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

by Nancy E. Turner

  I stopped up on the ridge where I could see Granny’s place, Albert’s, and, yonder a ways, my own. At Granny’s empty house, shingles hung loose and bird nests festooned the windowsills. I saw it differently now, not as our family home but just some ground with a tiny house on it, and for the first time, realized that when my mama passed into the next life, her section would rightly be split between us—Albert, Ernest, Harland, and me. Felicity would have an honest right to a fourth of Granny’s place.

  Then I imagined that my spread was no longer mine, either, but Rudolfo’s. My fourth of Granny’s place would also be his. And he’d stop at nothing. He wouldn’t let that slattern take this land. Maybe he would be willing to pay cash and buy out her share. Surely, that would be more appealing to her. She doesn’t want to work the land, just have the folderol. Rudolfo’s so willing and eager to give me gifts; what I needed from him was a sack of gold to defend my land. But, if I asked him for something, especially that, it would firmly commit me to marrying him. All the other presents were just trifles I could put aside or give back. To do that sort of thing, well, that would be sealing my fate. It came to me then that if I had a sack of gold, I wouldn’t be considering him at all. His life would be his and mine would be mine. When Charlie and Gilbert got back with the money and cattle Willie took, I’d find a way to make it on my own.

  A breath of wind moved around me, hot air on a sultry day. A rider came this way. Udell. My throat went dry. My heart beat so loudly, I could hear it. What was he doing riding this way when I’d just been thinking of him? He tipped his hat, said, “Sarah?” as he rode up. “Been to the station?”

  He’d not been looking for me after all. “If you’re up to get mail, I’ll save you the trip. There wasn’t any for you or—” I started to say “Rudolfo,” but I left it with “anyone.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you. That saves me nearly half a day.”

  “I was hoping to hear from my mama by now,” I said.

  He merely turned his horse around. “Mind I ride back with you?”

  “Not at all.” We went a little way before I said, “I got a letter from your son. You can read it if you want, just to hear from him, although it’s about a legal problem. We’ve got this family member trying to take my ranch.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around.”

  I had to laugh, though it was a hard, bitter sound.

  “How’s the hand?” he asked.

  “Better. Thanks. Someone else got a letter from Aubrey. Mary Pearl.”

  Udell smiled. “He wrote me that he’s fond of her. Seems a likely girl.”

  We rode a long way without speaking, nearly to my front porch. Then he said, “Are you sure you don’t mind if I read the letter? I don’t want to pry.” I handed it to him. Udell read it from the saddle, then handed it back. “He’s got a fine hand.”

  I saw the pride in his face. “Yes,” I said. “He does.” His eyes were blue as the sky, and they held mine for just a moment.

  He said, “I’m riding down to Benson today. Having a look around. I’ll be back day after tomorrow. Here’s a thing I’ve been thinking of. You offered me fifty head of cattle, and it’s no blame of yours that there aren’t fifty. It was a generous offer, well beyond what anyone would expect, unless they knew you. I’m inclined to return the eleven I’ve got, because we’re both in straights. Only, if you marry Maldonado, and I give them back to you, they’ll be his. That’s your right, but you promised me fifty head, and he doesn’t need them. If you don’t marry him, I’ll drive them all back, soon as I get back from Benson. Maybe you’d still let me keep just one to breed for a year or two. Ten may not be enough to keep you going. I don’t know how much you need, and I’m eating antelope until it’s like to make me grow antlers myself. I can’t offer you a hacienda and a spread the size of his. I can’t offer you two bits to save your land. Ten heifers. That’s what I’m thinking.”

  He rode off then at a gallop, without another word. Didn’t give me time to say as much as “Wait.”

  The sun was low in the sky when riders appeared on the horizon. Three men, who looked to be armed but, except for that, were traveling lightly and quickly. I watched them come down the track off the hill. They were nearly to the house when I saw who it was. I didn’t know whether to drop to my knees in thanksgiving or run to them, so I didn’t do either. Just stood there. Charlie and Gilbert. Between them, head down and hatless, rode Willie Prine. He wasn’t on Pillbox, but some sorry nag that looked as forlorn as its rider. I hugged Charlie and Gilbert both, patting their broad backs. They looked sunbaked and wizened. Both sported mustaches, now, and Gilbert had a beard growing.

  Willie stayed on his horse and didn’t speak. He turned away, though I said hello to him. Charlie pulled the serape off Willie’s saddle, and I saw the boy’s hands were tied to the horn. He wore no boots or even stockings. Bare, beat-up and filthy, his long panhandle feet were tied at the ankles and rigged to the leather breast strap.

  Gilbert unfastened Willie’s feet. Charlie pulled a pistol from his belt and aimed it at the boy. “Get down.”

  Willie snarled, “Gimme back my book.”

  Charlie reached with one hand into the saddlebag on his own horse, pulled forth a thick wad of papers tied with strings into a roll, and pitched it on the ground in front of Willie’s horse. “Get off,” he said again.

  “Get off your horse, Willie,” I said.

  After some minutes, Charlie said, “Answer her.”

  “Hey, Aint Sair.”

  Charlie said, “Gil, rig him up like last night. You try to take off from here, kid, I swear to the sky, I’ll plug you. I’m worn thin of chasing you down. I’ll let this Colt find you from here on in.” Charlie turned to me and said, “Been real cooperative until I told him I aimed to turn off here and spend the night. Then I had to chase him to hell and back, and hog-tie him to that saddle to keep him.”

  The boys tied their cousin to the porch rail tighter than I’d ever seen man or beast tied. He could barely move his arms, but he stretched his long legs across the porch. I wasn’t going to argue with the boys. Willie looked every bit the outlaw he was trying so hard to be—rangy, smelly, cut up, and mean. Charlie, too, had a different expression on his face. He looked like a lawman bent on doing his job. I had no intentions at all of stepping between him and that job, so I sidled closer to Gilbert.

  “Can I have water?” Willie asked.

  “I’ll get you water, Willie,” I said. “After I hear what’s come of the herd you took. And the horse you rode off on. And the cash from the box. Is there a nickel left?”

  He turned his head away from me and burst out crying. He wailed and gasped, and tears and spittle dribbled from his chin. I looked from him to my sons. Willie said between sobs, “I’m sorry, Aint Sair. I’m sorry!”

  Gilbert started taking the saddle off his horse. “He’s been bawling like that since last night. We tracked him north of Naco. That’s where he split off with his gang.”

  “Wainbridges are both dead,” Charlie interrupted interjected. “We didn’t have any choice. Then Willie got into it with the Yaqui he was riding with, seems. Rest of them was scattered.”

  “I’m sorry!” Willie howled.

  Gilbert walked to the olla and drank from the dipper. Then he handed a full one to Charlie. “Mama,” Gil said, “the kid there says he’s got religion. I don’t much care, after what I’ve seen him do. We’ve come here to rest up a day. Then we’re hauling his carcass to Tucson.”

  We talked on the porch while Willie sobbed, though his wailing had quieted and turned to childlike gulps of air. On the trip back, Charlie said, they’d rounded up thirteen head of cattle wearing my brand. They tried to keep them all, but three had to be put down. Ten remained and were north of the house, across the Cienega, where the grass hadn’t burned. Just ten. Same offer I’d been given from Udell. One of them was the bull I owned with Rudolfo.

  Charlie went to the horses again and picked up the
roll of tied-up paper. He tossed it into Willie’s lap, got down on his heels so his face was the same level as the boy’s, and said, “There’s your ‘Good Book.’ You hold that in your lap and tell my mother, who clothed you and fed you and treated you like a welcome member of this family, just what you done with her money. You tell her how it went into the nasty cribs of whores and opium parlors and was guzzled down in liquor. You tell her that her ranch is bankrupted because you are a high-timing gambler, betting a dollar a throw.”

  “I’m sorry, Aint Sair,” was all Willie said.

  Charlie pushed his hat back. “He’s just sorry for getting caught.” He pulled a short knife from his belt and appeared for a moment to be picking at his fingernails. “This your knife, boy?” Charlie said. “Got some stains on the handle, don’t it?”

  Willie blubbered and a new stream of tears rolled down his face.

  I hated that boy. I said, “You’re in a peck of trouble, Willie Prine.” Myself, I was glad I was sitting, for my head felt as if it were feeling. “All the money is gone,” I said, not as a question, but just to tell my own ears what I’d heard before. “The cattle are gone. Nothing left.”

  Gilbert pulled up a chair beside me. “Mama? I figure to go to town and get a job, too, like Charlie. We’ll send you money. I’ll live in the house there and won’t have to pay rent, so I can save more. We’ll get the taxes paid by the end of the year. Taxes for the house in town, too. I know how to work; someone will hire me. Shoot, maybe Maldonado needs a good hand. I won’t even have to go to town.”

  “Maldonado?” I crossed my arms across my ribs and leaned back. “Rudolfo Maldonado has offered me another way to keep this land. He wants me to marry him.” My sons looked at me as if I’d slapped their faces. Then they looked at each other.

  Gilbert rose and stomped off the porch, but before he left, he took his hat and whopped Willie’s head as he went past. “See what else you’ve done?”

  “Gilbert,” I called.

  Gil stopped in the yard. He put his hands on his hips, staring into the round corral. “That what this horse is for?”

  “Don’t insult me, son,” I said.

  He turned. “You can’t possibly love him. Can you?” Then he headed for the barn.

  I tried to get Charlie’s eyes. He wouldn’t look at me, but I said to him, “There is sometimes more to marriage than love.”

  Charlie said, “He don’t understand, Mama. That’s all. He’ll come around.”

  “Well, I haven’t told Rudolfo I would marry him. Just that I would consider it.”

  “Can you put up with us a night? I’d surely like a bed and a meal before I go to town.” I pulled up some fixings for a little supper. They retied Willie so he could eat supper. His hands were free, but his feet were nearly part of the chair he was on. He ate just as before, like a wolf half-starved. Now, though, instead of warming my heart, I’d as soon have thrown the food down the hole in the outhouse. All he was to me was a cowboy.

  Chess stared at his plate, and after a while he set down a biscuit he’d been holding. “I can’t eat. Not with that at this table. I’m going yonder to feed at Albert’s place. While you boys got this outlaw here, I’m a-staying there.”

  “Grampa,” Charlie said, “we’ll have him out of here after breakfast tomorrow.”

  Chess looked right at me. “If I was you, I wouldn’t be wasting a drop of rancid gravy on the likes of that.” He left the kitchen without another word. After a while, the sounds of horse’s hooves told me he’d left. Gilbert yanked Willie’s hands behind his back, tied them to his feet, and pushed him to the floor. Charlie came in, rifle in hand, and sat in my rocker.

  “What are you fixing to do,” I asked Charlie, “stay there all night?”

  “That’s exactly right,” Charlie said. My son looked five years older than he had when he left.

  Willie said, “Can I have my book?”

  Gilbert tossed it to Charlie, who laid it in front of Willie’s face. Willie squirmed around until he could lay his head upon the tied-up roll of paper, then closed his eyes. I went out to the sleeping porch. Before long, Gilbert began to snore, exhausted to the bone.

  I watched the stars. The moon triangle, with Jack’s star and the other, shone too brightly, as if someone had set their wicks too high. “Jack?” I whispered. Nothing more. Waiting for sleep to come, I thought of Udell. Remembered the conversations we’d had so easily. Remembered the kiss we’d shared, too. Wondered if I could ever kiss Rudolfo that way. Wondered what lying with him would bring. Children? An early death? Embarrassment such as Savannah had felt, for my other children? Embarrazada, so close to a embarrassed—the Spanish word for carrying a child. And esposa—the word meant both wife and handcuff. Trussed and bound as Willie was on my floor. Rudolfo wanted an answer. So did Udell. One’s offer was to give up everything for a life of ease. The other’s was the chance to struggle back up from nearly nothing. Udell hadn’t offered marriage. Or if he had, it wasn’t clear. Yet lying with Udell seemed infinitely more welcome. As if he’d look at me while we did. Rudolfo’s eyes would be on the land he was taking. I heard Willie crying. I got out of bed and put a wrap over my gown.

  Charlie hadn’t moved. He said, “Hush, you. Mama, did he wake you?”

  “No,” I said. “Can’t sleep. Want some coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  I chucked up the ashes in the stove and put in kindling. Pumped the coffeepot full of water. Then I sat by Charlie. He looked so thin. “Want a piece of that pie, too?”

  “I already finished it off. Sorry.”

  I smiled. “Why don’t you go get some sleep? I’ll watch him for you.”

  He didn’t want to leave his duty, he said. A Ranger couldn’t turn the kid over to his mother to watch. I told Charlie it wouldn’t be the first time I’d sat up beside a boy during the night. Then I said about five times that I understood Willie was not just a bad child brought home to face the music. He was a wanted man in the custody of an Arizona Ranger. Yes, yes, I said, until I was blue in the face. Still, he made me promise never to let Willie out of my sight, and if he needed the privy, not to let him near a door without a shotgun trained on him. “It’s the law, Mama,” Charlie said. “If I have to hunt him down again, I won’t waste time bringing him to jail.”

  “I’ll watch,” I promised. “Get some rest.” I took his chair and put the rifle across my lap. Charlie went to lie down out on the porch, still in his clothes.

  Willie shuffled around in his ropes, shifting himself against the wall. “Are you hungry?” I asked him.

  “No, ma’am. Thank you, Aint Sair.”

  “I’m getting myself some coffee. Don’t you move.”

  “I’m staying, Aint Sair.”

  “There isn’t much you’ve ever done gives me cause to believe you, boy.”

  “I know it. But I’m staying.”

  When I came back with coffee, Willie had not moved an inch from where I’d left him. He closed his eyes. I drank my coffee. After half an hour, Willie opened his eyes suddenly, startled by some dream. I said, “What’s that book you’ve got your head on?”

  “Half a Bible. It was give to me by a conjure.”

  “A what?”

  “Maybe it was God. I was running and scared after what happened, before I met up with cousin Charlie. This feller came along out of the lightning, riding a snow-white mule, calling out to listen to the word of the Lord. He holds up a book and the storm comes right out of the pages, bolts of lightning. Them cows were split wide open. Hunnerds of ’em. Then he tore it right down the middle and handed this part to me. Said it would save my soul from hell’s fire of eternal torment. When he tore that book, it screamed just like a woman.”

  I filled my coffee cup. “A man on a mule? Are you sure it was white?”

  “Yes’m. It was God.”

  “‘It was God,’” I repeated, rocking the chair slightly. “And a woman screamed?”

  “He let me live. After—after all. Said
my soul was so blackened, I was looking into the eyes of the devil himself, heading for judgment, torment, and damnation. And if I’d read this book, it’d be all right. And I sat down and read all day. Somes I didn’t understand.”

  The eyes of the devil? Lazrus should be on calling terms with the devil all right.

  “Do you believe me, Aint Sair? That I’m sorry and all?”

  “You took everything I had that wasn’t nailed down. Being sorry doesn’t fix what you did.”

  After a long while, he said, “No, it don’t.” More minutes passed.

  My coffee got cold. I drank it anyway. I said, “What happened to Pillbox? Hunter’s mama.”

  “With the rest of ’em. Lost somewheres.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I said, “Wainbridges were in it with you?”

  “It ’as their idea, mostly. They had this plan to take them cattle to a feller they knew in a place in Mexico. Rocko, Pocko, something.”

  “Naco?” I said.

  “That’s it. He’d give them a wad of cash and we’d set up a ranch down by the beach, where it’s always cool and nice. The cows grow twicet the size down there.” He was quiet while the clock chimed midnight. “Yep. Twicet.” He rubbed his nose against his knee, saying, “This place ain’t bankrupted fer real, is it?”

  I couldn’t answer him.

  After a spell, he said, “What you going to do?”

  I looked right at his eyes and said, “Keep going. All I can do. Living is getting knocked down time and again, then standing up time and again, and once more. It’s easy to act honorable when things are coming along and all your pastures are green. Plenty difficult when the ground has dried and burned and people have connived to take even that from you. I’ll sell this place, or I’ll lose it. I’ll go on. People who don’t have hard times aren’t living.”

  “You don’t have to sell this ranch, do you?”

  I thought of Rudolfo. That was exactly what I was doing: selling my ranch and myself. I decided to leave him out of the sums for now. “Willie, I’m out of money and in debt. We can’t eat the dirt. There’s only Chess and me left. I still have my boys and my daughter and her family, and my brother and his children. Charlie and Gil will marry someday and have children. That’s all that matters.”