggy state of consciousness after having been asleep for nine hours.
The room was unfamiliar and nobody occupied the three other beds. He could hear the sound of people and activity coming through a small transom window high on the opposite wall. It was tilted open, but cast no light. Night, he thought, feeling as if still in a dream. He called out, “Hello.”
A moment later the door opened and a middle-aged woman in a floor-length scarlet robe entered and made her way to his bedside. Her long hair was dark and streaked with gray and braided so it looked like heavy rope hanging to the middle of her back. “Good evening, señor,” she said with perfect enunciation in a thick, Spanish accent.
Blaine stared up at her.
“Good evening to you.”
“You have slept a long time. I will bring you food if you are hungry.”
“No, but I am thirsty.”
“I will bring you water. You must not get up.” She took the bedpan from the table next to the bed and put it beside him. “Use this when you have to go. There is paper here,” she said, pointing to the sheets on the table. “Do not get up. I will help you if you need.”
“Thank you, ma'am. I'll manage that part myself … I hope.”
“It is all right. I have helped many people. Your friends were here earlier tonight. You were sleeping. They will be back in the morning. They are staying next door at the hotel.”
Blaine lifted his head and propped himself a little higher. “They were here, huh? They got a bar in that hotel? ‘Cause I'd be in it if I wasn't here.” He lifted the sheet and looked at his heavily bandaged thigh. “I don't remember the doctor workin’ on me, but it looks like he did.”
“Yes … you were sleeping then too.”
“I been sleepin’ a lot.”
“It is the medicine. It is for the pain, and it will help you sleep.”
“Well how ‘bout some more of that medicine, ‘cause now that I'm awake the pain is back.”
“I will bring some with the water,” she said, and disappeared through the door.
Blaine lay there listening intently as he looked up at the window. He could hear the Mariachis, who had started up with guitars and singing, followed by several whoops from the audience. It was a lively piece they were playing, painting a picture in his mind of the festive time somebody was having. “Sounds like where I'd like to be,” he said to himself. Blaine's eyes slipped to half-mast as he floated in the spirit of the song and momentarily put the ache of his leg to the back of his mind.
The woman was back at his bedside without him realizing how she got there. She handed him a large clay cup and put the pottery pitcher on the table next to a washbowl. Blaine slugged at the water for several seconds, half emptying the vessel and then taking a deep breath. “Much obliged,” he said as he placed the cup on the table. “We ain't been properly introduced. I'm Blaine Corker.”
The woman pulled the small dark bottle and a spoon from the pocket of her robe as she spoke. “I am Alice Martinez, the doctor's assistant.” She removed the cap and carefully poured the chocolate brown liquid onto the spoon. “Take this,” she said as she held the spoon to his mouth, “and hold it under your tongue for a minute before you swallow.” Blaine took the medicine. It had an alcohol base and tasted like extra strong moonshine to him. He held it under his tongue for the better part of a minute and then swallowed.
“Can I have a smoke to go with it? The makins is in my shirt pocket there.”
“It is not good for you with a fever. But if you want …” She retrieved his tobacco pouch and papers and then wet a washcloth while he rolled a smoke. She put the cool compress on his forehead and pulled the wooden chair from the table. She sat down. “I will sit with you while you smoke. I do not want you to go to sleep and burn us down. The medicine is strong.”
“Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate the company.”
Blaine smoked and told her about when he'd been in Santa Fe several years earlier. By the end of his cigarette, he felt light-headed and wasn't sure if it was the medicine kicking in quickly on an empty stomach, or just the tobacco. He snuffed out his smoke and laid his head back on the pillow as Alice talked of things that had happened or changed in Santa Fe in the years since Blaine had last been there. Then he knew it was the medicine taking over as the pain began to subside and a blanket of warmth flowed over him. Alice's voice became a faint echo that slipped away as he began to dream of boarding a stagecoach pulled by golden horses.
Chapter 42
The morning came, and he had another teaspoon of medicine dispensed by Alice before he ate a small plate of choriso and beans with a tortilla for breakfast. Sun poured through the transom and filled Blaine with optimism about his condition. He sensed some improvement. His leg ached badly, but he generally felt better, and Alice had said she thought his fever had come down some. He rolled a smoke and lit it, then sat waiting for the medicine to kick in.
Doctor O'Malley opened the door as Blaine was finishing his smoke. “Good morning.”
“Good mornin’, Doc.”
“Missus Martinez tells me
your fever has come down.” The doctor walked to the side of the bed and put his palm on Blaine's forehead. “Ah … yes, better. Not gone, but better. How are you feeling?”
“A sight better ‘n when they dragged me in here. Seems I been asleep all but about one hour since I got here. That oughta help some.”
“Yes, well let's have a look.” The doctor pulled the sheet off Blaine's leg. The center of the bandage was heavily blood stained.
“Should it be leakin’ that much blood, Doc?”
“I don't think it's something to worry about. I had to cut out some tissue getting at the rest of those bullet pieces. I couldn't close it back up the same way, so you have somewhat of an open wound. It was bound to bleed some. That's one reason you have to stay off this leg—for several weeks, I suspect. You'll never get it healed if you're on it too soon. The real concern for now is the infection.” The doctor started looking closely at the leg and feeling up and down from the spot of the wound.”
“Whadaya looking for, Doc?”
“Red streaking, abnormal swelling and tenderness away from the wound, lines of discoloration.” The doctor pulled out a pair of scissors. “Let's change this bandage right now.” He cut the bandage and carefully removed it.
Blaine stared at the short gash in his leg that was packed with gauze. Suddenly, he felt the surge of wonderland as the painkiller of the small brown bottle hit him. He was grateful of it. His concern melted, and he watched with some glee as Doctor O'Malley extracted the packing and flushed the gapping hole with a clear solution from another brown bottle. “Those brown bottles are right handy,” Blaine said, as if he were on a picnic.
Doctor O'Malley looked up at Blaine, taken with the whimsical tone and obvious departure of sobriety in his patient's last statement. “Well, I don't see any signs that the infection is spreading. So far, so good.”
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