Scent of Tears

by M. Juan Knecht

  Chapter Eighteen

  The view sailing into the Monterey Bay was one I had never seen before. It was magnificent. I had been up at dawn, sitting on the bow of the ship. It was a thrill to watch the California coast slide by with its golden hills and stands of wind-shaped pines. A slight breeze barely stirred the flat ocean when the lumber ship dropped anchor. A rowboat was lowered. Lucinda and I were taken to shore with our belongings. Lugging Lucinda’s many purchases, we walked from the dock up to the Topo house. I helped her wrestle them through the door. I then went to the barn where Don Topo kept his horses and arranged for our saddles to be picked up.

  I couldn’t help but stop and inhale the flowers and mild ocean breeze. It felt good to once again see the otters and seals lazing on the rocks in the Monterey harbor and smell the coastal pines.

  Don Topo wasn’t at home. The swamper at the barn guessed that he would be back in two days. I went back up to the house. Lucinda had insisted I wear my flowing silk scarf and new hat. Consequently, I got some odd looks from the denizens of Monterey who were up early. They were used to seeing me in a worn cotton shirt and stained grey slouch hat, if they remembered me at all.

  Each time I returned to the two-story adobe, it seemed to have gone through a transformation from the way I remembered it as a child. When I was small, it looked like a castle, and the courtyard walls were the walls of a fort. Now, after my extended trip and short stay in a distant city, the house didn’t appear so magnificent or forbidding as it once had. I walked through the back door near the kitchen and ran into a servant. I asked who was at home. She told me Dõna Inez was visiting her married daughter, Don Topo was away on business and the youngest daughter was attending a social event at the Monterey Mission.

  I was surprised to find everyone gone. Although I had thought Lucinda had drained the last ounce of strength from me during the voyage, the fact that we were alone in the house suddenly caused new possibilities to arise in my mind. They arose in other places as well. I could still smell a faint trace of her perfume on my skin and her scent on my face. I bounded upstairs to see if she was in her old room. She wasn’t there. I yelled for her, but she didn’t answer.

  Going back downstairs, I asked the servant woman where Lucinda was. Before I completed my question, she screwed up her face in distaste and nodded toward the stairway that led down to the root cellar.

  Walking down the stairs, I heard Lucinda in hushed conversation with someone. Her voice sounded soothing. Hearing her caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up, because I sensed there was something wrong. It was dark in the cellar. I could make out Lucinda sitting by the side of a cot. It looked like she was stroking someone’s face, which didn’t make sense. If a member of the household was ill they would be in a bedroom upstairs. Beneath my foot, the wooden stairs creaked loudly. Lucinda didn’t look up. Taking the lantern, I walked over to the fire in the grate, took a piece of burning wood and lit the wick.

  Bringing the lantern back into the room illuminated things in several ways. Lucinda was sitting on the edge of the bed with a wet cloth in her hand, gently cleaning the face of the outlaw, Tiburcio Vasquez.

  “Charlie, I apologize for intruding,” I heard him croak. “I had nowhere else to go.”

  “Charlie doesn’t mind,” Lucinda said.

  “We should talk,” I said, and walked back upstairs.

  It was a good ten minutes before Lucinda climbed the stairs and sat down at the table. Her face was set with determination.

  “What do you intend to do with him? I asked.

  “Help him, like any Californio would help another.”

  “Are you crazy? From the look of him, he has escaped San Quentin.””

  “Three days ago he left that horrible place. He has been telling me of the conditions at the prison. It is inhumane the way he was treated.”

  “Why did he come here?” I asked.

  “No one but Lucinda has the heart to help me,” Tiburcio said from the doorway.

  He was dressed in rags, with rough shoes on his feet and his pants held up with twine. His face was shrunken, his hair was dirty and stringy but oddly enough his smile was still confident.

  “If I can get a few meals and a little rest, I’ll be on my way,” Tiburcio said.

  “By tomorrow morning?” I asked.

  “Charlie, this is not the way we treat guests. Tiburcio will leave when he is ready and we will help him on his way.”

  “How does your father feel about harboring a fugitive? It is his house. I am sure he wants to stay on the right side of the authorities.”

  “My father isn’t here and what I say is what we will do. I will not treat Tiburcio as anything less than a welcome guest.”

  Tiburcio studied Lucinda and then looked at me. He had no weapons on him that I could see. He must have realized he was in a tenuous position. A short stroll to the sheriff would result in half a dozen armed men coming to the house to provide him an escort back to prison.

  “Charlie is right. I need to leave, as soon as possible. I can leave tonight, when it gets dark.”

  “How did you get here?” I asked, hoping he had a horse somewhere nearby, so I didn’t have to provide him with one of Don Topo’s.

  “I walked, and let me tell you, Charlie, it is a long way from Yerba Buena to Monterey when you are on foot. Still, I made it. I am blessed, having friends like you and your wife.”

  I was about to tell him we weren’t exactly friends when I looked at Lucinda and decided to keep quiet. I was dispatched to raid Don Topo’s closet in search of some boots for our guest. Instead of refusing this missive out of hand, I decided to get out of the room for a minute and gather my thoughts.

  When I came back with the boots, I heard a guitar playing. It was coming from the cellar. I wondered what Don Topo would do if he walked in now. I peeked through the door of the cellar. There was Lucinda, sitting on the edge of the bed staring at Vasquez like a moon-struck calf. Vasquez was leaning in the corner, the guitar laid across his knees. He had his head down and eyes closed as he strummed. Jealousy, anger and fear took turns running down my windpipe into the pit of my stomach. I walked as softly as I could out of the kitchen.

  Passing the dining room, I saw Lucinda’s youngest sister walking under the rose decked arbor that stood over the tiled path, leading to the front door. In case Pilar wasn’t in on the conspiracy to hide Tiburcio from the law, I greeted her by name as loudly as possible without sounding deranged. I heard a slight scuffle, then the sound of the cellar door being shut and locked.

  Pilar had outgrown some of her baby fat. According to Lucinda, she was the subject of many a young man’s romantic ambition. As far as I knew, she was still demure and sweet. Pilar saw me standing by the table and gave a little squeak of surprise.

  “Charlie, my missing brother-in-law. How was your trip to Oregon? Has my sister returned as well?”

  “Your sister is, ah, checking for mail at the docks. Do you know where Don Topo is?” I asked.

  “My father? I would imagine he is in San Francisco or perhaps Santa Barbara. Most certainly somewhere between the two. Are you back here to stay, or are you headed back to Oregon? I wish I could go to Oregon. Nobody ever takes me anyplace,” she said with a pout.

  Looking at her, I was struck with how different the two sisters were. I couldn’t see the soft, feminine Pilar wielding a shotgun if someone threatened me. She probably wouldn’t hide a fugitive in the root cellar either, though with an outlaw as charming as Vasquez, it would be hard to say.

  Pilar walked up the stairs toward the bedroom. I moved as quietly as I could in the direction of the cellar door, and gave the secret knock Lucinda and her sisters used when we were children, playing. There was a scuffling sound, the click of the lock and the door opened. I went into the cellar down the stairs. I drew myself up in front of Tiburcio.

  “I am going to get a horse from the stable and bring it into the courtyard. You can drape yourself over it and I’ll put
a tarp over you and lead you out of town.”

  “I already said that Tiburcio can stay as long as he wants,” Lucinda said sternly. Exasperation crept into my voice.

  “The servant-woman knows he is here. When she tells your sister, there will be two women with an exciting piece of gossip. How long before all the women in Monterey know where the famous Tiburcio Vasquez is hiding? The constable who was killed years ago has a wife and children who still live in town. His friends would like revenge. Your father isn’t then only one at risk with Tiburcio at the house. Tiburcio has to go, and he has to go now. If he stays, Don Topo will be implicated. If he stays long enough, Matt Tarpi and the other vigilantes will come and hang him as sure as the darkness will arrive when the sun goes down.”

  Lucinda looked at Tiburcio. She gently turned him around and raised the shirt from his back. Ropes of abused flesh criss crossed his shoulders.

  “If he is sent back to prison he will receive more of this,” Lucinda said.

  “If he stays here there is a good chance he will be hung by a rope rather than beaten with one. Is that what you want?” I said, staring Lucinda down. She dropped her gaze.

  “Stay here with the door locked until you hear me knock again,” I said.

  Leaving the two soul mates alone I went up the stairs, out the door and over to the stable. I told the stable attendant I needed two horses for an errand on Don Topo’s behalf. He stepped out of my way and I threw my saddle on a gray horse. I then put a pack saddle on the other horse, found a large white tarp and secured it to the pack saddle. In less than twenty minutes, I led the horses into the courtyard. It wasn’t yet dark. In the shadows, without any of the courtyard lanterns being lit, it would be dark enough to keep prying eyes from seeing our ruse. Tiburcio was standing close to Lucinda under one of the Pepper trees that graced the courtyard.

  I brought the grey horse and the bay pack horse into the garden, then helped Tiburcio drape himself over the pack saddle. He grunted when I pulled the tarp over his body and secured it around his legs and arms with leather straps. Lucinda’s eyes brimmed with tears. As they slid down her cheeks, it felt like a knife sliding into my heart.

  Climbing on my horse, I reached over and took the halter rope. Taking a turn around the saddle horn, I led the prostrated form of Tiburcio Vasquez from the courtyard onto Monterey’s main street. I guided the horses slowly out of town without incident.

  Once the street lights began to dim, I took a deep breath. My sigh of relief turned out to be premature.

  “Hold fast,” I heard a voice say, and four horsemen rode out from the shadows.

  “Who are you?”

  “Who is asking?” I replied.

  I heard the distinctive sound of a revolver cocking in the quiet of the night.

  “We will be the ones asking the questions here.”

  “It’s Vasquez,” another voice offered and a sinking feeling overcame me.

  “Anybody know what Vasquez looks like?”

  “He wears a black hat, and always rides a good looking grey horse just like this fella here.”

  The voice sounded familiar but I needed to get a closer look. The lights of the town were just far enough away that they didn’t illuminate the horsemen.

  ‘I am not armed,” I said.

  “Of course you aren't armed, Vasquez. You just escaped from the prison at San Quentin. Now, get off your horse.”

  I remembered the name that went with the voice.

  “Is that you, Scotty? You know me from the store.” I paused. I had bought dry goods at his family’s store, many times. I was a year older than Scotty. I had been out of town for a while but I remembered the voice.

  “Shut up, Vasquez. You can’t charm yourself out of this.”

  If we rode back into town, the posse, or lawmen, or whatever this group consisted of, could see I wasn’t Vasquez. However, it didn’t seem in my best interests to lead a horse back into town with Tiburcio strapped across a pack saddle.

  “My name is Charlie Horn. I imagine if the light was better you could see who I am.”

  One of the vigilante group struck a match and leaned close to my face.

  “He’s got a blonde mustache and green eyes. Vasquez has a black beard.”

  The group sat there, digesting this. The smell of whiskey floated through the chilly air. Chasing Vasquez must have required some alcohol to help stoke their courage.

  “Where are you going?”, one of the figures asked.

  “Back to the Chualar Ranch where I work.”

  The horses stirred and milled around. Dust rose up off the road.

  “You’re Topo’s son-in-law,” someone said.

  “Your wife was close to Vasquez if memory serves. Seems that boy of yours is awfully dark.”

  “I have to get back to the ranch before daylight. If you men don’t have any more questions, I’ll be on my way,” I said, thinking that I would find a way to square the insult at a later time.

  “What’s on the pack horse?”

  I paused at this. All one of the riders would have to do, is lean forward and flip up the tarp to see Tiburcio’s boot or hands draped on either side of the horse.

  “If someone has a badge I would like to see it. If I am dealing with a bunch of drunken townies, riding around in the dark after some rumors, then I need to get underway.”

  “You don’t give the orders,” a voice said.

  “I am going to ride off now with my pack horse and venison. I have told you who I am and what I am doing. If you think it’s worth the trouble to shoot me in the back then do it. If not, good evening to you.”

  Anger and resentment had replaced fear and surprise. I touched a spur to my horse and road slowly away amid grumblings and threats. Slowly, the distance grew until I could barely make out the murmurs behind me.

  “That was magnificent. You told them to put up or shut up and they backed down. I couldn’t have done it better myself,” Tiburcio whispered from underneath the tarp.

  “Be quiet,” I hissed at him.

  “You got their measure, Charlie. They aren’t going to follow us now.”

  I reined my horse off the road and rode to a Cottonwood tree. I stepped off the horse and pulled the tarp off.

  “You are giving me the saddle horse?” he asked.

  “You will take the pack horse,” I replied.

  “My escape will be easier with a saddle.”

  The moon was full in the sky. The light played down onto the moss that hung from the graceful arching limbs of the oak trees. I breathed in the stillness of the night and tried to calm my nerves.

  “With all respect, I must ask you to make use of your other acquaintances when you want to hide from the law. You are not being fair to Don Topo, or your son.”

  “Or to Lucinda?”

  “I have no control over that. From what I hear, you have other bastard children. Try hiding with their mothers in the future.”

  “That is a serious thing for you to say. If you are that taken with Lucinda, why not kill me here, while you have the chance? I am not encouraging you to do so, I am just curious.”

  I mounted my horse and turned him to face the small, shrunken figure of Vasquez. He couldn’t have been more than five foot eight and in his emaciated state he weighed no more than one hundred thirty pounds.

  “Why not shoot you? All kinds of reasons. If your body was discovered, Lucinda would want to know if I was the one who killed you, and I am a bad liar. You gave me that rifle and kept your friends from killing me when I retrieved my mare. If it wasn’t for Lucinda and the fact you are a stock thief we would be friends, because, like most people, I can’t help but like you. I would just appreciate it if you hid from the authorities someplace else.”

  “I don’t always have choice in where I take refuge. If possible, I will avoid the property of Don Topo.”

  Vasquez put his right arm over the back of the pack horse and pulled himself astride with a fluid motion. He reached down and fished the h
alter rope from where it hung.

  “Thank you for the assistance you were able to afford me, Charlie. I can’t help feeling that we will meet again. Till then, go with God.”

  With that, Tiburcio Vasquez, nudged the pack horse into the darkness.

  Scent of Tears