by Penny Hayes
He waved them to the table and joined them.
"I want to go home," she told him outright. Her eyes did not waver from his.
"Well, that says it plain enough, don't it?" Carelessly he scratched the back of his head, then leaned forward on the table.
"Let her go, Sam," Margarita said.
He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then turned full attention to his captive. "I could just shoot you."
Margarita felt her skin prickle, but Julia remained calm. "You could. Are you going to?"
Sam half-smiled, saying, "I don't know."
"I don't think —" Margarita began.
"Be still, Margarita," Julia ordered. "This is between Sam and me." Her voice shook as she spoke. She was scared after all.
"No, it ain't, Julia," Sam corrected her. "It's between Margarita and me. Now you just go on out of here so's I can talk to her."
Julia rose stiffly and left, holding her head high.
Sam spoke plainly. "I'm for quittin' outlawin', for a while at least. I'm goin' down to Mexico so it won't matter if we let Julia go. If Julia squeals, it won't be no skin off my nose, just yours if you stay in New Mexico."
Margarita felt light-headed with relief. Everything was going to be all right after all. She said, "You're making it awfully easy, Sam. Why?"
"What the hell am I gonna do, keep a prisoner at the meadow for the rest of my life? I got more important things to do. You know she'd give us nothin' but trouble sooner or later. An' hell, Margarita, I just can't up and shoot a woman." His brow creased into a thoughtful scowl. "She done all right for us, too."
Sam had always liked that quality in a person. The more trouble they were willing to put up with, the more he respected them. Julia had done her share.
"So I say, break up and go our separate ways. We done all we could. Been damn lucky, too."
Margarita nodded in silent agreement. There was no other choice. She couldn't outlaw alone and she hadn't the heart to start over. At least Julia was free to leave. That was the most important consideration right now. She would worry about herself later.
"When will you go?" she asked.
"Tonight, I guess. How about you?"
"Tomorrow."
"There's just one little thing, Margarita." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I'm taking your cache and the extra horses with me."
"Sam...."
"Go get the money."
It took only a second for Margarita to decide that to argue was to tread on deadly ground. That look was in his eye, the one that had earned him a place on the wanted posters. Oh, he wouldn't kill her. But he wouldn't be nice either. Sam could get real ugly.
She rose to go after her cache.
Chapter Eleven
As soon as Margarita had turned over her money, she and Julia packed what they would need for five days on the trail and saddled two horses. She had planned to leave tomorrow. But she could not bring herself to stay because of Sam’s surprising greed. She never thought that be would rob her. They were partners. She had learned too late that when it came to money and thieves, there were no partners.
As she and Julia left the meadow, only by using iron will was Margarita able to keep her eyes straight ahead.
She fought taking a last look at the horses she loved. Right now they would be standing statuesque, deeply silhouetted against the rose-colored sky and the beautiful Sangre de Cristo Mountains that scratched the pink clouds with their lofty peaks. But the animals were now in her past; animals she loved, and had lost. She was forever becoming attached to them, only to lose one or two every few months. This time it was the entire herd. She must not think about it.
The women entered the canyon, the sounds of the horses' hooves mingling with the dripping walls and the creaking of leather. Within the sanctuary, Julia's voice sounded loud and out of place as she followed Margarita down the ever increasing decline of the canyon: "I'm sorry about what happened, Margarita, but I'm glad, too. It was blood money."
"I never shot anyone."
"It doesn't matter. Your friends did."
"I gave most of it to my mother."
"Does she know where it came from?"
"No."
"Don't worry, Margarita. We'll think of something soon."
That was a certainty. Margarita hadn't at all given up the idea of land and a home of her own. Not by a long shot. She would have it one day. One way or another. Being a bandito had been a failure. She was poorer now than when she had first gone to the men in Loma Parda. Now, she hadn't a peso in her pocket, and only a few dollars in the Colter Bank.
"Damn it!" Margarita shouted uselessly into the blackness of the canyon. Her voice echoed loudly off the rock walls. For all her efforts she had gained nothing. The thought hammered at her all the way down the trail.
Julia, her horse clip-clopping behind Margarita's own, said nothing.
Wanting to reach Colter as soon as possible, the women did not sleep for two nights other than dozing uncomfortably in the saddle. Exhausted and stiff, riding on tired horses, they plodded on, moving steadily northeast further and further from the meadow, eating hardtack in the saddle and grabbing sips of low-land brackish water from near-dry stream beds.
Cold nights made them shiver and the day's hot sun sapped the life out of them, leaving them limp and leaning on their mount's necks as they rode even during the hottest part of the day, their legs aching from inactivity and straddling the horses' broad backs. Sometimes they would walk to stretch a little, but continued moving steadily toward Colter. They barely spoke to one another during their journey, Margarita still angry and Julia apparently too tired to care.
"I can hardly stay in this saddle," Julia groaned on the third evening. They had only twenty-five miles to go but it might as well have been a million to Julia, who had reached her limit. Tears she could not control filled her eyes. As close as they were to Colter, Margarita knew they must stop for the night.
She suddenly hated herself for having brought her lady into this mess. Her lady? The words startled her. She had not thought of Julia in those terms before. Sadness filled her, and she had an overwhelming need to hold Julia to her breast and bear her discomfort for her.
They stopped along a small stream. "We'll rest here tonight," she said. "We've pushed hard enough."
Julia slid from the saddle. Margarita helped her over to a downed piñon tree lying beside the shallow rivulet and eased her into a seated position.
"I'll be so glad to be back in my own clothes," Julia moaned. "And no longer on a horse. I'll never ride one of these beasts again."
The horses wandered over to the stream and sucked thirstily, too tired to roam more than a few feet from their riders.
On her knees, Margarita moved between Julia's legs and put her arms around her. She kissed her softly. Julia pulled back from Margarita and whimpered slightly.
"What is it?" Margarita had been gentle. She had always been gentle with Julia.
"It's my legs. The saddle sores."
"Let me see."
"It's nothing. Don't bother."
"I insist." Margarita spoke firmly. Unattended saddle sores could turn into crippling injuries.
Julia pulled off a boot and worked a pant leg and long underwear partially up her leg. A large, oozing wound covered the inside of her left calf.
"My God, Julia, why didn't you say something before this?"
"I didn't want to take the time to stop. I'm still a little scared Sam might follow."
Margarita sighed. "Don't be. He's headed for Mexico. Now we must take care of you. Get undressed."
While Margarita untied the medicine bag from behind her saddle, Julia took off her clothes. "Men wear the damnedest clothing," she complained harshly. "You can't even take off your damn drawers without getting completely undressed."
Margarita laughed at Julia's anger. "You look good to me." Unbearably tired though she was, she could still easily admire Julia's
firm breasts and smooth skin. She wished that they were both back at the meadow standing in the pool, their skin caressed by the cool air and warm water of the night. She wrapped a blanket around the shivering woman and turned her mind to tending Julia's leg.
Julia drew the blanket tighter to her body, leaving the underwear hobbling her ankles while Margarita rubbed salve on the wounds of her thighs and calves. She wrapped them with strips of cloth. "It isn't the best way to take care of you, but it'll have to do."
Julia stood and began to dress. "I'll survive."
"Think of all the stories you'll have to tell your grandchildren." Margarita chuckled as she helped Julia button her shirt.
Frowning, Julia replied, "I thought you understood, Margarita, that you're the one I'm spending my life with."
Embarrassed, Margarita stammered, "Oh, yes, certainly. I was only joking."
She hadn't been joking at all. She did not feel comfortable with Julia's apparent firm decision. In fact, she felt trapped by it. She had other things in life planned for herself— her own future. And in the long run, Julia was not a part of that. For now, what they shared was fine. It was wonderful. But she couldn't get into a discussion about it now. They were both too tired.
She left Julia near the log and walked over to unsaddle the horses. When she returned, Julia was fast asleep. Margarita looked at her for a long time, studying her, wondering why she didn't feel as strongly about their relationship as Julia did. "I wish I could love you," Margarita quietly confessed. "But still, I care more for you than I ever have for anyone, even Seth — and that's a lot."
She eased her lover into a better position, putting her bat under her head for a pillow. Julia never stirred at the repositioning of her body, inhaling and exhaling in deep exhausted breaths.
Margarita tied the horses to the piñon tree and straddled the trunk to stand guard, then threw both legs to one side. The log felt too much like a horse. For once in her life, she was sick of riding like a man.
Julia shook Margarita's shoulder. It was almost dawn. "I feel better, Margarita. Let's go."
Margarita lifted her chin from her chest. "Oh, my neck. I think it's broken." She massaged it with one hand. "Lord, I didn't mean to fall asleep."
"No harm done. Let's go."
"You're horrid," Margarita accused affectionately, giving Julia a squeeze, and went to prepare the horses. Soon they were riding through the early morning dawn toward Colter.
Chapter Twelve
Upon entering the house, Margarita was struck by a strong unpleasant smell, probably caused by the place being shut up for so long. Wrinkling her nose she remembered the same smell, only weaker, when she bad been here before. Perhaps a dead rat or some such animal had been trapped somewhere in the house and was rotting away. The odor wasn’t quite right, but she could not think of anything else it might be. But she noticed that Julia had taken a long, deep, and, it seemed to Margarita, almost sensuous breath when she had first set foot through the door.
"What is that odor?" Margarita questioned.
"It's paint," Julia replied. "Upstairs. It's always this powerful whenever I've been away for a while and the house is closed up. I go up there first thing. Makes me feel at home again just to look around the room."
They dumped their belongings on the kitchen table. Margarita followed Julia through the parlor and up the narrow stairs she had climbed seemingly centuries ago. "You didn't see this room," Julia said as they reached the landing, "the last time you were here." She led the way to a door at the end of the hall and opened it, stepping aside to let Margarita enter first.
The odor was ten times as strong here as anywhere else in the house. Countless tubes of paint cluttered narrow tables placed along the walls. Stacks of canvas, some complete, others half finished, filled the space beneath the tables. Two oils sat on easels, both depicting ranch scenes. Most of the paintings were of New Mexico Territory, and Margarita wondered who in the world would want pictures of this land. She picked up an almost empty, badly mutilated tube of paint. "Where do you get all this?"
"I send to New York or Chicago for most of it," Julia replied. "Some paints I make from pulverized rocks of different colors, mixed with oil. Or I'll use certain plants and oil. Sometimes if I can't get the oil I need to make the paint, I have to use eggs. But I prefer oil. The color is richer, better. Paint made with eggs will fade in the long run."
"You're a very serious artista, aren't you?"
"The day you saw me on the stagecoach, I was on my way to Albuquerque. I thought I might be able to find some plants or stone to use for new colors. Your taking my money forced me to return to Colter." She picked up a fistful of brushes, running the palm of her hand across the bristles.
"I'm sorry," Margarita said, and she truly was. A thought crossed her mind. "Is that why Henry asked you about bringing back new dust from your trip that day we left for the meadow?"
"That's what he meant."
Margarita stopped before a large canvas of the craggy and beautiful Sangre de Cristo Mountains, the colors sharp and clean, the oil applied with thick bold strokes. "You're very good, you know." She turned toward Julia who stood in the doorway. "I'm glad Sam never knew."
Julia agreed wholeheartedly. "I'd love to go to work right now, but I need to eat, bathe, and then sleep for three days without moving. I don't know what there is to eat, but anything is better than tortillas and beans."
After resting the three full days that Julia had demanded, they drove to Colter. It was time to let Henry know she was back. She had been gone almost a month. It would be Julia's sole income that would sustain the two of them, and she needed to resume work.
As Margarita walked with Julia into the drugstore, it was a different feeling she carried with her today. No longer a bandito, she saw things with new eyes. She didn't have the little knot of fear she had always carried with her during reconnaissance. Until this moment she hadn't even realized that it had been an integral part of her life these past two years. Julia had given her money to buy some soaps and salves while in town, and she would happily pick these items up, not as an excuse to cover devious behavior, but for actual need of them. She felt giddy with exhilaration and freedom.
Maude turned at the jingling of the bell. The two women walked over to a counter where she was busily dusting. The old man was nowhere in sight.
"Hello, Maude," Julia said with a smile.
"You're back," Maude replied.
She sounded less than enthusiastic, and Margarita recalled her dislike of the caustic woman from the previous time they had met.
"Back and ready to work," Julia said.
Leaving Julia to her business, Margarita walked away to study the perfumes displayed on a nearby counter. She had never gotten as good a look at them as she had wanted to before. That times seemed a century ago.
"I'm afraid not, Julia Blake. You won't be needed here any longer." Maude's tone was blunt.
Not needed? Margarita turned to listen.
"Don't be silly, Maude. I've been here for years. Of course I'm needed."
"No longer, Julia. Henry has died."
"Died? When?" Tears sprang to her eyes. Margarita knew that she had loved the old man.
"He breathed his last three weeks ago. Just up and went to glory in his sleep. No warning whatsoever."
"I can see his death affected you deeply," Julia said sarcastically, "and you his grandniece."
"Oh, you'll be affected, too. As you know, I was his oldest living relative." Maude paused and a little smile creased her slit of a mouth. "He left the entire store to me. That's what he thought of you. And I'll be operating the business alone. He should have had me working here all along, so I've only gotten what should have been rightfully mine to begin with."
"What about those who need Julia's medical help Maude?" Margarita had walked to Julia's side, angered by Maude's coldly superior attitude.
"I'll take care of them," Maude said pridefully
. "I've been reading Uncle Henry's medicine books and I've helped a couple of people already."
Her haughtiness infuriated Margarita. She could not help asking, "Did they live?"
"Of course they lived," Maude responded sharply, "Do you have any business to conduct here? I'm quite busy today."
"I can see that you are," Margarita answered, and pointedly looked around the empty store. She would shop elsewhere. Colter was big enough. "How is it," she asked, "that Julia, instead of you, worked here if you were old Uncle Henry's relative?"
"That's none of your business."
Margarita smiled carelessly and sauntered out of the store, Julia following closely behind. Margarita spat on the sidewalk in front of the door. So much for loyalty.
Within an hour, the despondent women sat at the kitchen table.
"Well, blood is thicker than water in the end, isn't it?" Julia said angrily. "There's no accounting for how men will behave. Damn old Henry, anyway. I really thought he cared about me, that he'd make sure I'd continue working there no matter who he left the place to. I used to do for him constantly."
"Why did you work there, instead of Maude?"
"Because she's totally incompetent, that's why." Julia fought tears of disappointment. "Henry knew that!"
"She thinks she's doing a fine job."
"Oh, she'll get by, I suppose. But she's always struck me as a crabby old biddy. It was hard not to let her know I
felt that way. I guess I didn't. I hate to think what will happen to the store now."
"Why don't you see if she'll sell the business to you? You know more than she does. You'd have a position, security...."
"That's out of the question. I'm almost without funds. I've spent nearly every dime I've ever earned on paints and canvas." Standing abruptly she said, "I can't think about this anymore. I'll be upstairs." Quickly she left the room.
Margarita understood that no more was to be said about the drugstore or Maude, now or ever.
Following her to the bedroom, Margarita said, "Let's give ourselves a half hour, Julia. We need to be together."