Shame the Stars

by McCall,Guadalupe Garcia

  “Well, Ace, we have to face it. My hands are tied,” Munro said, walking over to stand by the window. “I don’t have many options here.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t have many options?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

  Papá turned around to face the Ranger. “Damn it, Elliot!” he said. “I’m not trying to make trouble for you, but those boys have to be punished. You can’t let them get away with this.”

  “Yes, but we can’t let this get out either,” Munro interrupted. “Don’t you understand? If this got out, it would ruin the girl’s reputation.”

  “That’s outrageous!” Mamá said, leaving my side and standing up to face the captain. “How could it ruin her reputation? She’s done nothing wrong. She’s the victim here!”

  Munro turned around to stare down Mamá. “You and I know she had no business being out there at that time of night.”

  At the Ranger’s words, Doña Serafina let out a small, startled cry. Don Rodrigo stood up, his chest puffed out, his eyes narrowed and bright. “I would be very careful with my words if I were you, Captain. Very careful.”

  “I’m not saying it’s her fault,” Munro said. “But the fact is she put herself in this position and now we have to face the repercussions of her lack of propriety. If she had never left the ball, if she had stayed with you, with Madame Josette even, she would not have been attacked. But she went out into the woods, in the middle of the night to meet a young man. Alone. Well, there’s nothing — absolutely nothing — anyone can say that can account for that lack of judgment on her part.”

  “But Slater and Davis shouldn’t get away with this!” I said, standing up too. “Her reputation shouldn’t keep you from punishing her attackers. Those two are rapists! Her reputation should be the very reason for going after them!”

  “And let people speculate, spread rumors, whisper when she passes by?” Munro asked, clenching his right hand as he spoke. “Is that you want, son? You want that girl to live with this for the rest of her life? Because that’s what’ll happen. People around these parts, they never forget anything. They never let things die. That’s the problem with these — these — ”

  The Ranger’s words had ignited a fire inside me and I could feel myself getting hotter and hotter, boiling over with rage as I said, “ — with these Mexicans?”

  “Joaquín!” Mamá cried out, shocked. I clenched my teeth to keep myself from yelling out everything else I was thinking. I knew Papá would never admit it, but Munro was a bigot. It poured out of him from every pore — his abhorrence for mejicanos. I’d heard it all my life from the campesinos at Las Moras. Mamá sensed it. Tomás suspected it. Everyone except Papá saw Munro for what he really was.

  Munro glowered at me with gold-flecked brown eyes, poisoned arrows honing in on their target. “I was going to say — that’s the problem with these small towns. One pain is lessened by another’s anguish.”

  “I’m sure you were,” I said, refusing to be thwarted by his golden stare.

  “Now, let’s not let our tempers get the best of us.” Tomás paced the room for a moment. “Captain Munro is right. This incident could cause irreparable damage to Dulceña’s reputation and status within the community. He has to find a way to punish the men without involving Dulceña.”

  My mother pulled on my forearm to get me to stop staring at Munro. I turned away, and she stood between me and the Ranger, near the doorway.

  “So what are you suggesting?” Mamá asked, looking across at the captain.

  “The way I see it, there’s only one thing we can do,” Munro said. “We make Sheriff Nolan deal with these men. I’ll see to it that he punishes them accordingly. I’ll tell him to make sure this doesn’t become public knowledge. If your family doesn’t press the issue, Rodrigo, the least his men can do is keep their mouths shut.”

  “What about me?” I asked. “What if I press charges for their assault on me?”

  Munro turned his full attention to me. “These aren’t common criminals we’re dealing with here. They are officers of the law. You’re better off letting me take care of this. Like I said, I’ll have a talk with Nolan. Let him know what’s expected here.”

  “I don’t know, Captain,” Tomás said, shaking his head. “I think you’re tempting the devil. If these men don’t get what’s coming to them, if they’re not dealt with publicly, it could further aggravate the racial tensions we’re already experiencing. Things could get ugly. What do you think, Papá?”

  “I think you should hang ’em!” I said, my voice quivering with rage. “That’s what the sheriff would do if it was one of us.” I silently dared Munro to contradict me.

  “I think you better let me do the thinking,” the Ranger said. “Now if those boys are brought up on charges, they’re going to start telling stories, trying to defend themselves to gain sympathy. They might even try to make you out to be the bad guy, Joaquín. There’s no telling what kind of tales they might fabricate to keep their necks from the noose. No. I think you better let me handle this. I’ll talk to Nolan, and we’ll get those boys straightened out.”

  Suddenly, Dulceña was on her feet. She walked over and stood right under Munro’s nose. “Why are we still standing here pretending you’re going to do anything about this?” Her eyes brimmed with thick tears. “Everyone here knows you’re going to cover this up. You’ve said as much. As long as men like you rule this world, women like me, innocent women, will have no justice. Do you think I care about my reputation? I don’t care what people think or whisper about me. All I care about is making things better for our people, and if that tarnishes my reputation, then so be it. I will not be victimized by your goons!”

  Munro’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. “Young lady! You mind your manners and remember your place!” He pointed his index finger in her face. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again.”

  I moved around Mamá and got right up behind Dulceña. “Now, hold on! Dulceña has a right to her own opinion.”

  Papá agreed with me for once. “Joaquín is right. Now, all we’re saying — all we’re asking — is that you do your job, Elliot. Arrest those men. Deal with them to the fullest extent of the law. Before they do this again!” Papá rapped his knuckles on the coffee table for emphasis.

  “There you go again!” Munro turned on my father. “Why are you questioning my authority? I don’t need you to tell me how to deal with this. I make the law around here. And I will enforce it in whatever way I see fit! This is my county and Monteseco is my town. Nolan does what I say. Judge Thompson does what I say. There is no higher power than me in Morado County. Now, if I say I will take care of it, then by God, I will take care of it. Those boys will be brought in. I will investigate. I will dole out the orders, and my orders will be followed. By you and everyone else around here! Understand?”

  My father’s face fell, become ashen. “What happened to you, Elliot? You used to be a good man.”

  I was about to remind everyone that Munro answered to the law of the land, not the other way around, when Munro pointed at me and Dulceña. “This happened! Things like this make my job a lot harder than it has to be. I can’t be expected to hold up my end of things when you let your brood run amok. Now, if I were you, Rodrigo, I would take my daughter home and make sure she doesn’t get out again. Make sure she understands this is what happens to young women when they sneak around at night como prostitutas.”

  Dulceña threw her arms in the air, pounding on Munro’s chest with her clenched fists. “You filthy, disgusting — ”

  I started toward the Ranger too, but my father pushed me back to the door. At the same time, Doña Serafina shot out of her seat and rushed over to pull Dulceña away from the captain. “Dulceña! ¡Hija, por favor! Cómportate! Please don’t stoop to his level. No matter what anybody says, you are a lady, una señorita de familia decente! This isn’t solving anyth
ing.” Then, looking over at her husband, she said, “Vámonos, Rodrigo. It’s time to go home.”

  “It’s time for you to go too!” I said, addressing the Ranger while Papá held his hand firmly down on my shoulder, stopping me from moving toward Munro.

  “Well!” Papá said, unaffected by the Ranger’s narrowing eyes. “You heard my son. Your business here is done.”

  As Dulceña and her family rushed down the hall and out the front door, my father and the Ranger measured each other up, assessing their next moves. Then, Munro pulled his hat down halfway over his forehead and said, “Yes, it is. I have an interrogation in the morning that requires my attention. I’ve given Gerardo Gutierrez too much leeway. It’s time I got to the bottom of things with your ranch hand, Ace. Joaquín. Señora. I will see myself out.”

  My father didn’t say another word to the Ranger. He was stoic and firm, standing his ground as Munro slithered down the hall and slipped out of our house, closing the door behind himself quietly.

  Letter from Joaquín, Saturday, August 21, 1915

  D —

  ¡Tengo miedo de perderte! The conflict with the rattlesnakes in the bsh has sown in me a fear so dark and powerful it overwhelms me. A corded vine, thick and tight, has sprouted, punctured through my chest, crept along my torso, and wrapped itself around my throat like a noose. Thoughts of losing you cause my lungs to strain, my heart to race. I may not make it through another night without seeing you again, making sure that you — that we — are all right.¡ Por favor, no te olvides de mí!

  Te amo,

  — J

  Chapter 6

  Saturday morning, my father woke me up early and told me we needed to go into town to see what we could do to help Gerardo out. He wasn’t going to wait until Monday before trying to get him out of jail. He didn’t trust Munro, not after his parting words the night before, and frankly, neither did I. It’s true what they say — when you let rattlesnakes crawl on your belly, you’re going to get bitten, and Papá had played possum too long by allowing Munro to “take care of us” under the guise of friendship.

  When I remembered we were going into town, I ran upstairs and picked up the note I’d written to Dulceña in the wee hours of the morning, when I had been feeling so wretched I couldn’t get to sleep. I’d planned on finding a way of getting the note to her come Monday morning, but there was no sense in waiting, especially if I could get it to her earlier. It wasn’t urgent. Just important. She needed to know how miserable I was. How much I regretted everything that happened the night before. How much I still loved her.

  Because Papá had a big delivery of lumber to pick up, he decided we needed to take the wagon instead of driving the Packard into town. I rode in the wagon with my father, while Manuel, Mateo, and Fito trailed behind us on horseback.

  By the time we got into Monteseco, I was itching to get out of the wagon and find a small boy I could hand a peso to and say, “Here, go give this envelope to the pretty girl in the print shop.” Her father never suspected anything was amiss because Dulceña was technically in charge of opening and sorting through the mail at El Sureño. If Mateo’s girlfriend, Conchita, was around, I would give her the note. She would rush over for a quick chat during her break from waitressing at Donna’s Kitchen and slip it into Dulceña’s hands when Don Rodrigo wasn’t looking.

  When we got there, Papá and I went into the jailhouse while Manuel and the twins went to check on our order at the lumber mill. Papá stepped up to the clerk’s window and asked for the amount of the bail on Gerardo Gutierrez.

  Nacho, the old clerk who had worked at the jailhouse as long as I could remember, scrambled with some papers on his desk, mumbling something that I didn’t quite catch. Papá frowned at him, and the clerk repeated himself. “I’m sorry, Don Acevedo,” he said, forcing a crooked little smile onto his face. One of those nervous smiles people get when they’re uncomfortable. “But you can’t bail him out.”

  “What do you mean?” my father asked. “Where is he?”

  Nacho’s eyes flickered back and forth between the door and my father before he continued. “There’s no bail on Gerardo. Not allowed.”

  “No bail? There has to be a bail!” Papá said, his eyebrows drawn so close together over his piercing eyes they almost touched each other on his forehead.

  “No. Not if the judge thinks he might run,” Nacho said, his voice low and meek, like he was afraid of delivering the bad news to my father.

  “Run where?” my father asked. “What for?”

  Nacho shuffled his feet, repositioned himself behind his little window, and scratched his head. “Oh, I don’t know. To Mexico, maybe,” he said. “To join the revolution. Might be he takes off and hides out with his friends out in the chaparral. There’s a whole lot of places a rebel like him might run off to. Who knows, he might even run off to join the Sediciosos!”

  My father frowned. “But he hasn’t even had a trial yet!”

  “Gerardo, a Sedicioso?” I asked. “That’s not true, is it, Papá?”

  It was hard to imagine Gerardo as a Sedicioso. The Sediciosos were a fearsome rebel gang run by Aniceto Pizaña, a prominent tejano rancher who, after a brutal attack by Rangers on his ranch, Los Tulitos, earlier in the month, had taken up arms, recruiting men and making good on the promises outlined in the Plan de San Diego. They were said to be responsible for a number of incidents involving the destruction of railroads, bridges, and other infrastructure in South Texas. They’d sworn to take out anything related to the white settlers to make sure they got their message across: tejanos were not going to be oppressed, much less enslaved, not in their own land — the land that had been stolen from them and their ancestors. Even my mother conceded their argument, reminding us every now and then this was our land long before the conquest. “Forget the Spanish land grants,” she’d say. “We don’t need a piece of paper to stake our claim on this country. My hair, my skin, the color of my eyes is proof enough. My ancestors — our ancestors — were here first!”

  “No. Gerardo wouldn’t run with that lot,” Papá said, shaking his head and waving his hand in the air dismissively. “He’s too green for that kind of outfit. Besides, Los Sediciosos keep to their territory. Their business is down in Hidalgo, Cameron, and Starr Counties. They’ve never entered these parts.”

  Nacho shrugged and said, “Well, those are the charges.”

  “Let me talk to him,” Papá said. “I need to let him know we’re taking care of this. I promised his mother I’d get in to see him.”

  Nacho took in a long breath and let it out in what sounded like a defeated sigh. Then he fussed with his papers again and said, “Nope. No visitors allowed either.”

  “That’s not legal. Any two-bit lawyer in town will tell you that.” My father’s voice was suddenly quiet and deep, menacing. He stood with his hands on the sill of the iron-grated window that separated us from Nacho and thought for a moment. Then, without saying another word to Nacho, my father turned around and walked to the door. “Come on, Joaquín. Let’s go.”

  Outside the jailhouse, my father put his hands on his waist, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. A bunch of Munro’s men coming out of Donna’s Kitchen caught his attention.

  “Where the hell’s Munro?” my father mumbled, more to himself than to me.

  “They always have a late breakfast at Donna’s,” I said, guessing he was considering confronting the Ranger. “Same place he always is at breakfast — sitting at the corner table by the window.”

  My father let out a long-held breath. Then he gritted his teeth and pushed his hat down over his forehead. “Go to the mill. Get Manuel. Tell him what’s going on.”

  I didn’t have to go all the way to the mill. By the time I ran down to the end of the street, Manuel and the twins were already turning the corner. “Papá’s at Donna’s, talking to Munro. They wouldn’t let us bail out Gerardo. They wouldn’t
even let us see him. Papá said to — ”

  I hadn’t even finished telling him the rest of the message before Manuel turned to the twins and said, “Get the wagon and horses. Bring ’em over to the café. I’ll go check on your father,” he said to me.

  Mateo, Fito, and I rushed off and retrieved the wagon and horses. I pulled the wagon around and tied it up across the street from the café, at the general store, and Mateo and Fito tied their horses beside the wagon. When everything was secure, we started across the street.

  That’s when I caught sight of Slater and Davis a few buildings down from us. Slater was too busy entertaining Davis and the rest of Munro’s posse standing in front of Nina’s Dress Shop to notice us. My suspicions were confirmed: Munro and Sheriff Nolan had done nothing to get us justice. Slater and Davis weren’t acting like doomed men. Slater’s face bore no signs of worry or distress, and nothing about his demeanor said he’d received any kind of reprimand or suspension. In fact, he was as happy as a lark. Both he and Davis were standing around like they didn’t have a care in the world. Except for the black eye I’d given him, it was as if nothing had happened. Worse yet, both he and Davis were standing around like they didn’t have a care in the world.

  “I knew it,” I said, disgust roiling up inside my belly. “I knew nothing was going to happen to them.”

  “That’s not all,” Mateo said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Slater’s been shooting off his mouth all morning. I saw Conchita on my way to the mill, and she said he’s been telling all his friends you tried to beat him up because you caught him and Dulceña having a good time at Arroyo Morado.”

  “What! That filthy son of a — ” Fuming, I took off running across the street with the twins right behind me.

  “Stop! Joaquín! Wait!” they screamed, but I wasn’t about to stop. Slater had another beating coming to him, and I didn’t need anybody’s permission to give it to him.

  I stepped onto the boardwalk just in time to catch Slater in the act, smacking his lips, saying, “Yes, sir, she’s a good kisser, that sweet little Dulceña!”