by Penny Hayes
"What about going over to the railroad station when the train comes in?"
"Good idea. We'll also see the barber...the doctor ... I know he'll buy at least one cake. We'll go there first thing. We'll also go by the sheriffs office, the telegraph office.... We could try the back doors of the saloons."
"To hell with that," Margarita put in. "I'll walk right through the front door. They will be unable to resist the hermosa viuda." She made flashing eyes at Julia.
"They'd better resist her," Julia answered possessively. "She belongs to me."
Margarita fought off a sudden oppressive feeling and thought, I belong to no one. But aloud she replied, "Let's go to the millinery's, too."
They went first to Doc James' office only to find him away. "He's never in," complained Julia. They were filled with unexpected disappointment at not making an immediate sale, and it sent just a little scare into them, which, they admitted to each other, was quite groundless because they had the entire day before them and, of course, almost the entire town. Still, a fast successful sale had been important to them.
"Well then, let's go to the sheriffs office," Julia suggested.
"Now?"
"Certainly," Julia pronounced confidently. "Why not now? He needs to eat, too. And he's only right next door."
"I was hoping to leave him until last. Maybe we'd have run out of goods by then."
"Oh, don't be a cobarde," Julia teased. "Besides, he may even have a prisoner or two with a dollar left in their pockets after a night at the gaming tables."
Sighing with resignation, Margarita steered the wagon toward the sheriffs office. "Life is strange," she muttered to no one, and joined Julia at the door.
Sheriff Hoskins sat tipped back in a chair, his feet propped up on his desk, its worn and scarred surface heaped with piles of paper. Margarita could hardly keep from wrinkling her nose at the stinking smoke collecting in the small room, emitting from Hoskin's long, pungent cigar.
"Hey, looka them little gals," called a lone prisoner, unkempt and heavily bewhiskered, from a cot in the jail's only cell off to the right of the office. His words were slurred. Unsteadily, the man sat up and squinted through puffy eyes at Julia and Margarita. Then he staggered over to the cell door and gripped the door's bars and coughed long and hard, his lungs rattling with phlegm. With shaking hands, he began to roll a cigarette.
"Shut up, Jones," ordered the lawman sternly, dropping his feet to the floor. "You ain't even sober yet."
"I ain't blind drunk, neither," came the happy, grinning response as the prisoner continued to eye the women. "Wal, hell, if it ain't Miss Julia."
She spoke crossly to him. "Marcus Jones, you should be ashamed of yourself."
"Wha' fer?" he asked belligerently.
Julia turned back to the sheriff, ignoring Jones. Sheriff Hoskins rose. "Good to have you home, Julia. Somebody said you were back."
"Back and working," Julia declared. "Sheriff, meet Margarita Sanchez." She turned toward her lover. "She and I bake pies, cakes, cookies, and loaves of bread. All fresh, all available — right now, out in the wagon."
"I wanna pie!" the prisoner roared loudly, grabbing the bars of the cell.
"You ain't gettin' no pie," pronounced the sheriff over his shoulder.
"I got some money left," Jones announced. "What kinda pie an' how much?" He began to search through his pockets.
As Hoskins began to speak to the prisoner again, Margarita surprised herself by saying, "Oh, let him buy a pie, Sheriff. It'll help his morale, being cooped up like this." But for a long run of good luck, it could have been her behind those bars.
The sheriff eyed Jones warily. "Money up front, Marcus. How much you got?"
"I know I got a half-dollar left. Must be in my boot." He sat on his cot and began to pull off a badly worn boot.
"I'm sorry, Marcus Jones. Pies are fifty-five cents," Julia expressed firmly.
"For a damn half-dime, you wouldn't sell a pie to a condemned man?" Jones wailed pathetically. "I wanna pie, damn it."
"You ain't a condemned man, Jones," Hoskins retorted. "You'll be out by noon if you go back to sleep."
"I want a damn pie!"
The sheriff turned to Julia. "Oh, hell, let him have the pie for fifty cents."
Margarita's stomach knotted up. If Julia let the pie go for a half-dime less, there would be other cuts in prices, given as simple favors just because someone was a little short of funds ... or Julia's friend ... or for some other crazy reason.
"I'm sorry, Sheriff," Julia said more purposefully than before. "But we need the money as badly as he needs the pie. Business is business. It's another five cents or he gets nothing from us."
Margarita collapsed inwardly with relief, breathing once again. She had not wanted to step in and intercede on the business's behalf on their very first sale. But she would have if Julia hadn't stood her ground. And it pleased her exceedingly that Julia had used the words 'we' and 'us' without wavering, indicating strongly that they were in this together.
"I need the pie," Jones wailed. "I neeeed it."
"Aw right, Jones. Quit your caterwaulin' and you'll get your damn pie. I'll give you the half-dime for him, Julia, just to shut him up. Bring me a loaf of bread, and a chocolate cake if you got it."
"What kind of pie would you like, Marcus?" Julia asked. "We have pecan...."
"Pecan!"
Margarita fetched the men's orders and placed them carefully on the desk. Hoskins leaned toward Jones' pie and inhaled deeply. "Hmmm, smells good."
"Get your nose offen my pie, damn yuh!" Marcus Jones snarled.
Hoskins paid Julia, and as the women left they could hear the two men growling at each other over exchanging an honest piece of pie for an honest piece of cake. "It's a wonder the sheriff doesn't shoot Señor Jones," Margarita stated as she drove toward the train station.
"That'll never happen. They're the best of friends."
"You joke with me."
Julia smiled and shook her head. "For years and years. They even ride posse together now and then — when Marcus is sober long enough to stay in the saddle, which isn't often."
The women reached the station in time to sell several dozen cookies and two pies to exiting and departing passengers who paid hurriedly, anxious to be on their way.
They returned to the doctor's office again. Thankfully James had returned, and in no time Julia had sold him a cake just as she had predicted. They stopped at the stores they had chosen, and then at ten o'clock they worked the saloons, which were beginning to get a little busy by now. Margarita walked brazenly into each one, carrying wares with her and coming out empty-handed only a short time later.
Sold last, the individual fancy cookies were favorites of the children, and especially of the ladies. They had seen or heard what the women were up to and had come over to talk and admire, glad to try foods which they knew took hours to make. And they wished to secretly compare Julia and Margarita's baking with their own.
At eleven o'clock the wagon was empty.
It was time to head for home.
Chapter Fourteen
Margarita and Julia danced arm in arm around the kitchen table, whooping and singing over the small stack of money lying in its center. As soon as they had returned from town and had turned the team out, they had hurried inside, emptied their purses' contents, and gleefully counted out the day's earnings.
Babbling and giggling, they divided the grand total into several piles, setting each one in a different area of the table. First and foremost was the money to restock those items they could not keep, such as eggs and milk, or to replace what they had exhausted on their first baking spree, such as their twenty-five pounds of flour. Another pile was for firewood, another for food, and finally, a small emergency fund. They compared the totals against what they had estimated and jotted them down in a little notebook, and, yes, they had cleared ten dollars. It wasn't a fortune, but it was a start.
"When our profit pile is higher," Margarita suggested, and thumbed the small stack of dollars lying there. "There were a few times when I raked in hundreds, and it took only minutes. So I don't know why I'm so excited about this measly ten dollars."
"Maybe because you earned it honestly," Julia teased. She hid behind her cup, a half-smile playing on her lips.
Margarita's thoughts became dark, and a scowl crossed her face. "I guess it's time to start thinking smaller." Julia placed a hand over her own. She let out a mournful sigh. "Don't worry, I'll be fine." She stood and walked around Julia's chair. Leaning over her, she wrapped her arms around her and breathed in her fragrance. "You smell lovely."
"I smell like a cookie."
Margarita laughed. It was pleasing to hold Julia whenever she wanted to, to be loved by her, to be held by her at night. "You mean very much to me, Julia," she whispered, and kissed her ear through fine blond hair.
"How much do I mean to you?"
"More than you know."
"More than you know, you mean," Julia said. She rose and took Margarita in her arms.
"What do you mean?"
"You really don't know, do you?"
"No... I guess not."
"You will."
"When?"
"When you figure out who you are."
"I know who I am."
"But you don't know what you want. I know, but you don't."
"How could you know, and not me?"
"I don't know...but ... I can wait until you do." Julia's breathing was steady but deep. "Shall we go upstairs?"
"Si."
Julia locked the door, and hand in hand they walked up the narrow stairs to the bedroom. Quietly and slowly, each carefully disrobed, dropping her dress over a chair while watching the other, already making love with their eyes.
They moved to the bed and lay down. Julia took Margarita in her arms and began to run her hand slowly across Margarita's belly, occasionally circling her navel with a slender finger.
Margarita let herself go, relaxing completely, not thinking of men or of Julia's more active role, the one she always took first.
Margarita felt she was learning how to love this woman. It was all right to go just a little mad with passion. It was acceptable to love Julia as strongly as she desired. Julia wanted her that way... liked it... cried for it at times.
Pleasant thoughts drifted in and out of her mind as her lover continued to caress her. She pulled Julia on top of her. She wanted to feel Julia's weight, her bones grinding into her flesh.
Julia accommodated Margarita not only with her hips but with her hands, exploring, seeking, moving ... in constant motion, tantalizing and exciting, making Margarita want her more and more.
"I can love you better than anyone else," Julia uttered.
"Yes," Margarita whispered fiercely. "I want no one but you." There was no one who could love as Julia could love.
She gasped in ecstasy as Julia encircled each nipple with sensuous lips while holding her tightly with a strong arm. Julia slid a hand between their bellies. A finger touched that special place that she could find so readily, and in seconds Margarita arched her back, gritted her teeth, and then... lay still.
Julia moved up a little and wrapped both arms around Margarita. "I love you, Margarita. I will always tell you that."
She began to roll off her still enraptured lover, but Margarita stopped her. "No," she said. "Stay there."
Margarita moved her legs so that Julia's now lay between her own, and just as Julia had done, teased her until Julia was panting and biting on Margarita's neck. Margarita didn't mind. For the first time, it was completely all right that Julia was wild. There had always been the slightest of barriers that Margarita had been unable to break down in her mind — the one her mother had taught her that said nice ladies did not express such abandonment in bed. But... it was fine.
Julia came loudly, bringing tears to Margarita's eyes. That she could make someone else so happy....
Finally Julia lifted her head from Margarita's shoulders. "Are you crying?"
"Only for joy."
Julia let out what Margarita thought was a sob as the blonde woman buried her face against Margarita's shoulder.
"And why do you cry, amante?”
"One day you will know, my beautiful, dark-eyed beauty."
Margarita did not understand.
As they washed the few breakfast dishes, Julia and Margarita carefully worked out the coming week. They would rest today, Sunday, and tomorrow. On Tuesday they would pick up fresh supplies. Then on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, they would bake. Saturday, they would go to town.
They constantly interrupted their discussions and note takings with teasing and hugs and kisses, both short ones and deep, prolonged, lingering ones that drove each other wild. An exceptionally long delay was caused by a mad chase throughout the house as Margarita tore after Julia for calling her an Anglo in disguise before Julia, howling with laughter, finally managed to yell, "You're not an Anglo, you're not an Anglo! I promise." But the promise was made only after Margarita had chased her upstairs, thrown her to the bed, and then tickled her until she could not breathe.
They slept soundly Monday night and by eight o'clock the following day, were waiting for Clare to open so that they could buy their supplies.
They were as exhausted this time as during their last baking marathon and began to bark at each other, not at all concerned with each other's feelings. They realized that their behavior was already a part of a pattern and would probably continue, that petty quarrels and snide remarks meant nothing more than it was hotter than hell in the kitchen and their feet were killing them.
By Saturday, as they drove to town, they were again the best of friends and lovers.
The two women felt mounting excitement as they drove down Colter's main street which was bustling with Saturday activity. They were sure the wagon would be empty by noon. But they never had a chance to find out because long before Julia's watch showed twelve, their wares were depleted.
Margarita was hardly able to refrain from shouting to passersby as they drove out of town, "Look what we did! We made a fortune!" Many was the compliment called to them by cowboys who had already eaten a dozen of their cookies or a lady who had enjoyed a bite of tasty cake.
Their profits this time came to fourteen dollars.
"If we do this well each time, we'll be all right," Julia said, tidying up small stacks of coins and paper dollars as she sat across the kitchen table from Margarita. "In fact, we should bake more." She glanced Margarita's way. "Will you be content?"
Margarita sat silent for some time, turning the question over very carefully in her mind. Finally she answered, "I think so."
What Julia was asking was, would she be content living with her permanently. How had it happened that she was tied to this woman — not wanting to be and yet not wanting to go? She belonged nowhere.
She did not let her upset show. "I'm tired," she said to cover a growing sense of depression. "I'm going up to take a nap."
"I'll come with you."
"No, I want to be alone." She needed solitude desperately.
"Sleep well." Julia did not try to touch her.
Margarita could have cried from the kindness in Julia's soft voice. The woman was always so understanding. It tore Margarita apart that she wasn't as sure about themselves as Julia.
She climbed the stairs with dragging feet.
Chapter Fifteen
They baked again, went to town and sold everything, this time only bringing back twelve dollars profit — not nearly enough for their time and effort. At the ki
tchen table, without warning, Margarita burst into uncontrollable tears, covering her face with her hands.
"Don't," Julia said softly, moving to her side and taking her in her arms. "Please don't cry. I hate it so when you're unhappy." Julia rocked her back and forth.
But Margarita could not stop crying. She asked brokenly, "What shall we do?"
"I don't know," Julia replied. "We'll talk about it. We'll make out."
"It's such a wonderful idea." Tears streamed down Margarita's face as Julia nodded in quiet agreement.
"Maybe if we worked even harder…"
But they were already doing all that they could.
"How much money do we have all together?" Julia asked.
"Thirty-six dollars." The mention of the small amount made Margarita's tears flow anew. Nine days of baking, dawn to dark, three trips to town, thirty-six paltry dollars....
"No," Julia corrected. "Not just our profits. I mean all of it. The supplies money, the emergency money, the firewood money. Every single penny."
"I don't know. Maybe eight, eighty-five dollars."
Julia was still frowning fiercely.
"Why?"
"Oh, nothing," Julia said. "Come on, let's go for a walk. We need to get away from this kitchen for a while."
Margarita awoke with a start. It was pitch black in the room. "Julia," she murmured. Margarita reached for her, only to find an empty bed. The sheets where she had lain were cool, indicating Julia had been gone for some time.
Margarita slipped out of bed and wrapped a robe around her naked body, shivering against the cold, and made her way downstairs.
By dim lantern light Julia sat hunched over the Montgomery Ward and Company catalog, leafing through its pages. She looked up with sheepish eyes. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"What are you doing?"
"Thinking."
"Julia, come to bed. Think in the morning."
"I can't sleep. I want to think now."
Margarita leaned over her shoulder. The Sears catalog also lay open before her. "What are you looking at tins for?"