“And will you think of it?”
My heart was pounding. I looked into the face of my friend. “I will think of it,” I said. “Consider, and think of it some.”
His face lit up. “Take this, then. And when you start to doubt my intentions, you wear this, and know that I am very serious. We can be married after the election. Or—or before, if you wish.”
“I only said I’d think of it. I’m not ready to plan a wedding.”
He pushed the box holding the necklace into my hands and swept his hat back onto his head. “Farewell, dear friend,” he said. He rode alone, leaving the mule and the gray filly behind.
As he got beyond the yard, Rudolfo let out a whoop and slapped his horse’s rump with his hat, charging down the road toward his hacienda. I stared at the jewels in my hands and pictured myself wakening in the big bedroom in Rudolfo’s house. Then I closed the box.
Chess wandered up from the barn. “What was all the commotion?” he asked.
“Rudolfo Maldonado wants me to marry him. He brought this to convince me.”
“And did he?”
“I told him I’d consider his offer. That’s all.”
“Nice pony.”
“Chess? What’s your opinion?”
“You do what you think is right.”
“I’m asking you. I don’t want to make a choice and then hear two years later that you thought it was a bad idea from the start.”
Chess leaned against the post that held up the porch roof. He pulled off his hat and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief before he spoke. “Reckon if I was you, I’d look at it as a square deal. But I ain’t the one’s got to live with him.”
“You’d come live there, too. I’m not going without you.”
“No. I’ll stay here with the boys. We’ll bunk here until they off and marry.”
I held the box toward him. “You see this here?”
“Folderol.” He turned away, refusing to look.
I held the box with its gilt chain and all those pretty stones in the sunlight so they flashed and sparked like a hundred dozen little fires. That many diamonds and emeralds would buy me a small herd. Enough to start over. That’s all I’d really needed. Not sparkles to wear around my collar. Where would I wear such a thing? Feeding chickens? Rudolfo had plans for living up at the capital. Tea parties. That’s where you’d wear it. Of all the knotheaded, insulting things. Did he think I was a woman whose head was turned by sparkles? I’d always despised women who would chase after such things.
I put the box of Rudolfo’s wife bait on top of the pantry shelves. Then I went back out to Chess. “I didn’t get a chance to ask him about the cattle,” I said. Rudolfo had swept in here like a whirlwind, then left before I knew what had hit me. “I’ll ride over there tomorrow. I’d better put up that filly and the mule.”
September 16, 1906
Twice in the last ten days, I’d tried to talk to Rudolfo about my missing cattle. Each time, he swirled the conversation around every other subject, showing off things he’d put in his house, parading his daughters before me in new clothes.
The third time, I asked Mary Pearl to ride with me while Chess watched out for the little fellows. Nip was starting to come out of his little house now and then, so they planned to see if they could coax him to walk a little bit. I told them as long as they kept it really short and did what Grampa Chess said, they could feed him some corn bread, and gravy, too.
While we waited for Rudolfo to appear, Mary Pearl tried to talk to Luz. Mary Pearl had always been friends with Elsa, who’d gone to the convent of the Sisters of Saint Joseph of Carondelet in Tucson. But Luz had nothing to say. She was polite, but she offered no answers other than yes and no, and no conversation of her own. I got to thinking of April then, and I figured Luz probably did need to read a novel to have two words to rub together. Finally, Rudolfo sent word to us that he was going to be detained an hour. I told Luz to relay to her papa that I’d come back some other time.
Well, Mary Pearl and I rode south to Udell Hanna’s place. We found him building a corral. The cattle he had penned were treading on soggy hay. We could see he needed some help knowing just how to get them going. Udell seemed stiff to me. He was polite, but nothing more. There was no light in his eyes at all when he said hello. He asked me if I wanted him to drive the cattle back to my place, as he couldn’t rightly see taking them. I said, “Well, you need some better feed. I’ve got hay and leaf, and no cattle to feed. Haul your wagon up and get some.”
“I’d be pretty much an all-around failure, I suppose,” Udell said.
I pulled off my gloves, saying, “Did I do something to get sideways of you?”
“No.”
I watched Mary Pearl from the corner of my eye. She was fidgeting nervously and trying not to pay attention. “Want the hay?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, come on up when you’ve a mind.” I mounted my horse, and although I heard Mary Pearl say something to Udell, I was already headed for home. I’m about fed up with men right now. It’s just trouble, always trying to figure what one’s got caught in his craw that he isn’t telling. Always trying to keep a step ahead just to keep from being run over. Lands. I passed right by Rudolfo’s place without turning off toward the house. Let him come to me. For now, I wanted to go get some work done.
I heard hooves coming fast behind me. Mary Pearl flew by on Duende, as if I was barely moving on my old cow pony. She reined up to a halt and turned him, nearly flying up in the air, then coming back toward me after raising a bit of dust. As she settled into a walk beside me, I said, “That horse see a spook?”
“Mr. Hanna had a letter from Aubrey.”
“Oh? What’s he say? Is it about Felicity? Is she taking my land?”
“It wasn’t about that. He’s buying a property.”
“What sort of a property?” I declare if I saw Felicity Prine or Aubrey Hanna’s name on a deed to my land, there’s going to be Arizona Rangers out looking for Sarah Elliot next. “Is that a buggy at my house, yonder?”
Mary Pearl said, “He says he’s been given a salary.”
“Look. It’s your papa’s surrey.”
We loped toward the yard and climbed down, rushing into the house. My voice and Mary Pearl’s mingled together. “Albert? Savannah? Mama? Papa?”
Albert and Chess sat at the kitchen table, and for a solid minute, my heart paused in its tracks. My mind became a great wooden block. Savannah was not with them. My heart ached and stopped beating, thinking my dearest friend and sister had left this earth. The color drained from the room and all was gray. Then I found my voice. “Savannah? How is Savannah?”
“I’m better, honey,” I heard behind me from the parlor. I turned, to find Savannah sitting in a chair, her feet propped up on an overturned bucket. “It’s going to be all right.” Zack and Ezra burst in at that moment, presenting whittled animals they had carved, gifts for her. Mary Pearl sank at her mother’s knee and put her head in her lap.
I took Savannah’s hand over the cluster of children and mouthed the word baby with raised brows. Savannah shook her head. There would be no child to offset the loss of Esther, but also no labor, no fears for its life or hers. I sat by Savannah and the world turned back to color. I mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
She said something to Ezra, admiring his handiwork, then said, “I’ve been feeling poorly for a while, and I’m mighty tired, children. Run along now. Let me talk to Aunt Sarah.”
“Mama?” said Mary Pearl. “Did you get a letter? Mine and Aunt Sarah’s?”
Savannah allowed her glance to meet mine for a second; then she turned to Mary Pearl. “I did.”
“Are you terribly angry with me?”
“It wasn’t you planned that. We’ll pray for Esther night and day. The Lord watches over those that are His.”
“Yes, Mama,” Mary Pearl said. “I’ve cleaned the house and kept the chickens every day. We sleep here. Ezra is taller.”
&n
bsp; “Yup, I am,” Ezra said, standing on his toes. “Look how them pants are short.”
Savannah looked peaked and drawn, but there was some fire in her, too. “I’m proud of you, son. Now scoot and help Papa.” She no longer had that resigned look of desperation she’d worn while we were in Tucson, even before Esther left. All she told me was that she had managed through the ordeal and the nurses had been very kind. Said she felt quite a bit better, too. Then along came the boys again, this time with an argument for her to settle over who’d had the baseball last. For now, it was enough that Savannah was home.
I spread out the fixings for our supper. Savannah rested while I stoked the stove. They’d brought mail. Sorting through it, I saw a letter on thick paper from Aubrey Hanna, Esquire, and another from April and Morris. I opened the lawyer’s letter first. I put my feet flat on the floor before I began reading the first line. It was a lot of legal whys and wherefores, but the final word of it seemed to ring out right off the paper. “Judge Marks refuses to hear the case and has thrown it out of court. The aforementioned claims are found to be baseless.” I pictured a fence rail with a string of rusty old cans set on it. With the word baseless, the first can flew off the fence, pinged square on with a good clean shot.
Felicity would not take this place. I might sell it to the railroad, or if I marry Rudolfo, it will go to him, but it will not go to her. Mary Pearl read the letter aloud as I started dishing out our supper. April’s letter went on about some ladies in town and a few tidbits about Val, how he missed Ezra and Zack. Lorelei was talking more. Patricia asked for “Gramma” to come back.
After supper, the Prines all headed for their house, leaving just me and Chess on the sleeping porch. He went to sleep quickly. I heard something on the porch just after I’d come from my room in my nightgown. I pulled the shotgun from behind the door and opened it slowly, peering into the darkness. It was just old Nip. The dog had limped all the way from the barn to the porch and was sitting right by the door. The tip of his tail raised four times when he saw me. He turned his back to the door and his head to the yard and lay down. The Old Guard was back at his post. Another can fell off that fence.
Tomorrow I will go and sit with Savannah. Tonight, I will rest. I went to bed feeling more right and quiet on the inside than I have in many, many a night.
September 18, 1906
In the afternoon, I sent Ezra and Zack home from their schooling with their hands full of cookies I’d made before the stove cooled off from breakfast. The air is thick again, damp and miserable. All we want to do is sit and fan. I spent the afternoon writing letters to April, Harland, and Granny. I asked each of them what they thought of me marrying up with Rudolfo Maldonado. Of course, it would be my decision, but I still wondered what they’d think.
While I rode to Marsh Station to post the letters, spending four bits of my hard-won cash for those opinions, Chess had the gall to ride to Udell Hanna’s place and have a talk with him. The very idea of that rankled me. I didn’t know he was planning to go, and when he came back, he wouldn’t tell me anything they’d said to each other, except that they’d talked about some cattle business. He did manage to remember to tell me that he’d also stopped by Rudolfo’s hacienda and that it was busy with strangers. One of them, he said, looked very much like the railroad fellow we’d had here on the land. The railroad company is trying everyone around, I reckon, hoping to find someone else besides my poor addled mama to let them take part of their place for a noisy, smelly old track. What with Rudolfo running for governor, likely he’d be real pleased to have a train come right by his front door, so he could just step on it and ride to town anytime he pleases. When Chess finished telling me about what he’d done, I said to him, “Why didn’t you ask Udell to come up for supper?” I still had his wife’s cross on the mantel.
Chess fanned himself with his hat and said, “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted me to fetch him?”
There was a hard tone in my voice when I said, “You never told me you were going there.”
“If I had, you’d have said to stay put. I declare, Sarah. You think you know men, but you don’t.”
“I know far too many of ’em; that’s my problem.”
“Well, I’ve got work to do,” he said, and stomped off, mad.
What do I care if Udell Hanna has supper? Or Rudolfo, either? Didn’t I have enough to contend with, having a cantankerous father-in-law living with me, brushing against my grain every day of his life? I reckon there’s a good that comes of being aggravated, for I got my washing out and done in no time. Worked myself tired before the day was gone, and then started supper for Chess and myself.
September 20, 1906
Who would have guessed I’d hear from April just two days after I’d sent my letter. She was, she said, quite happy that I should be making so prudent a marriage, and glad that all my worries would be ended. She assured me that she’d begin looking into arrangements as soon as possible, especially if I were to be marrying the territorial governor, and that it should be a grand affair. I read that letter twice over. Then I sat for a spell and put my head against the back of the rocking chair. Marrying Rudolfo. Territorial governor. Odd how April’s measure of delight pushed me in the other direction. I wish I could take some joy in it. Wish I could feel even a little pleased.
A gleam of light struck my eyes as I sat there. Udell’s silver cross flashed from the top of the mantel. Reckon if I’m to be marrying the governor, I had better take Mrs. Hanna’s silver piece to Udell’s house. I felt deep down sad, though, as I saddled Baldy. If I could pin a name on that sadness, I’d likely know what to do about it.
As I loaded the cross into the saddlebag, it was heavier than I would ever have expected it to be, and it made the satchel droop so low, I finally decided to carry it in my lap. I wrapped it up in flannel and put it in a hopsacking bag, then headed south. I rode the long way around, far from Rudolfo’s house as I could get.
Udell was out in his corral again, this time putting up a shade at one end. His shirt was wet through and through with sweat, and he groaned as he lifted a piece of wood onto the rafters he’d built. It was a pretty fine shed roof. When he saw me coming, he said, “Mrs. Elliot? What brings you down this way?”
I thought we were using first names now, and I didn’t miss that he’d gotten formal again. I said, “You forgot to take the silver cross. Thought I would bring it to you.”
Udell climbed down from the rafters. He went to a bucket near where he’d been working, poured a dipper of water over his head, and used a rag to wipe his face. He nodded politely and held out his hands. I put the bag into them. “Thank you kindly,” he said, not opening the sack. “I’d been missing it. Just thought I’d get some work done and wait for a good time to call. To fetch the cross, that is. Not a call, exactly.”
I was still on the horse. “No,” I said, “I wouldn’t expect you to call, exactly.”
“Will you rest a spell? Have a cup of water?”
This would be a good time to explain to Udell what Rudolfo had asked me. Maybe see what he thought of the idea. Tell him that nothing was decided yet. “Listen, Udell,” I began.
“If you’re busy, Mrs. Elliot—”
“Sarah.”
He put his head down, then raised it again. “Sarah? Would you sit a spell?”
I got off the horse. “Nice shade you’re making there.”
“Modeled it after yours. Thought the animals would like it, come next summer.”
“Shouldn’t you set that in the house?” I pointed to the hopsack.
We went into his house, and Udell drew us each a tin cup of water. He took me out back. He said he’d decided to use the pasture where the sheep had died for a garden. The soil lay open in neat rows, ready for seed. Grim as it was, come spring that ground would be fertile with lamb’s blood and ashes, like nothing hereabouts ever was.
We talked about seeds and weeds and such, then ambled around to where the half-built shade stood. I told him I
had learned to save chicken droppings under a layer of sand for a year before using them, so they wouldn’t burn up the soil. Then I told him I’d seen that he was having a hard time with that last beam he’d been trying to hoist. Said maybe he needed Aubrey home to help. He grinned.
Udell said, “Aubrey wasn’t ever much use with a hammer, although he does know which end of a shovel works. He’s a lot smarter than his papa ever was.”
“I reckon he helped me keep my place. I wrote and told him thank you.”
“I know.”
“Well,” I said, “you lift that end, and I’ll take this.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you—”
“Well, you aren’t asking me. You going to tote your load or not?” I had my hands on the log, and I pushed it up as high as my shoulder.
I reckoned Udell was not one to waste an offer like that, so he got his end of the beam over his head, and together we heaved it up on the low angle of the shade. He had some cross-ties nailed there, and he lashed it in place with rawhide. Then we set the last pole, a much smaller one. After that, we started loading up brush on top, which he nailed down with more ties as fast as I could get it up to him.
That brush roof was about half done when I picked up another armload of leafy branches and then suddenly dropped them. It felt as if I’d grabbed a mighty big thorn in the tender part of my wrist. Well, I looked down at my arm, and right there, mean as you please, with his head stuck into my glove and swinging his tail around, was a scorpion. Soon as I saw him, he whipped that tail, and I felt that thorny spike again. “Lord a mercy,” I hollered. I shook that thing off and stomped it three times before it finally quit moving. “That blessed thing got me twice.”
My arm hurt like a firebrand had been laid on the skin and left there. I pulled up my sleeve clear to the elbow. Udell rushed to fetch water, then bathed my arm again and again. He had a little bit of soap. He’d been working outdoors all morning, and the soap served to clean our hands a little, but it didn’t make the burning stop.
Sarah's Quilt: A Novel of Sarah Agnes Prine and the Arizona Territories, 1906 Page 41