by Penny Hayes
Julia nodded her agreement. Her depression had obviously reached the same depth as Margarita's own.
Margarita left to seal the house. She returned to find Julia undressed and lying on the bed. With outstretched arms Julia said, "Come here."
Margarita hurriedly removed her clothing, thinking how like an order Julia's words had sounded. As Margarita lay down by her side, Julia pulled her firmly against her. "You're so aggressive," Margarita said, not quite able to adjust to this side of her lover, and unsure whether she liked it or not. She remembered that Julia had been like this back at the cabin, too. She just didn't look the type to be so forward — but then what exactly did a forward woman lover look like? Or do? Margarita had no idea. She wasn't even sure if what they had together was real to begin with.
"What difference does it make if I'm aggressive or not, as long as you like what I do and I don't hurt you?" Julia pulled Margarita even tighter against her.
"I don't know," Margarita answered. "I just never thought of a woman as making bold advances in bed."
"That's nonsense, Margarita. If you want to take command in this bed, take command. If you don't want to, then don't. Do what you want to do, not what you think you're supposed to do." She kissed Margarita on the tip of her nose, each eyelid, then softly began to nibble on a dark earlobe.
Margarita made an effort to readjust her thinking. She didn't remember having this problem back at the cabin when she had been with Julia.
In the sealed room with only a single open window to let in the slightest of breezes, their bodies were slick with sweat. Julia lowered herself on top of Margarita and began to move up and down, the moisture between them eliminating friction. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed.
Margarita pulled the hairpins from Julia's long tresses, releasing them to fall free and loose across her face and chest. She pulled Julia's face to her own, kissing her through damp heat and disarrayed strands of silken hair. She spread her legs wide to allow Julia to nestle between them, and, pushing against her, felt her lover's sensual body begin to press slowly and firmly against her.
Margarita relinquished guilt-ridden thoughts of men and concentrated only on the woman now breathing heavily into her ear. Julia easily slid a hand between their bellies as Margarita wrapped her in her arms. She felt Julia's fingers reach and explore, felt Julia move her hips and hand at the same time, finally entering Margarita and moaning as she caused searing heart to build within Margarita. Julia was going to take her to that place again — that place she had never been before with anyone except this incredible amante.
"Ahhh," she shouted joyously as she came in a blinding climax while Julia bent her head to suck on a swollen, dark brown nipple.
"Stop," Margarita said in a whisper.
But Julia either didn't hear or deliberately paid no heed as she continued to manipulate Margarita, sliding a finger in... out... in... out....
Resisting her sensations, Margarita said, "Julia... wait...."
But again, Julia didn't respond. "Stop fighting me, Margarita," she whispered. "You love me and you know it. Why do you fight me?"
And again a searing flame shot through Margarita as Julia brought her wildly to another climax and then a third, and a fourth.
At last, Julia pulled her hand away.
Margarita forgot her earlier resistance to Julia and seized her with near madness as passion continued to possess her. Effortlessly she changed positions with Julia, rolling her over and laying full length upon her, driving her hips into her.
While Julia whispered, "Harder," in a hoarse voice, Margarita pleaded with her to let her bury herself in Julia's body.
Julia pushed Margarita's head down toward her thighs. "Now," she shouted, and Margarita's tongue drove fiercely into her.
"I want you, I want you," Margarita moaned into the soft wetness of Julia's body.
She could not do without her.
Julia arched, arched again, then lay still.
Margarita got up on her hands and knees and bent to dry her face on Julia's stomach, savoring the feel of her satin skin.
"Come here," Julia said, and drew Margarita up to her side. "Put your hand here." She guided Margarita between her legs, then Julia put her own hand on Margarita. "Now, together," she said, and began to move rhythmically.
Margarita followed Julia's lead until she could no longer think. But she didn't need to think anymore. Both women were gasping and clutching at each other, whispering endearing words, holding one another tightly until the highest point of passion finally freed them; until they both fell apart and then lay still.
Julia whispered softly, "How I love you, Margarita Sanchez. I thank God you were a bandito."
For a long moment Margarita did not answer, waiting for her pounding heart to still. "A terrible life. I realize that now."
"I don't care. It brought us together."
"Yes, it did that." Margarita again felt trapped, forgetting that just moments before she had thought she could not live without Julia. Was it only the act of love itself, then, that made Julia so attractive to her? Considering all the men she had been with, it was best with Julia.
Julia smiled a brilliant smile. Margarita buried her face in the large feather pillow, the unidentifiable ache in her chest toward this woman, the wanting of her, almost more than she could endure, leaving her confused and deeply troubled.
Chapter Thirteen
For the next couple of days, the women dusted and swept and scrubbed vengefully, neither liking housework, but putting up with it all the same. On the third day Julia threw down her broom. "I'm sick of this! Let's go to town."
In twenty minutes they were ready.
Julia parked the buggy two doors down from the Low Dog Saloon. She would see Belle, a dancehall girl and a long time acquaintance, who would slip her a bottle of good red wine.
"You're friends with a saloon girl?" Margarita asked incredulously.
"And a bandit, too," Julia answered lightly, leaving Margarita standing in the wake of her own embarrassment as she disappeared behind the Low Dog.
Margarita wandered up and down the sidewalk gazing in windows, admiring hats and dresses that were now completely out of her reach. Fifteen minutes later, Julia rejoined Margarita at the buggy with a brown paper bundle tucked under her arm. After stashing the wine beneath the seat, they strolled the sidewalks and wandered in and out of stores for the better part of the morning.
People stopped Julia numerous times to discuss her dismissal from the drugstore, all of them professing to be sorry as sin to hear she wouldn't be working there any more. Would she still be helping the doctor? Could she come see their children? Tommy had been sick as a dog, but the doctor had saved him. But if she had been there, he would have gotten better faster. The litany of praise went on and on. Margarita couldn't remember all the people she herself had been introduced to.
"You're well thought of," Margarita remarked at the buggy's side as Julia was able to at last free herself from a final conversation.
They climbed onto the seat. "I have something they want."
"It must be nice."
"Oh, don't be so touchy. I've never made a half-dime out of it."
That made Margarita feel better. Then she felt worse. They were both nearly penniless except for the pittance each still had in the bank.
On the way out of town, Margarita said almost desperately, "We've got to do something, Julia. We are poor. Poor!"
"We'll work something out. I'll start thinking tomorrow. That'll be time enough. Tonight...there's wine." She gave Margarita a little nudge and leaned against her meaningfully, apparently her depression of yesterday gone with today's warm reception around town.
"I think we need to discuss this now." Margarita was dreadfully afraid of being destitute. She had lived that way in Carizaillo. She didn't want to go through such agony again.
"No, tomorrow is soon enough," Julia said firmly. "I'm too tired to do that kind of plannin
g."
Margarita turned angrily in her seat. "You know what I'm tired of, Julia? I'm tired of worrying if we can grain the horses. I'm tired of worrying if I'll be able to buy flour enough to bake a tortilla shell or... or a loaf of bread, or something special like a pie, let alone put something in its shell. And, I'm damn scared of being poor again!"
Julia reined the horse to an abrupt halt. "What a notion!" Her eyes sparkled as she turned to Margarita. "What an idea, you wonderful woman!"
"Julia, damn it —"
"No, listen to me. You're not going to starve. We're not going to starve. We're going to make money. Lots of it. We can bake bread, pies, cookies. That's exactly what we'll do. I can decorate them up fancy. I'm an artist."
"People are already doing that."
"Not like this." Julia was animated. Her eyes flashed as her hands moved rapidly through the air. "We could sell our goods all over Colter, fresh off the back of the wagon. And we could go door to door. Personal delivery. People know me. They trust me. It would work, Margarita. I know it would! You're brilliant, just brilliant!"
So Julia had been just as worried. An enormous weight lifted from Margarita's shoulders at the thought of a possible way out of their immediate poverty. And she felt very contrite. "I... I'm sorry I yelled at you, Julia."
"Oh, to hell with that. I'm glad you did." She dismissed Margarita's former ire with a flip of her hand. "Look at the marvelous idea you've given us."
Immensely relieved of their most pressing problem, they laughed and whistled and sang songs and stumbled over the words because one sang in English and the other in Spanish. And neither knew any song that the other knew.
The following morning they were in town at eight, going first to the bank. They drew out their remaining savings. With this slim amount they would begin their business.
Margarita had to fight against staring at the spot where Bert had died. She fought, too, against looking at the painting on the wall. She knew that keenly alert men stood behind those people's eyes, just waiting for some fool to do something stupid. To look up there would be estupido! She left with the remnants of her cache as quickly as possible.
They drove over to the emporium with a list they had carefully prepared last night tucked in Julia's purse. They had planned to the penny what to buy and together had tallied the house's staples, canned goods, and dried fruit left from last season. The fruit was scant and probably should have been eaten by now but would do in a pie with an extra pinch of sugar. Nothing must be wasted.
"Morning, Clare," Julia called out cheerily as she and Margarita entered the store.
"Morning, Julia," came a voice from behind a counter somewhere near the rear of the building. "Maude said you were back. Welcome."
Margarita inhaled the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee, of dill pickles fermenting in brine in open oak barrels. Three women to her left chatted and looked at bolts of muslin, calico, and domestic, both bleached and unbleached, both of a light and heavy weave. Skirts, shirts, and drawers were made from the lighter material and sacks for corn and other grains from the heavier cloth. Women's shawls for both summer and winter lay stacked high beside bolts of cloth and piles of blankets. Ginghams for cheap dresses and aprons, and stockings, both woolen and cotton, and ribbons were laid out next to the blankets.
Sacks of sugar, brown and white, sat behind the store's front counter, the white granulated or cubed, the cubed being preferred by campers should the sugar spill. There were bags of coffee, boxes of crackers, bars of chocolate, and other sweets that made a body's mouth water just looking at them. There were sperm whale candles, and coal oil too, less popular because of the outrageous price, and some lard and tallow for those who did not have their own hogs or cattle. A large supply of dried apples and peaches was piled alongside plums and pears. There were even canned sardines and oysters.
Julia walked over to the counter. A tiny freckled-faced woman, her flaming red hair braided around her head, rose from behind the counter. She set a large wood box down with a grunt. "Got to get these canned goods out this morning. William was supposed to do it yesterday but he got the fever and went hunting."
Julia smiled and handed Clare their carefully planned list. "Can you fill this?"
"Hmmm, dried peaches and apples, canned pears, lard....You still have pecans from last year, Julia? It'll save you a bucket of money." Clare didn't bother to wait for an answer. She began to fill the order, stacking the items on the counter before her. "Twenty-five pounds of flour, sugar....You want white sugar, don't you? Five pounds of salt.... Eggs…Fresh eggs just this morning, Julia. Brought in by Abigail Kirby."
As Clare gathered the groceries together, Margarita looked over a dozen different kinds of sweets displayed handsomely on the counter eye level to a small child. She would love the richness of a licorice root or the tang of a mint stick; just seeing them through those glass cylinders made her mouth water and her jaws ache.
Overhead and against the walls hung pots and pans, tin plates and cups with iron knives and forks, frying pans, and Dutch ovens, washboards and tubs. Beneath these for no logical reason were shelves of spices. Margarita squinted at tins of cinnamon, nutmeg, pepper, bay leaves, dry mustard, oregano, chili powder, and red pepper.
As the wall clock chimed nine, Margarita sat down in a chair next to a cold pot belly stove. Warily she eyed four freshly baked pies protected from buzzing flies by a curved glass case and prominently displayed on a nearby counter. A second case, three-tiers high with a sliding back door, held two cakes. She could see Julia looking obliquely at the same case as she stood in front of the counter seemingly studying the label on one of the cans of pears Clare had just placed there. The baked goods looked good. So they would have competition. But that went without saying. Any woman worth her salt could cook and bake.
"That's everything, Julia," Clare said. "I'll get one of the boys to load for you. You must be hungry for sweets."
Julia smiled but did not explain.
"Now comes the serious part," Julia said as they headed for home. "We've got enough wood to keep the oven going all day long for the next few days, but after that we'll have to hire more cut and split. We'll have to pay from our profits."
"It's going to take a while to see daylight, isn't it?" Margarita asked a bit wistfully.
Julia nodded. "We'll just keep plugging. We should be able to earn enough to feed ourselves and keep ourselves in firewood this winter, and still have a little extra for your mother, but that'll probably be about it."
"I thought you said yesterday that we'd be rich."
"I lied."
"I thought so." But it was all right because Margarita felt closer to Julia today than she had yesterday... than she had the day before, or last week.
She believed they would be successful if they put their minds to it. Working with Julia would be better than working with Sam and Bill and Bert had ever been. Probably harder, too — but far, far safer. Again, she felt an exhilarating surge of relief that her outlawing had been left behind — and that she had never been wounded or caught or hanged.
The women rose at four the following morning to take full advantage of the night's cooler temperatures.
Over the next three days they mixed and kneaded dough for bread and cookies; and pastry for pies of pecan, peach, and apple, their shells filled until they were nearly overflowing. They whipped batter and baked. Last, they made tiny, fancy cakes and cookies that could be sold individually and directly from the wagon.
Each afternoon the heat in the kitchen became almost unbearable. Sweat soaked their clothing and the scarves that held back their hair. They went barefoot and stockingless, wearing only light gingham dresses; they shed their underwear and pinned up the waists of their dresses, raising the skirts a good two feet off the floor to allow for as much comfort and air circulation as possible.
In the oppressive heat, bumping into each other as they worked steadily to meet their preset three-day de
adline, they snapped at each other, held one another, kissed, made up, snapped again, and remained on schedule.
Baking continued until darkness fell, the food placed on a table they had hauled into the front room and then covered with a clean bed sheet to protect it from insects.
The women staggered upstairs each night, the entire house smelling of baked goods. They fell asleep in one another's arms as soon as their heads hit the pillow, not moving until four the following morning.
"Gracias a Dios, we're done," Julia said as she lay down the third night.
Margarita wanted to talk but she could feel sleep overpowering her.
"We can lay in bed until six tomorrow," Julia told her. "We'll take the wagon and both horses. It won't take us long to load."
"Margarita?" Julia let out a contented sigh. "Buenos noches, my brave lady."
Margarita backed the wagon up to the kitchen door, clucking to the team, pulling and tugging on the reins until the vehicle was within two feet of the building. Under a cloudless and warm morning, they loaded bags and boxes of cakes, pies, cookies, and bread, all ready to be driven to Colter.
Wearing plain cotton dresses, light pettiskirts, and sun bonnets, they ate a quick breakfast of several too-done cookies and half a loaf of bread, not even wanting to look in the direction of the oven.
Although they were both so tired that dark rings circled their eyes and their bodies lagged, they were full of hope and enthusiasm. "I'll bet we come back with an empty wagon," Julia said happily.
"And pockets full of money."
"That too," Julia agreed.
The women climbed onto the seat and Margarita clucked the team into motion. Julia opened a parasol to shade herself against the sun's strong rays. She said, "We already know that we daren't charge higher prices than our competitors. But if we undercharge, we'll have the restaurants angry with us, the emporium, the general store...any of those places that sell baked wares. We certainly don't want that."
"Where do those particular goods come from?" Margarita asked.
"From the wives. We won't go near those stores. We'll sell to cowboys... the tellers in the bank... the smithy."