by John Horst
“Beg your pardon.” He stood in his saddle and removed his hat. “Capitan Jose Santiago, madam.”
“What did they do?”
“Subversion.”
“You cannot be serious. They are children. They can barely walk, what subversion?”
He produced a pamphlet and handed it to Marta. “Against the state. Anarquistas. We found this on them.”
“Nonsense.” She handed it back without looking at it. “They’re more likely using it as cigarette paper. They cannot even read, I bet.” She looked on at the older one. “Muchacho, spell cat.”
He could not. He was not pretending.
“President Madero does not sanction such treatment of prisoners, Capitan. I know this.”
“Madam, we don’t take orders from that alfeñique. General Huerta tells us what to do. He is the only one keeping the country together.”
“This does not seem the right way to keep a country together, Capitan. Pulling scrawny boys through the desert by their necks. Seems a waste of good Federales. You give us these boys, we’ll make certain they do not become anarquistas.”
Rebecca was angry at the treatment of the boys and it brought back memories of Sombrero del Oro. She slipped away as the captain was occupied with his little sparring session with Marta. The captain liked Marta and wanted to impress her with his knowledge of the revolution. It was always easy with stupid, brutish men. They could only think through their penises and it was easy to distract them with feminine charm. Rebecca rode up high on a hill overlooking the little party and uncased her Winchester. She checked the rear sight and adjusted it for the closest range. She awaited Marta’s orders.
The captain leered at Marta, rode up next to her and looked down, too obviously at her body, surveying her breasts. “I’m afraid that is quite out of the question, madam.” He looked around, where are the men of your party? I’d like to speak to a man about this.”
“There are no men. We are alone and I am the hacendado here.” She purposefully used the masculine tense always when she referred to herself as the head of the ranch.
“Well, then, young lady, it would be best if you leave this man’s work to men. We are pleased to make your acquaintance, but it is time we get our prisoners on.”
Marta raised her hand. Rebecca fired and cut the captain’s left rein. It was not a far shot, no more than thirty yards but it accomplished its goal. The captain worked to get his horse under control, which now turned continuously in a circle, making the officer look especially silly to his men who were enjoying the spirited señoritas immensely.
Marta waited, then got his horse under control for him, furthering the humiliation. She closed in on the captain, looking him in the eye. “You are a nice capitan, I can see it. You don’t need to die for a couple of scrawny peons.” Marta pulled her big knife and cut the ropes from the boys’ necks. “You go on along this road, Capitan. You will reach my ranch in another hour. See a man named Adulio. He is the overseer of my ranch. Tell him I sent you and that we’ll be along shortly. Your men are welcome to rest there as long as they like, we’ll even kill a nice calf for you, have a regular little fiesta. You’d like that, yes?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but stepped aside so the troop of men could pass. “We must finish our hunt.”
She watched him take it all in. He did not like this humiliation, but had no doubt that the young woman’s next shot would be fatal. It was not worth all this trouble, killing a prominent señorita on her land, it could be an international incident. He stood up in his saddle, once again removing his hat, “As you wish, Señorita.” He called to his men who thundered past her. She could not help but notice a few of them winking at her in appreciation as they passed by.
Rebecca finally worked her way back down from her perch and began helping the boys. They were nearly starved. Marta dismounted when the soldiers were out of sight. She kissed Rebecca on the cheek, “lovely shooting, my dear.”
“We probably won’t be seeing the last of them.”
“Oh, they can go to hell.” She looked on doubtfully at the smaller boy. He gulped water and soon began to wretch. “Easy, muchacho, easy.”
After a time the boys could walk. They were offered the girls’ mounts and refused. They’d walk through the desert, barefoot, for the rest of their days if it meant they could follow their beautiful saviors.
That night, Curtin had a chance to interrogate Rebecca about the little excitement. He listened intently, guarded. He didn’t like the love of his life shooting at Federale captains and simultaneously couldn’t help but being a little proud of her. “You are full of surprises, my love.” She wanted him and didn’t want to talk.
She climbed on and held him tightly. “Are you so surprised?”
“I am. I wouldn’t be if you told me that Marta did this, but you, it’s just so…” he was having trouble thinking of the words. “It’s just so uncharacteristic, Rebecca.” He began to worry. “And it’s dangerous as all hell. Why’d you do it?”
“Those boys needed our help, and Marta needed my muscle. That bone-headed captain wouldn’t give them up so easily. Now shut up, darling. Shut up.”
They rested in each other’s arms and Curtin was agitated again. He was so anxious lately. “Would you have shot that Federale if he hadn’t given up?”
“Right between his beady little eyes.”
“And the rest?”
“Only if they needed it.”
“You are something, Rebecca, truly something.”
“Oh, I’m much nicer than my sister, and my mother.” She smiled at the thought of her mother.
“Really? How?”
“They’d a killed them all. Every one of them.”
“Rebecca, can we please go back home?”
“Why?”
“It’s just too much.” He thought about what he wanted to say. “I’ve finally found you. I don’t want to lose you.”
“You worry too much, Robert.”
“And you not enough.” He looked at his watch and pulled himself away. “I’ve gotta go.”
Marta was waiting for him outside of Rebecca’s room. She startled him, drew hard on her cigarette to make her whole face glow. It had the desired effect. Curtin jumped nearly out of his skin.
“You scared me!”
Marta smiled. “Sit down, Robert. Look at this note from the captain. Pretty amusing.”
Curtin peered at it, held it up to a candle Marta lit for him.
“My dear Señorita Del Toro, It was an interesting interlood today. If you ever show me such disrespect again, I will cut off your head and place it on a stake at the entrance road to your ranch, Yours humbly, J. Santiago, Capitan.”
She watched the color leave Curtin’s face. “Dumb-ass misspelled interlude, and he no doubt meant interaction. Simpleton.”
Curtin handed the note back and Marta folded it carefully. It was just another of many trophies.
“So, you know our secret?”
“Oh, sure, Robert. Rebecca told me the very first day. Rebecca and I have no secrets, Robert. None.” She lit another cigarette off her first one, smoked hard. “What are you playing at, Curtin? Whose side are you on?”
“Yours.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Absolutely. But I don’t care about your stupid ranch or getting rich or the revolution or whether the mining company steals the bloomers off you. I don’t care about anything but your sister.”
“So, to say you are on my side is an overstatement?”
He stood up and blew out the candle, spoke to the darkness where he knew Marta was sitting. He spoke clearly and precisely into the dark. “Yes, Marta. I’d give up your life for Rebecca’s. I’d give up my own life for Rebecca’s. I’d hand you over to Satan himself if it was for the welfare of your sister.”
“Fair enough.”
When he was gone she relit the candle, opened another note and read:
“Dan George up north, weakening. Will die soon. Federales coming to k
ill you, beware. Trust no one. Z.”
Mexican Jousting
Adolfo the blacksmith looked on with interest at his mistress’s diagrams. He nodded as he stroked his chin and smiled.
“And, what is the purpose of this ring tilting, Señorita?”
“Just for fun, Adolfo. Can you make these?”
“Oh sí, sí.”
“Good. I want them ready for next week. We are having a tournament then, and you will be in it. Be ready.” She smiled and regarded the old man. He was kind and so happy for his shop. He smiled and grabbed his belly. “Oh, Señorita, I am too fat to ride. I would need a bull and a bull would not ride so fast, I think.”
She loved Adolfo, who’d worked for her uncle since the beginning of the ranch. He kept the place going and could work magic with iron. Once the money started pouring in from the oil, Marta outfitted him with the best forge money could buy. He was always working in it, to the point that everyone began to worry that he’d work himself to death. He was happiest when he was at his forge, working metal and with the new equipment, his skill and art were now fully realized.
The girls loved ring tilting as they’d practiced it from their first year at Stonefields. Madame Boutin’s little team of girls could give anyone, from Pennsylvania to Virginia a run for their money. The girls were naturally good equestrians and tilting was just another skill in which they excelled. Every fall it would be the same. Madame Boutin would put on a great faire and the girls would all dress in the style of the English Renaissance. It was one of Marta’s fondest memories.
Marta wanted her people to have some fun, do something they’d never done before and resolved, with the aid of Rebecca to put on a proper Renaissance tournament, just like the ones they had at Stonefields. She ordered yards of brightly dyed cloth and distributed these to the ladies of the ranch, giving them picture books as inspiration. Everyone was to have a costume. Next she gave the participants lessons in ring tilting. Until Adolfo could make proper lances and rings, they improvised with wooden ones and by the time of the tournament, had many competent knights, male and female, young and old. It was going to be a grand time.
Next she got all the ranch hands who could play to learn songs of the period. Most could not read music, and she’d play the tunes on the piano so that they could pick them up by ear. It worked and soon, with their horns and accordions, violins and guitars, they were playing tunes a Tudor lord would easily recognize, despite the lack of lutes and crumhorns.
She consulted the women who were good cooks and worked on recipes of the times. The feast would be for everyone and on the big day the ranch would be adorned with streamers and pennants of every color. The men stood around, self-consciously during their fittings, looking forlornly on in their wool tights. They’d never worn such silly looking clothes and became embarrassed when the women looked on them, admiring their legs showing through the tight fabric, it was a fun role reversal and the men ultimately took it in stride.
Many of the women got a little creative in their research, going through Uncle Alejandro’s library, and the timeline got muddled. They found some books with engravings of Hogarth’s The Rake’s Progress and were inspired to create costumes that not only accentuated, but in some instances revealed ample bosoms. It was deliciously naughty and Marta looked on as the preparation for the festivities carried on through the week. The excitement was building and everyone had difficulty containing themselves, anxious for the big day.
In keeping with the theme, she disallowed any mescal or tequila for the entire faire, replacing these instead with rum, gin, wine and ale. She didn’t care if it was right for the time, it all sounded old timey and English and it worked well enough. The people would be thrilled to try spirits that were alien to most of them. It all flowed freely but no one who was to compete was allowed to imbibe until the jousting tournament was over. Some rings would have to be skewered, and she was certain that this would be unlikely had she had a bunch of drunken knights on her hands.
She had a special outfit made for Rebecca, keeping it a secret until the big day. It consisted of a blue velvet gown and French hood of blue brocade, silver trim, and white veil. She let her lady tailors make the neckline plunge a little too deeply and knew Rebecca would balk at revealing so much of herself. As they dressed her, she grinned as Rebecca glanced down at her chest doubtfully. Marta completed her own ensemble, topping it all off with a fuchsia cone hat to match the color of her dress. Her neckline rivaled Rebecca’s.
Rebecca pulled up on the bodice, but it wouldn’t budge. “We look…”
“Wonderful!” Marta was giddy.
“Ridiculous, is more like it.” Rebecca was terse, but not really. She was having fun.
“No, no we don’t. We look grand.” She turned to the side and gazed into her full-length mirror. “This makes my bosom look even bigger! Wish Pedro was coming.”
Rebecca regarded her and then once again looked at herself. “I don’t remember anything like this at Stonefields.” She looked back at Marta and pointed, guardedly. “One of your nipples has gotten out.”
Marta pushed it back in, and grinned. “Maybe I’ll ditch this all together and go as Lady Godiva.”
Marta made it a point to invite the gringos from the mining company, but did not let them know about the costume theme. She needed an audience, and they would serve the purpose. She mostly wanted to annoy and vex Curtin by showing off her sister in the beautiful and provocative gown. She did not care if it were all a great fantasy. It was fun and exciting for everyone and Marta was going to do her best to make it a memorable time for them all.
Adolfo got into the spirit of the thing and spent his time hammering away. He’d made swords and broad axes and armor and pikes for several of the men. He made giant spits to handle an entire swine and on the big day, there’d be pig roasting in every corner of the square. He made a stock for naughty children which just about everyone had to try. Marta hired photographers who came in and took pictures of every one of them. They’d all have a memento of the day. With the aid of several of the ranch’s carpenters, a grandstand for the ladies to watch the tournament was built and draped with more colored fabrics.
On the big day, Curtin arrived with the entourage of mining company men. The cursing man was there, thankfully, with the aid of many of his men, he was able to keep the goddamns to a minimum as many children were around. Marta was especially pleased about her little torture plan for Curtin, who looked on, but could do nothing more regarding his true love. Up to this point, he never believed Rebecca could look prettier, but now she did. The royal blue of her costume accentuated the radiant glow of her skin and her shining raven hair.
She blushed and looked on at Curtin, waiting until they were alone. She looked down at herself, then cast her eyes upward, regarding her hat. “Ridiculous?”
It was Curtin’s turn to blush. “Not at all.” He did his best not to gawk. He felt like a schoolboy stealing glances at a classmate’s bloomers. “You look, well, royal.” He smiled at her, beamed at her he was so much in love and simultaneously frustrated as every time he looked around, it seemed one of his fellow oil men was gazing at his woman, smitten as well. It was extremely off-putting, frustrating and exciting all at the same time.
Marta walked up on them. She was enjoying it thoroughly. She was still not so convinced that Curtin’s intentions were pure and she still harbored some ill feelings at his stealing her sister away. She used her best poker face and had just adjusted her costume to show off what womanly gifts God had given her as well. “Mr. Curtin.” She nodded formally and watched him now gawk at her, turn red and avert his eyes. She looked down at herself and then back at him, looked him in the eye. “Is there something amiss with my costume?”
He shocked her a little, leaned close and whispered in her ear. “I won’t forget you for this, Marta.” He grinned a little cynically and looked on at the gringos all around him. “Won’t forget this any time soon, you little devil.”
Sh
e handed him a goblet of wine, “Oh, relax, you big baby. Have a drink, try to work the knots out while you drool all over my sister.” She nodded at Rebecca who’d by now begun to play with some children. “She looks good, doesn’t she?”
Robert Curtin regarded Rebecca, then looked back at Marta. “As I said, I won’t forget you for this, Marta.” He smiled.
It turned out to be a glorious day. Everyone, especially the children were having the times of their lives. They played and ran about in their little costumes, transported to another place and time. The school teachers had been instructing them on the history of the time and the little play would help them make sense of it all. It was fun and frivolous and just the kind of celebration Marta had planned for them for the rest of their days.
Esmeralda stood by, the lady in waiting. She was dressed to match her mistress and, with her little impish and half-witted grin, it was not readily evident that she liked all these carryings on, but she did. She was pleased with herself, and stole glances through mirrors and windows, even at her reflection in the horse trough every chance she could.
Adulio, likewise. He complained the entire way, through every fitting, complained of the itchy stockings, complained of the pheasant plume in his cavalier hat, all matching so that the three of them, Marta, Esmeralda, and Adulio, looked like a deranged little family, fish out of water, ancient Englishmen in the middle of the high Mexican desert. It was absurdly wonderful and fun and Adulio, though he’d take it to his grave, and never admit it, was enjoying it as much as everyone else.
Tolkenhorn took advantage of the excuse for starting to drink early in the day. By noon he was sloppy drunk. He regarded Curtin who was trying his best to look detached from the women. He could not reveal that he was head over heels in love with one of them. He sensed that Tolkenhorn was going to start in on some nonsense and tried to drift away, but the old sot was too quick and grabbed Robert by the arm.