by Penny Hayes
"Fair enough," Sam grunted.
It was a silent toast and a quick one, then Sam left to scratch a hole at the end of the meadow to lay their companion to rest.
It took the three of them to move the body, wrapped only in a blanket, into the grave. Julia suggested a few words be said over the dead man. Sam obliged, surprising Margarita, then further amazed her by adding a few more about Bert. Both she and Sam waited respectfully while Julia cast a handful of dirt into the grave before Sam started shoveling.
While he buried Bill, the women sat before Margarita's cabin. His morbid task finished, he came over to say, "Guess I'll ride out for a while. Be back in a few days." He left them to gather his bedroll and saddlebags. In fifteen minutes he was ready.
Before he left he called Margarita aside. "Julia better be here when I get back. I gotta think over what to do about her. Have her write a letter and say she'll be away longer. It'll keep people from wonderin'. I'll mail the letter from Loma Parda."
"You'd better not," Margarita advised. "It'll arouse suspicion. A woman like Julia would never go to Parda. The place is another Sodom."
"Then I'll mail it from Sourdough."
Margarita surmised it would be better than Loma Parda, but only by a hair. "We can't keep her here forever. You'd be smarter to let her go. I don't think she'll talk about us."
"You willin' to take that chance? I'm not." He added, "I'll rustle us up a job while I'm gone."
The very thought of another holdup filled Margarita with dread. She tried to put him off. "Let's lay low for a while, Sam."
"We need the money. I'm gonna look for another stage job. No more banks. You can't get out of the damn places fast enough."
A short time later, as Julia sat at the table composing the note, she asked, "What would you do if I ran away from you while Sam's gone?"
Alarmed, Margarita looked keenly at her. Julia leave her? After all the times she had kept Sam off her back during their first days together? Defended her? Was even now trying to come up with an avenue of escape for her? "Why would you do that? I've done a lot for you — helped you."
Julia laughed without humor. "You're joking, of course."
"It's true."
"Yes, it is true. But I am a captive, remember? Not a visitor. You didn't have to help me."
It baffled Margarita to discover that she didn't want Julia to leave. She spoke quickly to cover this unexpected and alien sentiment. "I'd stop you. I'd have no choice. And it would probably save your life if I did. So don't try to go alone. Don't put me in that position."
Margarita paused. "It's strange," she said. She was unable to meet Julia's eyes. "I almost wish you would willingly stay, and Sam would go. Permanently. It wouldn't be so bad."
"You'd want me to live the life of a desperado? You can't be serious, Margarita."
"No, not as a desperado. I don't know what we'd do."
"Starve, that's what we'd do. You have some mighty strange ideas, the strangest being that you were once contented being a thief."
Margarita flinched at Julia's choice of words. But, yes, she had admitted she'd been satisfied with her sinister life. They had talked last night for a time in her cabin while Sam briefly spelled them both, the hypnotic sound of a heavy rain beating steadily against the roof, driving them beneath thick wool blankets, Margarita burrowing deeply in her cot with Julia in Bert's — his hauled in after they had returned from that first night's swim in the pool. Julia had not commented at the time on Margarita's revelation. From her pointed words now, it was apparent how she felt.
The letter completed, they walked over to Sam who paced restlessly before his cabin. Satisfied with the note's contents, he stuffed it into a breast pocket saying, "Remember, Margarita, she better be here when I get back."
"We're still a gang, Sam," Margarita reminded him. "I could've run out on you the day of the robbery."
"You got too much honor, Margarita. It's gonna cost you someday." He spurred his horse and rode for the trailhead.
The women headed out toward the open pasture, walking toward the horses, the herd badly depleted now because of the bank job. Margarita walked up to a big bay and rubbed his soft nose, breathing in his heavy horse smell and the odor of crushed grass still clinging to his hide where he had just rolled. He nickered and nudged her chest, pushing her back a step or two with his strong head. Scratching the big stallion behind the ears, she said, "How wonderful it would be to work with horses again. This one is such a beautiful animal. I've lost so many..."
"Why don't you do it?" Julia asked. "If you want to, why don't you raise them?"
"As soon as I have enough money, I will." Margarita wandered over to a sleek roan and stroked his broad muscular chest. "My husband and I used to raise crops and horses. We sold both to the army. It was a profitable business — a good life."
"Find a partner and do it again. It's honest work. Begin with these horses. Did you steal them?"
"Not all of them."
"Then start here. Get rid of your stolen goods. Give back the money."
"Never," Margarita stated quickly. "But the rest of your idea isn't a bad one. Go tell Sam to leave forever."
Julia smiled at Margarita's hopeless joke. She began picking wild flowers. "I think we should have flowers on the table every day from now on. I love color. Your place is too drab."
"By all means," Margarita agreed. "I hadn't ever thought of it myself. I used to pick flowers," she said a bit sadly, "when I was married."
"Tell me about him, Margarita. You've said so little."
"Seth was an Americano. We lived down in Lincoln County. He was killed ... by self-appointed vigilantes." She looked southward and watched a vulture soaring majestically in the sky. "Seth died because he was married to a Mexican." She paused before continuing. "I no longer even use my married name." Margarita gazed at the open sky, then looked away toward the setting sun, shielding her eyes with a shaking hand.
"We're not all like that, you know," Julia said softly. "You mustn't hate us all. I would never knowingly hurt you."
Julia's sentiments comforted Margarita, her kind words enveloping her injured soul; they were almost the very words that Margarita had said to herself so many weeks ago as she had ridden down through the darkened canyon on her way to scout the Colter bank, thinking then of women as being the only ones who would never knowingly hurt one another.
On a sudden impulse Margarita said, "You could be my partner." Women were certainly strong and enduring enough for range work. Many times Margarita had ridden at her husband's side, rounding up and driving stock north to Fort Union, or had helped harvest their crops when they were desperately short of workers because everyone else was harvesting their own fields at the same time.
"With my hands?" Julia countered, reminding Margarita poignantly of her remark about how little hard work they had seen. She looked down at them, palms upward. "Although I declare, they aren't so soft anymore."
"You're learning what real work is. And you're very easy to get along with." Shyly Margarita uttered, "I... I like you very much. We would get along well together, I think."
After a lengthy delay, Julia replied, "I already know what real work is, Margarita. My kind of work. It would never fit in with what you would do ... as a bandit or with horses. And I don't know if we would get along at all."
"Why not? It could work. You're a saleslady in a drugstore who knows medicine. You could doctor me, or the animals if they needed it."
"I do other things with my time."
"What kinds of things?"
Julia seemed reluctant to answer, and Margarita looked at her. Julia's face was flushed a burning red. Margarita said, "Are you all right?"
"No. Yes, I'm all right. For me, I'm all right. For you ... for your offer, no."
Margarita cocked her head to one side. "What kinds of things do you do, Julia?" she asked again. Suspicion had already begun to creep into her mind.
"I... paint."
<
br /> "Paint?"
Julia nodded.
"Pictures? Like those on the walls of your home?"
Again, the affirmative nod.
"Did you paint the bank wall?"
"Yes."
Margarita tightened her lips and studied the ground. She walked a short distance away and then turned to face Julia. Coldly she said, "Well then, we're even aren't we? You got us, and we got you."
Julia impatiently cast aside the flower she had been holding. "Oh, for God's sake, Margarita. I didn't get anybody."
"You got Bert and Bill."
"I did not. They got themselves and you know it. You'd do yourself a big favor if you'd quit blaming everyone else for your troubles."
"Everyone else is responsible. Even you."
"No, Margarita, I'm not. A few men are responsible for killing your husband and destroying your life, not every Anglo whoever walked the face of the earth. Whatever miseries you live with now, you've brought upon yourself."
Margarita turned from her. In the tall grass she slumped to the ground and held her head in her hands. The world seemed as black as the depths of hell.
Julia came over and sat by her side. "Listen to me." She reached out and brushed away the long hair that had fallen across Margarita's face. "I know it would go hard with you if I were to escape. An impossible task anyway. I don't know the way out of here. So, let's just try to enjoy what we have while Sam is gone."
"You painted the picture."
"All right, Margarita. I painted the picture! You want to start listing transgressions? Well, I can name more than a few you've dealt me. You personally abducted me from the store. You alone, Margarita. No one else helped. You also threatened someone I love. You held me captive in my own home. You stole food from me. You stole my horse. You —"
Margarita put up a silencing hand. She hadn't put things in that light. She felt her ears and cheeks burn with shame. It was some time before she could bring herself to say, "God, I'm awful, aren't I?"
Julia's next words made her feel no better. "Sometimes, yes, you are. You're terrible. Now you can make my life miserable by blaming me for having painted that damn picture, which anyone on earth might have painted, or you can let me enjoy the meadow. If I ever get out of here, I'll paint a portrait of this beautiful place. I would like to remember some good things about it. Help me do that, Margarita." Julia leaned toward her. "Can we do that?"
Give in, Margarita, she said to herself. You keep pushing her away. Give in.
She nodded wordlessly, and as they stood, Julia pulled Margarita to her and held her closely. Suspiciously, Margarita said, "You're acting this way just to make things better for yourself."
"That's true," Julia admitted. She let go of Margarita, a flush on her face. "I hope I didn't make a pest of myself."
"No... no you didn't."
Julia hadn't been a pest at all.
They wandered the meadow, idly picking blossoms that struck their fancy until darkness closed in. At the cabin Margarita lit several lanterns while Julia found an empty tin to hold their flowers and arranged a colorful and aromatic bouquet. "There," Julia said, "isn't that much better? Your house looks a little more like a home now and less like a desperado's hovel."
Margarita smiled and felt contented for the first time in days. "What else would you suggest we do?"
"How about curtains for the windows?"
"I don't have anything for material."
"Use your dress."
"I can't. I need it for scouting towns."
"So I've learned. Very clever."
"I thought so." Margarita spoke with some pride. "We never once got caught. Until the bank holdup, that is." Quickly she added, "But let's talk about something else." Anything would be better than mulling over the trap the gang had walked into, and what would happen now. "Tell me about yourself, Julia. How did you learn to paint?"
"Trial and error. My mother showed me some things. She used charcoal from the fireplace to draw pictures on flat stones that I would bring to her. She was very good. One Christmas my parents bought me paints from a catalogue, and some brushes. All I wanted to do after that was paint. I wasn't too interested in housework or cooking, or even in dancing, if I could paint pictures."
"Your own house is very beautiful."
"My heavy hand. It didn't look much like that before Ma and Pa died. They would have disapproved."
"Were you born in Colter?"
Julia nodded.
"But you never married."
"No. It doesn't seem to be the thing for me to do."
"You can't live alone."
"I probably will, though."
"Why? You're lovely. Men should be flocking to your door."
"Oh, they did at one time," Julia said, and laughed musically. "But I put them off. Most have learned. Anyway, I don't want to marry."
"I suppose you wouldn't be able to paint then."
"No, and I wouldn't be my own person any longer."
"But to live alone..."
"Well, who knows?" Julia answered. "My life isn't over. Anything could happen. Look what's happened so far." Playfully she reached for a towel and tossed it to Margarita. "Why don't we take a swim? It's warm enough."
They lit a lantern to guide them along the path, and in half an hour were splashing around in the darkness.
Chapter Nine
While Sam was gone the women slept late, swam frequently, and talked for hours. "How is it," Margarita asked one day, "that you recognized me the day that I came to get you for Bill?"
Julia answered, "I actually thought I knew who you were a couple of weeks before that. I noticed the scar in you eyebrow the day you hit my stage. I told the sheriff about it, but since I'm a woman he thought I was likely too frightened to remember details properly. Everyone else remembered you as a half-foot taller than you are, with long greasy hair. No scar. And then that day you came in for perfume," Julia went on, "I saw the same scar. I got to thinking that Belle Starr was an outlaw, and I decided: why not? Why couldn't there be two women working outside the law?"
"When did you know for certain?"
"The day you asked me over to the window to look at the silver mirror. I could see the fear and anger in your eyes — and of course, the scar again. You were rubbing it that day—just as you're fussing with it right now."
Margarita removed her hand and smiled.
Julia asked, "What's Sam's story? Why is he an outlaw?"
"He's just loco," Margarita answered. "I don't know what drives him."
"For the first couple of days he seemed dreadfully dangerous. I had no idea that outlaws cared a hoot for one another. Your loyalties surprise me."
"Oh, Sam's all right," Margarita acknowledged. "He was frightened by Bert's death and Bill's being shot. I think he's not used to losing. It scared him. Scared me, too. Up until the bank failure I think we all thought we could go on forever, taking what we wanted, doing what we wanted."
"You're shaking." Julia took Margarita's hand in her own.
"Let's go," Margarita said, and rose to her feet. She did not want to think about how frightened she was.
Julia rose with her but when Margarita began to move away, Julia pulled her gently to her. "You'll be fine, Margarita," she whispered. Julia held her firmly in her arms, as a man might, leaving Margarita breathless and confused.
Should she pull away? Margarita wondered. Would she appear rude? Unkind? Did she care if she appeared unkind? Did an Anglo have the right to make her feel this way? To hell with it, she thought, and yielded to Julia's embrace.
They stood together for a long time before breaking apart. They embraced a second time later that day for no reason apparent to Margarita. Julia held her almost possessively, it seemed to Margarita, but again she allowed it.
As the days went by, there were more hugs, no longer just from Julia. Margarita had begun to reach for Julia. At first both sought excuses. Now none were ne
eded. It was just a pleasant thing to do and it became a part of their day.
It wasn't quite a week later when it seemed natural that they would hold each other throughout the night, cramped and uncomfortable in Margarita's narrow cot, but willing to endure the discomfort in exchange for the closeness they now shared. They spent the next night together and the next. The following morning Margarita had to move to the other cot. She needed rest, something that hadn't occurred while they had spent the past three nights together; not while she listened hour after hour to the pounding of Julia's heart loud and clear as she lay her head against her chest, and heard her own pounding just as strongly in her own ears.
They woke late in the afternoon and stayed near the cabin until dark, waiting for the hot sun to give way to a cooler evening, planning on going for a swim.
They had bathed daily, and often after dark since that first time, Julia paddling along the shore, not yet endeavoring to move too far away from the safety of the ledge. She was insistent upon going to the pool whenever possible. A couple of days it had rained continuously, and she had expressed disappointment each time.
They took a lantern to light their way along the rocky path and in twenty minutes were splashing around in the darkness.
Margarita floated freely on her back. "I could do this all night."
Safely on the ledge of the waist-deep water, Julia walked over to Margarita and put a hand on her shoulder.
Margarita smiled in the darkness. "You're a good woman, Julia."
Without speaking, Julia easily righted Margarita from her floating position.
Slightly startled, Margarita asked, "What are you doing?"
"Margarita." She heard her name spoken in a whisper. Julia looked down on her and placed a hand on each shoulder.
A sudden and warm sensation flooded Margarita; the same sensation she had experienced that time she had gone swimming after the last stagecoach holdup while imagining kissing this Anglo.
"Margarita," Julia whispered again. Her hands moved slowly down Margarita's arms.
Margarita could feel her blood throbbing in her temples. She could barely make out Julia's features. She wished she could see clearly into Julia's eyes — to read what was there.