Sarah's Quilt: A Novel of Sarah Agnes Prine and the Arizona Territories, 1906

by Nancy E. Turner

  Rose’s face was close. I could see a reflection of the red line of fire in her eyeballs. She rolled them wide and held her head high, snorting her distress. When I reached for her, she wrenched away, stumbling. I reached again, and this time she bit my arm. Not in twenty years had Rose bitten anyone but my brother Ernest, and he’d deserved it.

  Now the smoke was lower. I could see over the top of it. The bunkhouse window openings had smoke pouring from them. It streamed upward, as if forced from the building. A new sweep of thick brown came over the lowered layer of black smoke, and the world was lost again. The thickened air went from black to bronze to orange and glowed all around, so that there were no shadows in any direction. I was adrift in the orange glow. No day or night. Barely up or down. Rose bucked and disappeared.

  If I had ever in my life had a dream this terrible, I would have taken myself to a lunatic asylum and asked them to lock me up and operate on me to take this picture out of my brains. I started walking, hands out, hoping to find the fence rails and not the open gate. “Rose!” I shouted about every third step. I found her at last. She reared and stumbled again, then got up quickly and ran, shrieking as she stepped down on the sore leg. Her suffering was pitiful. And she seemed so afraid of me. If I couldn’t get her out of the corral, she would burn to her death. There was one last, good thing I could do for her.

  With my hands stretching forward, I hurried for the fence, where I had tied Baldy, my saddle and rig still across his back. The first solid thing I touched was a piece of metal jutting out from the railing right at the level of my eye. It had been left screwed out from the force of a stampeding bunch of cattle. At my feet was a dead longhorn steer, lying just beyond the rail, and where they’d pushed against the fence, a metal brace had turned in its socket and now stuck out like a sword, waiting for me to walk right into it and be blinded.

  I used the rail to make my way toward the barn. A house cat screeched and darted in front of my feet. I found Baldy’s white rump and talked to him while I patted my way around him. Taking my rifle from the scabbard, I turned and listened. Hooves. One animal—and small. An antelope, tinier than little Hunter, sprang from the smoke and darted back and forth across the yard. It turned sharply, leapt over something, and then vanished into the smoke.

  My chest hurt. Rose squealed. I hefted the rifle and ratcheted a shell into the chamber. By the time I found Rose, the corral fence was on fire. The barn would go next, and it was huge. The fire was already sucking air in my direction, pulling grit and ash toward me. The house was upwind of the barn, and every piece of timber in it was dry and aged and ready to explode with flames. Baldy was fighting his tether. There was little time left.

  The air cleared a bit and I saw across the corral. Rose was tromping in a circle, pivoting on her back legs, stumbling and breathing hard. For a second, I wished her heart would give out. It wouldn’t take much fright, surely. Her back feet were snarled in the dangling bandage, for all intents and purposes hobbling her to the middle of the corral.

  Fire danced along the corral bars. A tumbleweed popped through the lower rails and sailed toward her as it broke apart, showering her back legs with sparks. Part of the bandage began to smolder. She let out an awful cry. Baldy snorted and kicked at the corral post where he was tied.

  “I’m sorry, Rose,” I said. “I promise you, old friend, you’re not going to burn to death.” I lifted the rifle to my cheek. Rose’s eyes rolled in their sockets and she snorted. Spittle flew from her mouth. The air cleared even more. The fire was closer, the smoke lower to the ground. I made that X from one eye to the other ear, getting a fix. She jerked her head and I aimed again. She tossed and then jimmied around on her sore leg. I had to move to another angle to get a line on her. It had to be fast—the last good thing I could do for her—over in an instant. One shot.

  Water blurred my vision. “Rose, hold still,” I said. “You’re not going to burn. I promise.” I aimed carefully, then pulled back on the hammer. Rose lowered her head and looked at me out of one eye, its depths full of fear and confusion and sadness. I wiped my eyes, unable to see the end of the barrel. “Hold still,” I whispered. She did. Still as a post. It was a clear shot. But there was so much water in the way, I couldn’t see. Water splattered Rose’s face with dark pocks. Water hit my face and hands and my shoulders. I eased the hammer into its cradle and held forth my left hand while I lowered the rifle.

  It was raining.

  The metal on the burning fence rails hissed and steamed. The fence posts smoked gray, then white—white as a steaming kettle in the winter. Rain fell on the fence, the ground, the barn. Rose was wearing a blanket of water; halfway down, her back was darkened and wet. She shook her withers and grunted. I stood stock-still.

  The rain blurred everything, but cleared, it, too. I could see the house from where I was. It was still standing. The old well, useless now, had survived. The barn was whole. We’d lost the bunkhouse, a shed full of tools, and the chicken coop. Thirty chickens, four geese, and whatever stock had burned or trampled themselves to death. I couldn’t think yet about my family. Baldy was gone. He’d shaken himself loose and taken off.

  Rose was still skittish, but she let me stroke her and untangle the torn cloth from her back legs. She murmured as I took the bandage off and threw it down. She put her head on my back and nuzzled my neck. Cool rain pelted us. Drops big as a quail’s egg smacked our faces and shoulders. Freed of the tormenting bandage and the terror of fire, Rose let me pull her halter and lead her into the barn without any fight at all. I cut her a sheaf of hay and poured a scoop of oats in her box.

  When I got in the house, the rain began falling harder and the wind blew water in heavy gusts against the house. It sounded like the old army band drummers all warming up at once, with no cadence at all. Every drop clattered on the tin metal roof. I opened the windows and let the fresh air in. The breeze smelled of ash. Cool and damp, it made me shiver a little. I was soaked to the skin and smelled of smoke, my clothes browned with ash and dust.

  From my bedroom, the clock chimed. It was half past ten—the end of an eternal day, one that had begun at five in the morning. I heard hooves. In the din of the rain on the roof and distant thunder, I tried to decipher whether it were horse or cow. Was it one animal? No, two. Light, like a horse? Heavy, sodden, like a bull. I looked out the window, but I saw nothing but a gray sheet of rain. Maybe it wasn’t the bull. Could have been poor Baldy, confused and scared.

  I lit a lamp and carried it to the front porch. Trying to peer through the curtain of rain, I hoped that some member of my family might be nearby and would see the light and come. I called out, but there was no answer. I waited, watching the rain fall, swelling and thinning, then returning with force, until my eyes burned and my head ached. Then I took the lamp and went inside.

  For the very first time since I’d first entered this house more than twenty-five years ago, I was utterly and completely alone in it. It was a different feeling from times when everyone was just busy working and would be home for supper. This was being alone and feeling like they might never come back: hollow.

  In the middle of the parlor floor, I knelt on the ash-laden braided-rag rug and bowed my head, thankful to be alive but mightily afraid of the truths tomorrow would bring. My whole body shook so hard, my teeth chattered, and it seemed like I could do nothing to stop it. I only knew I had lived and saved one sick old horse.

  It was silent outside. No coyotes, no nighthawks, and, thankfully, no crazed, running livestock. I must have slept, for next I heard the clock chime three times. The distant sound of a horse and buggy coming closer startled me. Then there was a bump on the front porch, followed by footsteps. The door opened without a knock, and the draft it pulled caused my lamp to go right out. Savannah and Albert ran to me, a lantern swinging from Albert’s hand. Savannah held me and squeezed me, smudging her clean lavender dress with the filth on my clothes. My brother wrapped his arms around the two of us. He said, “Sarah, we found Baldy
running scared, without a rider.”

  “We were so worried about you,” Savannah said. She finally pulled back and held my shoulders, staring hard at my face, as if she could not see me clearly.

  “Everyone all right at your place?”

  “Yes, yes,” Savannah said, dabbing at her tears.

  Albert said, “Come on home with us, Sarah.”

  “No. I’m going to go look for my boys and Chess at sunup. They’ve been out there all night.”

  Savannah kissed my head as if I were a child. “They’re probably snug inside Rudolfo’s house. You come on, and I’ll fix you a bath and a cup of coffee. A good meal and some sleep, that’s what you need. Albert will find the boys for you, first light. They’re in the Lord’s hands. You’re so exhausted. Isn’t she exhausted, Albert? Sarah, come home with us.”

  Savannah has always felt like she has a heavenly guard around her. I couldn’t say to her I felt that, besides the Lord’s hands, sometimes my rascals needed me watching over them, too. I said, “I don’t know where Willie is, either.”

  She smiled and said, “Snoring on our parlor floor. Albert found him in Granny’s empty house and told him to come sleep in a bed at least. He wouldn’t go upstairs, but he fell asleep in the parlor. We just let him lay. Now come, honey.”

  I left a note for anyone who might come to my place, and in a daze, I rode in Albert’s buggy to his house, took a warm bath with sweet soap instead of lye soap, and put on one of Savannah’s nightdresses. She put before me a full meal she had warmed on a plate, but I couldn’t eat. Savannah stayed with me and we talked until the sky lightened. We spoke only of the ones we knew were safe, here at this house, in their barn, in their rooms, or by now on their way to Chicago. I couldn’t even bring myself to tell her about my dead chickens. The morning sky was the wrong color, a dim gray, as if it were winter, instead of the usual faded green of summer dawn. Savannah and I had a good start fixing breakfast by the time their family gathered. Then it took only a little while to get Baldy from their barn and head back to my house so I could put on some work clothes and find out what was left of my life.

  Chapter Sixteen

  August 5, 1906

  As if Savannah had indeed known from some other-natural source, I found my sons, along with Chess, at Rudolfo’s spread. When I laid eyes on them from a distance and summed up what I could see—that none of them was game in the legs or busted up, or burned or gored, but helping others—I all but cried from relief. I ran to each of them in turn.

  Rudolfo saw me coming and ran to my side. He looked worn and weary. He held his arms wide, and for a moment, I felt myself being drawn into them. At the last second, he lowered his arms and said, “Ah, Sarah. You live.” He crossed himself.

  “I’m glad you’re all right,” I said. “We don’t need more orphans in this valley.”

  They had transformed the Maldonado hacienda into a hospital for man and beast alike. The Maldonados and Cujillos and nearly two dozen nieces and nephews ranging from six to twenty years old, along with El Rudolfo himself, nursed the hurt, trampled, burned, and poked. Rudolfo’s daughters cooked meals and washed clothes.

  One of the men from the Cujillo ranch had a broken leg, and we sent him to Benson in a buckboard driven by another of the men. The rest were banged, bruised, and coughing. Gilbert coughed so much, it really had me worried, but he said he’d just gotten a lungful of smoke and the cough would go away. There was a weakness in my bones, and the smell of smoke lingered. The air looked clear, but it pained the lights to draw it in deeply. Shorty was all but stopped from doing anything else, with the effort it took him to breathe.

  Rudolfo called together the hands and anyone who was interested to listen and discuss what we would all do. Soon as we were able, we’d begin gathering the cattle again, with everyone working at once, sweeping as far as we could past Hanna’s place and west toward Cujillo’s. Then on the drive north, the direction we speculated most of the lost cows would have gone, extra men would go along and try to pick up as many as they could along the way. If we all pulled together, we’d get our herds to Tucson and split the money afterward. A mean job had to be done before anything else, and it would not be easy. Soon as our meeting was done, men wandered on horseback to find any cattle that were badly injured and suffering, and put them down. The valleys rang with gunfire. I suspect Willie, who’d come to Maldonado’s with Savannah and Albert, was putting in his first truly useful day here, happy to make use of his new-learned knack with a pistol.

  I stayed with Luz and Savannah’s girls, carrying food and bathwater. We set up bunks all around the open-air plaza in the center of their house, then draped blankets over the vigas for shade. Outside the plaza, we built an outdoor baño. Through it, we funneled tired ash-covered men all day. We washed and dried clothes on a line and passed them out. Anything that fit fairly well got worn by the next man needing duds, no matter who’d come in wearing them.

  Neighbors came from all around. Albert, Savannah, their girls, and the little boys all hauled water, made lunches, carried and fetched. Everyone I knew was there, except the Wainbridges. I mentioned to Albert that it was possible Cole and Dustin Wainbridge might have burned up in their house. While I wouldn’t miss them a bit, I still wouldn’t wish that on anyone. The two brothers had homesteaded, and both had lost wives. One had died giving birth. Rumor had it the other one ran away. It wouldn’t have surprised me to find she was buried under the front porch.

  One of Rudolfo’s men rode over to the Wainbridge place to see how they’d fared. He came back an hour later, saying they were at home and that not a blade of grass on the Wainbridge land had been lost. Cattle with the Lazy Bar E, my brand, and the Angle Slash brand of the Maldonado herd waited beyond a fence there. Once some hands were tended to and rested, they’d have to go get them.

  Midafternoon, I saw a fellow sitting on the adobe yard fence, blackened and hatless, right out in the sun. He was liable to go sun-crazed doing that, and likely already was, sitting there like a stone statue. I took the pail and dipper and carried it to him.

  Holding out the dipper of water, I said, “You ought not to be sitting in the sun like this. Have some water, and come in under the shade.”

  “Mrs. Elliot, I think Aubrey is going to die.” It was Mr. Hanna—so filthy, I’d never have known him.

  I said, “Rudolfo told me everyone but Shorty was just beat-up some. Where is your boy?”

  “They’ve got him in the house. He’s burnt clear up one side of his head. They’re giving him liquor for the pain, but I’ve seen less than that take a man down in the war. He’s got a bad fever.”

  Someday, maybe some doctor will find out what fever comes from and cure it. Maybe Gilbert. I patted Mr. Hanna’s shoulder. “Have some water,” I said, “and take me to him. I’ll make sure he gets cared for.”

  “There isn’t anything to be done. I’ve seen him.”

  “Yes, there is. We’ll make him compresses with soda ash and tea. My mother treated a little girl with that once, and she lived a long time after that. Married my brother and had four children.” I was thinking of Melissa, now married to my brother Harland. Jack had pulled her from the fire, and my mama cared for her all her life.

  He asked, “Where are you going to get tea out here?”

  “Well,” I said, “my sister-in-law gave me some last Christmas. Truth is, I don’t care for it as much as coffee, and there’s plenty left. There’s sage tea, too, growing wild. If we can find some that’s not burnt black, we can stew the leaves.”

  “Show me what to do. I’ll try anything. I’ll cart him to a doctor, if there’s one to be found.”

  The best cure for sadness is doing something. I put out my hand, motioning for him to come, and said, “Rudolfo has sent one of the boys to town to see if the doc will come out here. We’ll have him take a look. What you’ve got to do in the meantime is see to Aubrey and get him patched up. Don’t be sitting out here in the sun without a hat.”

  Aub
rey had a deep burn from the top of his head down one side of his face and wrapping nearly around his neck, then down the opposite shoulder. He was in some pain, but the main symptom I could see was that he was drunk. Rudolfo’s daughter Magdalena had been giving him homemade tequila in a gourd, and he’d had enough to stupor a horse.

  The Maldonados had no tea. I could hardly send someone to find it at my house. That could take hours, when I knew exactly what shelf it was on. So, with some help from Gilbert, we loaded Aubrey in a buckboard and drove him to my place, where I fixed him a tidy bunk on the sleeping porch.

  I found the wooden box of tea and started the stove going so I could make a wet, warm poultice of boiled tea leaves, while Gilbert covered a cool wet cloth with soda ash. We put on the tea poultice for an hour, then the soda one. I rinsed his face, pouring the warm tea from the pan over Aubrey’s burned skin while Gil made a fresh poultice of tea leaves and started again. Mr. Hanna watched and said he could take a try at it. Luckily, the boy fell asleep except when we lifted one poultice and changed it for another one.

  Gilbert said he’d go back and lend a hand gathering cows, and be home in the evening to help. I told him not to worry, that I’d be here, and I let Mr. Hanna take a spell. While he put on the poultice of leaves, I went in the house and tried to set some things aright. I couldn’t move the armoire or the beds myself, but I turned the tables and chairs back on their feet and pulled the mattresses onto the beds.

  Mr. Hanna came in while Aubrey slept, and we put the other things in their places. He took the broom and swept one room while I took a second one and started in the parlor, and when I washed some dishes, he was there wiping them right next to me. He never once shunned a chore, the way some men would, as if they only intended to dig a trench or plant a seed, but all the rest of any kind of work was for women to handle. When we went back to check on Aubrey, I said, “Thank you, Mr. Hanna, for your help.”