Swept to Sea

by Heather Manning

  "How is the mamacita today?" Dolores Martinez asked.

  Amanda feigned a cheerful smile. "Much the same." She led the way to the bedroom and quietly pushed open the door. Standing in the doorway, she glanced in at her sister lying in the bed. Ella’s long pale braids resembled skinny lengths of rope draped over each shoulder. Her dark eyes were open, but she didn’t appear to see anything, nor did she look in their direction as they entered the room. While Dolores made a tsk-tsk sound and muttered something in Spanish, Amanda made her way to her sister’s bed and sat down on the edge. She picked up one of Ella’s pale, limp hands and held it between her own strong, rosy ones. She felt a surge of conflicting emotion — both pity and impatience.

  "Ella, Señora Martinez has come to sit with you. Remember, I told you I’d be going on a school trip with Rex this morning. The teacher is taking some of the pupils out to explore the old Indian ruins down by the river."

  Amanda watched Ella, hoping for any sign of understanding on her sister’s blank face. There wasn’t one.

  "It is a puzzle, this illness of your sister’s," Dolores said.

  Amanda nodded. She didn’t understand it at all. When Doctor Morgan had come to help deliver the premature baby, Ella had neither spoken, nor cried out in pain. She moaned a little and whimpered. Afterwards, she wouldn’t talk or even eat. She wouldn’t even hold her newborn daughter.

  "Doc Morgan says there’s nothing wrong with her — nothing physical anyhow. She’s as healthy as a horse, but she’s lost the will to live. She didn’t have much time to get over her husband’s death, and then the baby came too early. I guess she’s got a broken heart, and the doctor has no cure."

  "Es una vergüenza—it is a shame," Dolores admitted. "You must be strong enough for the both of you for a little while longer."

  But how much longer? Amanda wondered. She didn’t understand her sister’s behavior at all. Ella was alive. She had two children, a home of her own, and a sizable chicken farm, enough blessings for any woman. So why wasn’t she motivated to quit feeling sorry for herself and get up out of bed? Amanda recalled the doctor’s words now as she gazed down upon her sister’s pale face and gently touched one of the long braids. Ella’s eyes were so dull and lifeless.

  Bonita padded into the room, hoisted her paws up on the bed, and wagged her tail. Amanda chuckled. "See, Ella, even Bonita wishes you were well." She stroked the dog’s silky, lopsided ears. She knew Rex was probably hovering outside the door and keeping an eye out for Gil Gladney’s buckboard. Usually, Amanda made the boy come in first thing to say ‘good morning’ to his mother. But it was hard for him to see her this way, she realized. He was always eager to leave the dark, disheartening room that smelled of medicine and despair.

  "Amanda, you go get ready for your outing," Dolores said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I will take care of your sister and her bebe. You are not to worry. Enjoy yourself."

  "Thank you," Amanda said, rising from the bed. "I appreciate your kindness."

  The older woman shrugged a plump shoulder. "It is nothing. I want you to have a good time — a picnic with the so-charming schoolteacher." She rolled her dark eyes suggestively and arched her thick eyebrows. "Alto, moreno, y muy guapo — tall, dark, and handsome."

  Smiling, Amanda shook her head. "Don’t forget we’ll have Rex and a dozen other school children to keep us company. It won’t be romantic."

  Dolores laughed and shooed her out of the room. Feeling more lighthearted than she had earlier in the morning, Amanda hurried to her room and studied her features in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed with anticipation. Her brown eyes glowed. She examined the Spanish curls she’d flattened against her temples earlier. Recalling some women dubbed them ‘beau catchers,’ she reached for her brush and swept them away with a few impatient strokes. She wouldn’t want Dolores Martinez or anyone else to think she’d set her cap and her heart on winning Gil Gladney.

  She had just finished pinning a brooch to her crisp shirtwaist and smoothing her gored skirt when she heard Rex call out, "Aunt Mandy, he’s here!"

  Her heart lurched. She chastised herself severely for such foolishness and risked one last look in the mirror as she donned her best straw hat — the one with a wide brim to keep the sun out of her eyes. Trimmed with blue and green plaid ribbon, the hat appeared rather festive she thought as she secured the hatpin with fingers trembling ever so slightly. Amanda made her way to the kitchen where Bonita barked a welcome at the newcomer standing on the front porch. Rex had apparently left the dog inside in his eagerness to run out the door to greet Gil Gladney. Amanda felt a slight tug of guilt when she heard Minnie’s feeble cry from the other room, but Dolores bustled in and picked up the bowl of hardboiled eggs Amanda had prepared the night before.

  "Go," the older woman urged, thrusting the bowl toward her. "And do not worry."

  Amanda nodded, taking the bowl and swiping a small Mason jar filled with salt from the kitchen table too. As she opened the door, the dog swept past her with an eager swish of her tail. Gil Gladney stood on the porch talking with Rex. He’d removed his hat, and his black hair glinted in the sunlight like a raven’s wing. Even in scuffed boots and worn trousers, Mr. Gladney was the most attractive man she’d ever met. Dolores was right — he was tall, dark, and handsome. Incredibly handsome.

  She glanced past him to the four youngsters already sitting in the back of the buckboard — little Sammy Cordova, who opened his mouth wide, revealing missing front teeth; the Schwarzkopf twins, Gertrude and Greta, with their long, twiggy braids, the color of old straw; and Jerry Snow, a boy flecked with freckles and red hair nearly the same shade as Bonita’s ragged coat. Jerry was Rex’s best friend. Amanda gave him a slight smile before returning her attention to the good-looking schoolteacher.

  "Miss Dale, you’re as pretty as a picture this morning," Gil greeted her. He smiled, revealing fine white teeth. The deep lines around his eyes crinkled — such blue, blue eyes, Amanda noted. The look of unfeigned admiration she saw there both pleased and flustered her.

  "Good morning to you, Mr. Gladney. A fine day for a school outing," she observed.

  "Yes, the weather’s fine," was all he could reply before Rex began pleading to take the dog along.

  "Please, Mr. Gladney, can Bonita come too? She won’t be any trouble. She’s a good dog, honest."

  Hearing the hopefulness in her nephew’s voice, Amanda said a silent prayer that whoever originally owned the dog would never show up to claim her.

  Gil didn’t hesitate. "Sure, why not? Have her climb up into the back of the wagon."

  Turning to Amanda, he took the bowl of eggs and the jar of salt from her and handed them over to Gertrude to place in the back of the wagon. He offered Amanda his hand to assist her into the front seat of the buckboard.

  "I’ve always liked dogs," he told her. "They have a peculiar sense of humor all their own. And most of them are more pleasant to be around than lots of people I know," he said with a chuckle.

  Amanda’s lips twitched. She thought he had a peculiar sense of humor himself. "Rex loves the dog," she told him after he’d settled Rex and Bonita in the back and joined her on the seat. "She wasn’t much to look at when he first found her, homeless and miserable. The dog was thin and rickety looking, and as you can see, her tail is broken and sticks out to one side. The sore patch on her back is finally beginning to heal. I think someone might have scalded her with something hot."

  "Who named her Bonita? It means pretty one in Spanish, doesn’t it?" Gil asked, reaching for the reins.

  "Rex picked out the name," she replied.

  Gil’s eyebrows shot up. His mouth quirked to one side. "Your nephew is quite an optimist."

  Amanda laughed. It was going to be a lovely day, and now she was away from the house and her responsibilities there, she planned to enjoy it. September was one of her favorite months of the year. The sun was just warm enough to be pleasant. Wild purple asters and golden chamisa dotted the landscape reminding her
of a yellow and lavender quilt she’d had as a child. Rex and the other youngsters chattered happily in the back of the wagon, with Bonita the center of good-natured attention.

  "How’s your sister," Gil asked. "And the baby?"

  At first, Amanda didn’t reply. She could feel her cheeks flush with resentment. She didn’t want to talk about Ella and Minnie. Not today. Not with Mr. Gladney. Reluctantly, she replied, "As well as can be expected." Before he could pursue the topic further, she changed the subject. "Any new students in the school this year?"

  "Yes, a few. Most of them boys Rex’s age or older," Gil replied, giving her a sidelong glance. "There’s a new little girl too. Just barely six. Her name is Brunhilde Bergschneider. Her father just bought the livery in town."

  "What a big name for a little girl!" Amanda exclaimed.

  "The kids call her Bunny," he replied, giving her a lazy smile.

  "You love it, don’t you? Teaching I mean?"

  He nodded. "I do."

  "Did you always want to be a teacher?" she asked.

  "Yes, it’s an honorable calling. Helping to form the mind and manners of a child is about one of the most important jobs there is. Introducing them to literature, history, science, and the Bible, so one day they will be good and useful citizens — it’s a big responsibility, don’t you agree?"

  "I do," Amanda replied, moved by his obvious dedication.

  "Mr. Noah Webster, the scholar who wrote the dictionary, defines education as that which furnishes a child with principles, knowledge, training, and discipline," Gil went on. "But most teaching positions don’t pay much, so I’ve moved around a lot. I’d like to settle here though — in Aztec or Farmington. I hope to raise horses one day too, as well as teach. I’m saving up to buy a place of my own — a ranch. One of these days," he added, with a self-conscience shrug.

  Amanda swallowed hard and nodded. She knew what it was like to have dreams — the one-of-these-days kind of dreams. She knew he lived in two small rooms attached to the back of the schoolhouse. She also knew the teacher’s salary wasn’t much. Doc Morgan had told her, and he was on the school board, so he would know. But Mr. Gladney did earn twice as much as Miss Weston and Miss Platz, who had been the town’s two previous schoolteachers. Amanda was happy for him, of course, but it didn’t seem right somehow, the female teachers not earning as much. How long, she wondered, would it take Gil to save up enough money to buy a ranch?

  ****

  On the brief journey to the ruins of the old Indian settlement, barely four miles away on the banks of the Animas River, Gil quickly noticed when Amanda fell into a distracted silence. He asked her if the chickens were thriving, and her only reply was a brief nod. He wondered if her sister and the premature infant were not doing as well as she’d let on. Perhaps she was more worried about the state of their health than she cared to admit. He silently chastised himself for bringing her along as a chaperone for the female pupils. He’d assumed — more fool he — Amanda Dale had offered to come along. He realized now Rex had probably volunteered her services. She’d felt obligated to come, no doubt. But she had seemed willing, even eager, when she’d stepped out onto the porch, wearing a fetching straw hat and holding the bowl of hardboiled eggs.

  His heart had jolted at the sight of her. He wasn’t quite sure if his reaction was caused by nervous tension or delight, but he couldn’t afford to think about it for too long. Gil studied Amanda from the corner of his eye. She sat straight and rigid on the hard seat beside him. Her dark eyes, with those impossibly thick lashes, were fixed on something in the distance. Amanda’s cheeks were a deep pink color — from the heat of the day or embarrassment, he couldn’t say. Perhaps he’d embarrassed her by talking so frankly about his passion for teaching and his plans to breed horses one day. Maybe he’d been too bold, too open. Gil clenched his jaw and berated himself for being more than one kind of fool.

  Fortunately, the awkward silence between them was interrupted by a flood of questions from Jerry Snow, in the back of the buckboard. "Do you think we’ll find gold or silver, Mr. Gladney? What about Spanish treasure? Or maybe some dead bodies wrapped up like mummies?"

  The Schwarzkopf sisters made a disgusted Ew! sound.

  Turning slightly to answer his student’s excited inquiry, Gil noticed Amanda looking at him with an amused expression on her face. Her brown eyes danced with laughter. He knew she was enjoying his predicament and tried not to smile.

  "Jerry, I’ve told you before this settlement is not an ancient Aztec city. I doubt there will be any gold or silver, and I’m certain there won’t be any mummies," he called back over his shoulder. The boys in his class had gone crazy over mummies ever since he’d shared with them a newspaper article about archeologist Wallis Budge and the excavations he’d been doing in Egypt on behalf of the British Museum.

  "But what about S-Spanish treasure?" Sammy Cordova asked, his missing front teeth causing him to lisp.

  "No Spanish treasure either," Gil replied.

  "But my father, he tell me Jesuit priests had gold mines all over New Mexico," the boy insisted.

  "Yeah, and they didn’t tell the Spanish king about the mines because they wanted to keep the gold and silver for themselves," Jerry added.

  "Perhaps the treasure is all gone now," Greta spoke up.

  "Not if the Black Robes didn’t return for it," Rex said.

  "I’ve told you already this isn’t an Aztec city nor the remains of a Jesuit mission," Gil repeated firmly. "I realize you have all grown up with the legends of Cibola — the Seven Cities of Gold — and the long lost mines found by the conquistadors, but these ruins are far more ancient than all of those stories."

  The ruins came into view then. Located on the western lip of the river, the old settlement, with its the sandstone masonry walls — some several stories high — was an intriguing sight against the pale, bleached sand hills, sparsely covered with sage and saltbush. Although he wouldn’t have admitted it to his students, Gil thought ruins were romantic — like the old stories of knights and dragons he’d so enjoyed as a boy.

  "It’s just an old ghost town," Amanda observed. "Sad and forlorn."

  "Haven’t you been here before?" Gil asked her.

  She shook her head. He noted how the blue bead on the head of her hatpin glinted in the sun.

  "Folks from town come out here all the time for picnics and to explore the ruins, just like we’re doing today," he said.

  "Mr. Gladney, do you think it’s haunted?" Gertrude asked.

  "No," he replied with prompt firmness.

  "Miss Dale, do you think it is?" the girl pressed.

  Gil glanced at Amanda. Her lips were slightly pursed and her eyes twinkled with good humor. She was trying not to laugh. He watched as she twisted around to look at the children in the back of the wagon as she answered calmly, "No, of course not."

  He thanked her with a wink, which caused her to blush prettily. She fixed her gaze upon the lazy, trickling river. Four other students — all boys — had already arrived and tethered their horses. They waved. Gil waved back.

  "I hope there aren’t any bats or rats," Greta spoke up as Gil maneuvered the wagon toward the nearest shade tree.

  "Or snakes," her sister added.

  "I’ll bet there are lots of rattlesnakes," Jerry piped up. Gil couldn’t help noting the enthusiasm in the boy’s voice. "One might bite you on the ankle, Greta, and then your tongue will swell up so big it won’t fit in your mouth, and your face will turn purple and black, and you’ll die!"

  The sisters squealed with terror, while the boys laughed with raucous enthusiasm.

  "That’s enough, boys," Gil warned. As he reined in the horse and climbed down from the buckboard, he was thankful, now more than ever, Amanda had agreed to come along to watch over the girls.

  The youngsters scrambled out of the back of the wagon and raced toward the rubble to greet their classmates, with Bonita dogging Rex’s heels. Gil helped Amanda alight and asked with matter-of-fact pol
iteness, "Are you ready for an adventure?"

  "Ready as I’ll ever be, I reckon," she replied. Her dazzling smile almost took his breath away. Gil glanced over at his students and forced himself to think about archeology. He was here today to instruct his pupils in the scientific study of artifacts and other material evidence of ancient culture, not to allow himself to be smitten any further by Amanda Dale.

  "Jerry, Rex — help me with the equipment," he ordered. As the boys hastened forward to lend a hand, Gil retrieved spades, a hatchet and a few other assorted tools for the small group of young explorers to use. After giving them a brief history lesson and digging instructions, Gil gave them permission to poke about in the dirt and debris near the jagged masonry walls. No doubt a professional archeologist would be horrified by his disregard for the old Indian site. But many of the structures had already been damaged from years of rain and snow pooling on the roofs, slowly rotting the wooden slats and beams, which had crashed, carrying chunks of the wall masonry with them.

  Peering down into the collapsed chambers choked with centuries of rubble, Gil figured his students couldn’t do any serious damage with their spades and trowels. He noticed Rex had moved away from the other students, selecting a section near a collapsed wall to explore on his own. The boy was hunkered down on his knees, scraping at the hardened earth with the tip of the spade. Bonita sat in the shade, watching the boy’s every move.

  "Want some help?" Gil asked.

  "Sure," Rex replied with a ready eagerness. He moved over to make room for them both.

  Gil liked Rex Stewart. He was a bright pupil, always eager to learn. It was a shame the boy’s father had died so unexpectedly, leaving the kid to shoulder the responsibility of a sick mother and ailing baby sister. Sometimes Gil didn’t know whom he felt sorry for most — Rex or his pretty aunt.

  The two worked together in companionable silence. Once in a while, Gil glanced over at Amanda. She appeared to be supervising Greta and Gertrude, who seemed more interested in picking wild flowers in the rubble than exploring the ruins. When he and Rex had dug nearly four feet down, they uncovered a row of pine log roof beams, which seemed to make up a ceiling of some sort. Using the hatchet to chop through the brittle mass, Gil made an opening large enough to peer through.