by Jory Sherman
She heard the crows cawing from the trees that edged one pasture and one of the cows bawled and one of the Mexican hands called out something that she couldn’t hear. From the field came the scent of manure and the aroma of grasses giving off their dew as the sun warmed them.
She was trembling inside, with fear, but she swallowed hard and steeled herself to finish her small journey, the task she had set for herself after talking to Esperanza.
When she arrived at the back door of the barn, she saw that it was partially open. And, she heard soft voices from inside. With caution, she leaned against the door and peeked around it.
Then, she heard another sound, and for a moment could not isolate it in her mind, could not put a name to it. Pringgggg. Then, another, pranggggg. It was a strange sound, but she knew she had heard something like it before. But where? Then, another pair of notes, more highly pitched than the first two and then, a plungggggg, and a full three-note chord sounded.
“Esperanza?” she called.
“Señora? Entra, entra.”
Caroline stepped from behind the door and entered the barn. Sunlight seeped through cracks in the board walls and streamed in slanted columns that danced with flickering dust motes that looked like tiny insects.
“Where are you?” Caroline asked in Spanish.
“Here,” Esperanza replied and Caroline saw her and Lazaro seated next to some nail barrels in the far corner. Quickly, she looked around. The cannon was gone. She breathed a lazy sigh of utter relief. She felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders and the swirling wings in her stomach melted into harmless dust.
“What are you doing?” Caroline asked.
“I am teaching Lazaro to play the guitar.”
Caroline came closer and looked at the guitar in Lazaro’s small hands. It was an old, badly scarred instrument, with deep gouges in the wood and scratches where someone’s fingers had marred its surface. But, it had six catgut strings on it and appeared to be serviceable.
“But, how … ?”
“I put Lazaro’s fingers on the upraised wood, the frets, and told him how that shortened the strings to make notes. I do not know all the notes, but he seems to know which ones make the chords.”
“When I was a little girl,” Caroline said, “my mother taught me to play the piano. I didn’t like it, at first, but when I learned to play one song, I loved it. I loved what I could do with my fingers.”
“My father and my brother played the guitar,” Esperanza said. “This one belonged to my brother, Antonio. I have kept it since he died and now Lazaro will learn how to play it.”
Lazaro began to move his fingers on the strings and he played single notes that were disjointed, not connected, but there was a glow on his face that Caroline recognized. She thought of her mother and father now, and how she used to play for them when they were all gathered together in the living room after supper. Tears welled up in her eyes when she thought of those lost gone days when she had been innocent and happy and nurtured by the love of her mother and father. And then Martin had come along and taken her away from all that. She still had the piano, but she rarely played it anymore. Martin never had time to spend with her, since she had betrayed him. Now, she thought of the piano with its silent keys and wondered if it was still in tune.
“Perhaps we will play together one day, Lazaro,” she said, “with me on the piano and you with your guitar.”
“Would you play for me sometime, Mama?” he asked.
“Yes, one day. Not today.”
Caroline looked away from Lazaro, from his sad blind eyes that had been scrubbed of the detritus of sleep by Esperanza, and the tears started to flow again despite her resolve not to be sad that day and not to let either Esperanza or Lazaro know that she was weeping. But, something tugged at her heart when she talked about playing the piano again because it reminded her of home, the home she had lost, and the life she had given up so long ago when she had fallen in love with Martin. Martin, who was now a stranger, a man whose heart was cold toward her, who never showed her affection anymore, nor kissed her, nor cared for her. Caroline sat down next to them. It was cool inside the barn, and she realized she had been perspiring. She breathed deeply and looked closely at Lazaro, whose fingers were poised over the strings at the top of the neck.
“Can you play something for me, Lazaro?” Caroline asked. “A song, maybe.”
“I cannot play a song yet, but I have one in my mind and when I hear the notes, I will be able to play it.”
“Play her a chord, Lazaro,” Esperanza said.
Caroline watched as Lazaro bent his fingers and pressed them against the strings. Then, he plucked them with his right hand, over the round hole in the guitar. The guitar resonated with a musical sound, a full chord.
“That’s a G,” Caroline said.
“A G?” Lazaro said.
“I learned that when I used to play the piano,” Caroline said, dreamily. “That is one of the chords in G. If you can learn more chords, you can play any song that you can think of.”
Lazaro smiled.
“He will have to find his way,” Esperanza said. “We have to give him time.”
What had happened, Caroline thought, to the little innocent girl who had once played the piano to her parents’ delight? What had happened to the young woman who had fallen in love with the sailor from the sea, the strong man with the tender touch and the good heart? She could barely remember those days at home, the mornings in spring when the wisteria bloomed and filled the air with a fragrance like fine wine. Those days when her mother let her help with the baking, when they made pies together, cutting up the apples, ladling sugar on the fruit, and the aroma that came from the oven, mingled with the acrid scent of wood smoke. Her heart filled up with the thoughts and ached for the loss she felt at that moment, with the hot tears burning her eyes even as she choked back the sobs that threatened to burst forth if she did not stifle her feelings.
“What passes?” Esperanza asked, as Caroline sniffled, pulled a kerchief from her sleeve.
“Nothing, Esperanza. I was just thinking about when I was a little girl.”
“I think about such times myself. It is good to remember.”
“Sometimes,” Caroline said, a wistful slide to her voice. “Sometimes I think about how lonely I was as a girl. We lived far from anywhere and my father was gone all day and my mother and I scrubbed and cleaned and cooked and I felt like a prisoner.”
“I did not feel that way. In our village there were always many people. We did the scrubbing and the cooking, but we laughed and told stories and joked with each other. And, on Sundays we went to the Catholic church when the priest would ride there to say mass and when he did not, we listened to music and flirted and danced with the boys.”
“I didn’t have any of that,” Caroline said. “I was lonely. Like Lazaro must be.”
“I’m not lonely, Mama.” And, there was his bright smile again, the smile that melted Caroline’s heart and seemed to belie the blackness of his blind world, but never failed to cause her heart to miss a beat and feel as if he were squeezing it in his hand.
“No, of course not, Lazaro. I just meant that you don’t have any children your own age to play with. I am sorry about that.”
“Esperanza plays with me. And, she teaches me things. I am very happy she is teaching me to play the guitar.”
“Yes, yes, that is good, Lazaro. Esperanza is good to teach you things, and to read to you.”
“I am going to grow up and help Anson with the cattle, am I not, Esperanza?”
“Por seguro,” Esperanza lied.
“I can ride a horse, Mama,” he said.
“You can? Did you teach him, Esperanza?”
Esperanza was silent for several seconds. A look of panic arose in her eyes like sudden clouds over a still horizon. “I—I think he goes out by himself and rides the horse,” she said.
“You do not go with him?” Caroline asked.
“
He goes alone.”
“Lazaro, you must not do that. You could be hurt.”
“I am not afraid,” he said.
Caroline stood up and looked down at Lazaro. “Practice,” she said. “Can you teach him, Esperanza?”
“No, I cannot teach him much. But, I can hum the songs and teach him the words of the son huastecos, the folk songs of my people. He will learn. He will learn quickly.”
“Good,” Caroline said. “I can’t wait to hear you play and sing a Mexican song, Lazaro. And, maybe someday I will teach you some American songs. Would you like that?”
“Yes, I would like that,” the boy said. He looked up at his adoptive mother with sightless eyes and smiled.
Caroline looked around the barn again.
“I am glad to see that the cannon is gone,” she said.
“Don Martin took it away early this morning,” Esperanza said.
“Where did he take it?”
“I do not know.”
“I never want to see it again,” Caroline said, a hard cast to her jaw. “Never.”
Esperanza said nothing.
Caroline walked out of the barn, humming to herself. As soon as she was outside, she heard Lazaro strum the old guitar again and this time she heard him strike G minor and it seemed to set something in her heart humming with that same threnodic chord and she carried the sound with her back up to the house.
As she was starting to go toward the back door, she heard hoofbeats and someone shouting. Curious, she walked around to the front of the house and saw a lone rider on a saddleless horse. She shaded her eyes from the sun and peered intently at them as the horseman approached.
“Help, help,” he called.
Caroline did not recognize the man who rode up to her. His face was sweaty and covered with dirt and his arms were smudged with soot. He looked, she thought, like an outlaw.
“Can you help me, ma’am?”
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Peebo Elves. I’m a friend of Anson Baron’s. Are you his ma?”
“Anson? Yes, he’s my son. What’s wrong?”
“Horse throwed him. He’s knocked out cold, I reckon. I need a wagon to bring him here. You got a wagon?”
“Yes. But, how do I know this isn’t some trick?”
“Ma’am, you got to believe me. I think Anson’s hurt real bad. I can’t drag him here and I can’t put him on this half-wild horse.”
“Take me to him,” Caroline said.
“But, ma’am, you can’t do no good for him by yourself. He needs to get to some shade and get some water in him.”
Caroline looked hard at Peebo, scanned his eyes with a fierce intensity. Peebo returned her stare, but squirmed as if he were on fire.
“Is my son alive?”
“Ma’am, I don’t rightly know. He was barely breathing when I left him. I knowed we was close to the ranch, ’cause he told me so. We thought we’d be here last night, but we been fighting these horses all the way.”
“You take me to him, whatever your name is.”
“Yes’m, but I got to get me some water, first. We ain’t had no grub nor water in three days. I’m near stove up.”
“Just a minute,” she said. “You wait here.”
As Peebo stood there, Caroline turned and ran into the house. She returned a few moments later with a tin cup of water and a pistol in her hand.
“Now,” she said, “you drink this real quick and then you take me to my son or so help me I’ll shoot you right off the back of that horse.”
“Ma’am, ain’t no call for that. I’m just tryin’ to help.”
“You ran off and left Anson to die. If he’s not alive when we get to him, you won’t be either.”
She leveled the pistol at Peebo, and he saw that she knew how to use it. It was a .44 caliber Navy Colt and he could see the copper caps when she pulled it up to level at him. He started to open his mouth to say something, but she cocked the hammer and her hands didn’t shake. He could see that the blade front sight was lined up straight at his heart.
Peebo turned the horse around and started back from where he had come. He looked over his shoulder and saw Anson’s mother traipsing after him with the pistol held high, aimed at his back.
“Mothers,” he said to himself.
A moment later, he heard a strange sound and it took him a few seconds to realize that Anson’s mother was sobbing out loud.
That’s when he knew Caroline Baron was a crazy woman and began to fear for his life if Anson was not still alive.
29
MILLICENT COLLINS FINISHED wiping the table and looked up as a shadow fell across the gleaming surface. Startled, she backed up a step, clutching the wipecloth to her breast.
“Didn’t mean to scare you, ma’am,” Martin said.
“Oh, Mr. Baron,” Millie said. “You just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”
“You know me?”
Millie smiled and looked at the man standing next to Martin. Tom did not smile back. “Well, I know who you are, Mr. Baron. I mean, everybody does.”
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”
“No, I suppose not. Ken had me working nights until last week.”
“What’s your name?”
“Millicent. But, everybody calls me Millie.”
“All right. We’re waiting for another man, then we’ll order,” he said as he sat down at an empty table.
“I’ll bring you some water and table settings, Mr. Baron.”
“Martin.”
Millie blushed. Martin stared at her as she walked away. He figured she was in her mid or late twenties. She wore a starched skirt and a pretty yellow blouse and seemed perfectly proportioned. He had scarcely noticed any of the local women since his return to the Box B, was seldom in town. He didn’t feel guilty about it now. He no longer had strong feelings for Caroline, not in a sexual way, and he had not thought much about looking for another woman in months. But, when he had met Nancy Grant, he thought about it. But Nancy was Ken’s gal, and he wouldn’t horn in on him. Now, though, Millie had caught his eye and he wondered if he might not be taking a fancy to her.
“You’ve got a roving eye, Baron,” Tom said.
Martin snapped out of his brief reverie and looked at the man across the table. “Huh?” he said.
“You got eyes for every damned woman you see?”
“Tom, are you just curious, or do you have a habit of tending to other people’s business?”
They spoke with the din of clattering plates and tinkling glasses in the background as people ate and drank. The other conversations were like the sawing of insects, the drum of swamp frogs at eventide.
“I just wondered. I heard you had a woman. A wife, I mean.”
“So?”
“It’s none of my business.”
“That’s right,” Martin said.
An uncomfortable silence settled between the two men. Millie set three glasses of water on the table, put silverware rolled up in napkins beside three places.
“Did I interrupt something?” she asked.
“No,” Martin said. “Tom and I just have nothing to say to each other right now.”
“Well, do you want to see the bill of fare?”
“Steak and beans,” Tom said.
“And you, Mr. Baron?”
“Call me Martin. I’ll have the same.”
Millie looked up just as Cullie entered the saloon and walked toward the table where Martin and Tom were sitting.
“Here’s your friend,” Millie said.
“He’ll have the same,” Tom said.
Martin looked at Tom closely, as if to tell him silently that he knew he was arrogant, used to being the boss. Cullie grunted and sat down in the empty chair, picked up his glass of water and downed half of it in one long swallow.
“What’s a-goin’ on?” Cullie asked after Millie left.
“Mr. Baron and I were just having a discussion, Cullie.”
“
’Bout them slaves?”
“No, we haven’t gotten to that, yet,” Tom said.
Both nighthawks looked at Martin, who smiled using only his lips.
“Let’s get something straight right off,” Martin said. “You two work for Ken Richman, right?”
“He hired us,” Tom said.
“And Ken works for me,” Martin said, looking at each man in turn. “So, any arguments about that before we go on?”
Cullie looked at Tom. Tom shrugged and looked at Martin. “I reckon that suits us, Mr. Baron. Long as you pay us, it makes me no never mind.”
“Good,” Martin said. “As long as we understand each other, we’ll get along fine.”
“Well, Ken always did say you was the boss,” Cullie said. “Ain’t that right, Tom?”
“Not in so many words. But, we knew where the money was coming from.”
“You ever wonder where Ken heard of you, why he hired you two to be his eyes and ears in New Orleans and other places?” Martin asked.
“He mentioned a name or two, as I recollect,” Tom said.
“Did he mention Charlie Goodnight to you?”
“No, can’t say as he did.”
“Charlie told me you two were running brands and doing some nighthawk work on herds here and there. He warned me about you boys.”
“Be damned,” Cullie said. “Now, why would he want to do that, you reckon?”
“Shut up, Cullie,” Tom said, coming to a boil. His neck swelled like a bull elk in heat and his face started to turn crimson.
“No need to get riled up,” Martin said. “He had some good things to say about you two. Said if I ever needed a couple of men who weren’t afraid of the devil himself and who could keep their mouths shut, you were the boys to ride with.”
“He said that?” Tom said.
“Well, he wouldn’t buy any of our cattle we … we had,” Cullie said.
Martin laughed.
“No, he said he wouldn’t hire you to have anything to do with cattle, but said if he ever needed a gun, he’d put you two on his payroll.”
“We don’t do killin’ for pay,” Cullie said, a sullen tone to his voice.