[Jennifer Cloud 01.0] The Shoes Come First

by Janet Leigh

  “It is OK, my compadres,” Pancho said. “It is just the picture man coming to take my photo.”

  The man pulled the buggy up and stepped down, hauling out his camera equipment. Pancho Villa went down the steps and spoke to the man, telling him where to set up. The Villistas gathered in front of a large dogwood tree that stood in front of the house, offering a beautiful backdrop for the pictures. Its white flowers were gone, but pinkish-red fruit that looked like raspberries adorned the branches. The leaves were shades of purple, red, and yellow. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of all the fuss Pancho Villa was making about standing in front of the tree when the pictures would be taken in black and white.

  The man in the brown suit scurried about, moving men around until Pancho Villa was standing in the middle and his men flanked him on either side. A row of men stood behind him. The tallest were not put directly behind Mr. Villa but instead toward the end of the row and had to squat to make themselves look shorter. The camera guy ducked under a cover attached to the back of the camera. After poking his head out and then ducking back under several times, he held up a big stick with his uncovered right arm.

  “On three,” the picture man said. “Uno, dos, tres.” The men mumbled, there was a flash of blinding light and a loud noise, and a poof of dust clouded the air. The picture was taken. All that work for one picture. I hoped it came out. I wouldn’t want to be the picture man if that picture turned out fuzzy.

  One of the Mexican men brought Pancho’s horse around, and he mounted the black stallion. He took his rifle and held it against his chest. The little man got under the cover again. After about five minutes, whoosh, another picture was made.

  Gertie and the Hawkinses stepped out onto the porch.

  “Oh, this is just grand!” exclaimed Mrs. Opal as she went down the steps, dragging Slim by the hand.

  “Orville, thank you so much for comin’ today,” Mrs. Opal said to the picture man as she grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Girls, come over here by Orville and tell me if I look OK when he makes the picture,” Mrs. Opal said to Gertie and me.

  “Stand over there in front of the house, Mrs. Opal,” the picture man instructed.

  Mrs. Opal moved to stand on the porch steps. She turned to straighten Slim’s suit collar.

  We did as told and watched as they prepared for their photo. Mrs. Opal looked prettier than before. She had put rouge on her cheeks and done her hair up under a cute little hat that had a peacock feather sticking out of it. Slim was wearing a blue suit and cowboy hat and had on his church shoes. I thought they made a nice-looking couple.

  “One, two, three,” said the picture man and, poof, another blinding flash.

  I heard Gertie gasp beside me, then she grabbed me as if she were going to faint.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, worried.

  “I have that picture on the table beside my bed,” she stammered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The picture Orville just took sits next to my bed at home.” Her voice was shaking, and a bead of sweat was forming on her upper lip. “I’m a Jezebel.”

  “Are you telling me these are relatives?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m sayin’,” she said, still holding on to me for support. They are my great-great-grandparents. Which means Johnny is my great-granddad.”

  “You didn’t know he was your great-granddad?”

  “No, Granny Azona’s first husband was a Hawkins, but I think he was a junior. He was her real dad, but my ma always referred to him as John, because he died of tuberculosis when my ma was a baby. Then Granny Azona married Pawpaw Norton, and he adopted my ma. She always called him Daddy but I am sure Johnny is the father of my granddad, John.” Gertie looked uncharacteristically pale.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “There are probably tons of people with the last name of Hawkins.”

  “Pretty sure,” she mumbled. “After Granny married Pawpaw Norton, they had six more kids, so I guess it kinda got lost, but my ma always had that picture, and when she married stepdad number two, she gave it to me. I almost had relations with my great-granddad, just like Jezebel.”

  “It doesn’t count if you didn’t know. Besides, all you did was kiss, no tongue, remember?”

  “Well, there might have been a little tongue,” Gertie replied sheepishly.

  Crap.

  Several of the Mexican women had come to watch Pancho Villa get his picture taken. They were laughing and pretending to pose for a picture. It was starting to get loud. Johnny showed up and walked to stand next to his parents.

  “Girls, get on over here.” Mrs. Opal’s voice rang out above the ruckus.

  What now? I asked myself. How was I supposed to talk with Pancho Villa and get an escape route planned? Reluctantly, Gertie and I walked over to Mrs. Opal.

  “OK, now you gals get on either side of me and Slim,” she commanded.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I started backing away.

  “Nonsense!” Mrs. Opal screeched. “Get in the picture. These picture people don’t get around much, and Mr. Villa is payin’ fer us to get a picture. Now git!”

  I stood next to Slim, and he put his skinny arm around me. Johnny moved in next to Gertie. I looked over at her, and she had the perfect smile frozen on her freckled face. She was in shock. Great, now I had a traumatized Gertie to deal with.

  “It’s as if my two girls were still alive,” Mrs. Opal sniffed.

  Slim placed his other arm around Opal. “Now, Ma, don’t get all sentimental. Your face will be blotchy in the photo.”

  “Dad’s right, Ma, these are happy times!” Johnny wrapped an arm around Gertie’s back and gave her right buttocks a squeeze.

  Poof!

  After the picture-taking experience, we went into the house to finish the preparations for the feast. There was plenty of food. How could the Hawkinses afford to feed all these people? I mean, how much money could be made selling mules? I needed some answers before I was carted off to Mexico.

  Suddenly, there was a sound of hoofbeats on the gravel path that led to the house. I looked out the window and saw several cowboys on horseback driving a herd of mules down the lane toward the back pasture. Three wagons being pulled by horses followed the mules.

  The wagons stopped at the entrance to the back pasture. Pancho Villa went out to inspect the contents of the wagons. I noticed the men driving the wagons were heavily armed. That’s a lot of protection for mules, I thought to myself. I wonder what else they are hauling.

  Following the wagons was a man on a black stallion. He sat tall in the saddle. I could see from the window he had dark hair tucked under a black cowboy hat. Behind him riding a white mare was—I couldn’t believe it—the Satan bitch. What was she doing here? Riding next to her was a younger male. He looked like he could be around sixteen. Good, at least there was one Mafuso I might be able to take down if needed. He must be the Mafuso Caiyan was referring to earlier. The man dismounted and shook hands with Mr. Villa. They turned to inspect the contents of the wagons. There were a few nods. Satan’s bitch got off her horse, and a stable hand took the horses to the barn. There was more hand shaking, and they turned to come into the house.

  I ran for Gertie. She was snapping green beans and singing “Achy Breaky Heart.”

  “Gertie, snap out of it,” I said. “The Mafusos are here.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she said. “You didn’t almost have relations with your grandpa.”

  “Gert, Satan’s bitch is with them.”

  “I knew she was trouble the minute I laid eyes on her.”

  “We have to pretend we belong here. We can’t let them know we are from the future.”

  “Girls.” Mrs. Opal’s voice came down the hallway. “Come in here, would ya? We have more guests from up north.”

  Gertie and I looked at each other with a somber stare and moved slowly into the front parlor room. Pancho Villa sat in one of the chairs next to the
small side table. To his right sat the man in black. He had dark hair that was trimmed close and deep-set, almost black eyes. Satan’s bitch and the younger boy were standing, sipping some sweet tea.

  “Gertie and Jennifer, this is Mortas, Mahlia, and Mitchell Mafuso.” Slim gave the introductions.

  Three Ms, how cute. “Hello,” I said.

  Gertie responded with a “Howdy, nice to meet you.”

  “Where are you from up north?” Mahlia asked with a slight New York accent.

  “Amarillo,” I said, but Gertie replied, “Vermont,” at the same time.

  “Well, we are originally from Amarillo, Texas, but we are currently living in Vermont.” I tried to explain.

  “Interesting,” purred the bitch. “I have never been to Vermont; you will have to tell me all about it.”

  “Sure, um, maybe later. We have to get the food ready. Nice to meet everyone,” I said, backing out of the room with Gertie in tow. When we were out of earshot, I turned to Gertie. “Vermont? What were you thinking?”

  “It’s the farthest Northern state I could think of,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

  “I’ve never been to Vermont, have you?”

  She shook her head from side to side.

  “What am I going to tell Satan’s bitch if she asks me questions about Vermont?”

  “Tell her it’s cold and people ski there.”

  “I don’t know if people ski there in 1915!” I didn’t even know if there were any ski resorts. I slept through history class, but I was pretty sure World War I was around the corner and the Depression right behind it. Skiing almost certainly wasn’t high on anyone’s list in this time. Ski resorts probably didn’t even exist.

  I grabbed the tea jug to refill the glasses. I needed to hear what was going on in that room. The door leading to the parlor was closed. Damn. I contemplated going back upstairs to the bedroom I had napped in. Villa’s men were standing—or slouching—guard at the stairs. Double damn. There was a small cupboard built into the wall next to the parlor. I opened the door and squeezed in next to the shelves of canned mason jars filled with fruit and veggies. I reached for an empty mason jar and turned it, open end to the wall, then put my ear against it. Girl Scouts training 101. I could hear Pancho Villa talking about his cargo.

  “The train will be here at dusk; we will load the train with the cargo and the mules I am purchasing from the Hawkinses and return to Mexico.”

  “Do you have the necklace?” asked Mortas.

  “I have it safe. When I load the cargo, I will give it to young Mitchell.”

  “Very well, Mitchell will accompany you tonight. If he does not return with the necklace, I will come for you myself.”

  Pancho Villa drew his gun. “How dare you insinuate I do not keep my word?”

  “I do not take anything for granted, my friend,” came Mortas’s reply.

  “And what about the one who gave you the key?” Mahlia asked.

  “The young girl has been well cared for. My wife has a special fondness for taking care of women in her condition. My wife did not want to give up your necklace but did so to spare the life of the young girl.”

  So whomever Villa had taken the key from was still alive. This was good news for me. Maybe my family tree was still intact. I assumed Villa had the key on his person. Something so valuable to the Mafusos wouldn’t be left in the care of his men or the Hawkinses.

  “There you are!” Mrs. Opal exclaimed, opening the cupboard door. I jumped three feet, spilling the tea on my dress.

  “Oh, I was looking for glasses to take tea outside for the men. I figured they were thirsty.”

  “What a nice thought,” Mrs. Opal replied. “They probably would like my sweet tea instead of their rusty canteens filled with water. Well, get on now.”

  I gathered some mason jars together and found Gertie in the kitchen, then we headed out back. Paco watched me from under the big shade tree.

  “Where am I gonna go?” I shouted, purposely not giving him any tea. We walked past the barn and the chicken house. I kept an eye out for Caiyan, but there had been no sign of him since this morning.

  As we walked through the pasture, I felt Paco easing his way slowly behind us. Since he was out of earshot, I confided with Gertie, “I don’t understand how we ended up here with your relatives, but we must leave tonight. Pancho Villa is planning on taking us to Mexico on the train.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Yes, he told me himself. But I just overheard him say he has the key. Maybe we can outfox Paco.”

  “What are we gonna do?”

  “I have a plan. After we make sure Johnny is busy, we are gonna go see what’s in those wagons,” I told her as we approached the back pasture.

  We came upon a large corral filled with sad-looking mules. I hadn’t noticed earlier, but most of them were skinny and looked like they wouldn’t do a day’s work if you hung a carrot in front of them. I couldn’t believe Pancho Villa was going to buy such a sad lot. A stake-and-rider fence formed the large corral. Johnny was checking the fence for breaks.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Johnny lifted his head, and as soon as he saw Gertie, his face went beet red.

  “Up where?” he asked.

  “I mean, what are you doing?” I asked. “Why are you way back here?”

  “Oh, I like to keep the mules away from the house,” he answered sheepishly.

  Johnny had two corrals, and the animals were divided up evenly between them.

  “Why do you keep the mules in separate pens; are they different sexes?” I asked Johnny.

  He looked over at the animals. “These mules here are Mr. Villa’s,” he said, pointing to the nearest pen. “Them over yonder belong to Mrs. Hobbs. She lives down the road a piece and likes a good trade.”

  “Yeah, we bought a horse from her,” I said.

  He smiled big. His crooked teeth, stained from sweet tea and tobacco, lit up his face in a boyish grin.

  “She sold you Gypsy. I saw her in the barn.”

  “Why is that so funny?” I asked.

  “Outsiders buy her and in a day or more return her. Mrs. Hobbs keeps the money on account of she has a no-return policy, and she still gits her horse back.”

  Caiyan had been swindled by the chaw-spitting, housedress-wearing mom. I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Would you like some tea?” Gertie asked, trying to stay as far away as possible.

  “Sure,” he said. Gertie poured Johnny the tea. He downed it in one gulp.

  “Hot out here,” he explained. “Thanks for the tea.” He handed Gertie the glass and turned to stir something he had in a pot.

  “What’s that bubbling stuff?” asked Gertie.

  “It’s a special tonic for the mules. It makes them stronger.”

  I hoped it worked like spinach did for Popeye, because those mules needed a dose of supervitamins.

  Gertie moved in for a closer look. “Why, that’s Alka-Seltzer.”

  “Alka-what?” Johnny asked.

  “Johnny, are you giving these mules sodium bicarbonate to make them swell up?” she asked, propping the tea jug on her hip.

  Johnny looked sheepishly at Gertie. “By the time it wears off, they will be back in Mexico.”

  “Johnny, you are dealing with Pancho Villa; he will kill you, and then he will kill your family,” I said, exasperated.

  “No!” Johnny stood up, fists clenched. “I have it figured out. Mr. Villa is a wanted man. My buddy in the army told me President Wilson is sending General Pershing to capture Villa, so he won’t be coming back to Texas after this trade.”

  Gertie and I stood staring at him. His face had turned red, and he was sweating profusely. “Besides, I have already sold the land and the house. As soon as we finish our business and Villa crosses into Mexico tonight, I am returning to move my family to Mount Pleasant. We have family there, and it’s too far north for Villa to travel.”

  I had a sick feeling
in my stomach. Villa was dangerous, and I didn’t want anything bad to happen to the Hawkinses. If something happened to Johnny, it might affect Gertie’s future.

  “Maybe we could get together for a ride tonight, Ms. Gertie, before we leave with Mr. Villa,” Johnny asked.

  “Ewww,” Gertie screeched.

  I immediately stepped between them with my back to Johnny. “Say yes,” I mouthed.

  Gertie stiffened up and plastered a fake smile on her face. “Sorry, I thought I saw a spider. I’d love to go for a ride with you.”

  “After I conduct my business with Mr. Mafuso, I am sure Villa will let you go for a ride.”

  “What business do you have with Mortas?” I asked.

  “Um, Mr. Mafuso is buying the supplies I brought from Dallas and giving them to Mr. Villa to help fight the bad people who are taking over Mexico. Mr. Villa told us if we do not help him, the bad people will come to Texas and kill our family.”

  “That is such a bunch of horseshit,” Gertie exclaimed.

  Both Johnny and I stared at her with our mouths hanging open.

  “I mean…,” she stammered, “Pancho Villa probably won’t let them get to Texas. He is a great revolutionary.”

  “You’re right about him, Ms. Gertie,” Johnny said. “He is mean, but no one messes with me anymore because they know we have business with him.”

  “Johnny, what sort of supplies are you selling Mr. Villa and Mr. Mafuso?” I asked.

  Johnny’s face turned red again, not because he was sweet on Gertie but because he had revealed a secret. “You girls had better get on to the house; Mamma don’t like it when she has to do all the work. You can hear her yellin’ in the next town.” The corners of his mouth drew up in a smile, and Gertie and I took the hint. Whatever was in those wagons, Johnny was keeping to himself.

  We walked back toward the farm, and I saw the back of one of the wagons peeking out from behind the barn. The horses had been unhitched and were being fed and watered. One of the cowboys was lazily leaning against the wagon wheel. He was tall and lean, and his skin was weathered from work. He had on a pair of chaps over his jeans and a brown cowboy hat. He was slowly chewing on a long piece of grass and eyeing us as we approached.