Santa Fe Woman

by Gilbert, Morris

  “We’re taking a mule train through to Santa Fe.”

  “Mules? My father was a mule skinner.”

  “That’s why we came, to get him to work for us.”

  “Take me with you. I can drive as good as my father.”

  “Couldn’t have a woman mule skinner.”

  “But you take other animals, many extras. I have heard my father talk about the trains that go. They carry many mules and horses. I can take care of them.”

  “Don’t you have any other family?” Rocklin said. He turned around and studied the young woman. “How old are you?”

  “I have seventeen years, me.” She had gray eyes, well shaped and wide spaced. The man’s shirt she wore did not conceal the womanly lines of her figure.

  “Please,” she said. Her voice caught, and there was a trace of fear in her eyes, “take me with you. I have nothing here.”

  “We can’t bring her on the train,” Jori said suddenly. She turned and saw that the woman was watching her carefully.

  “I can care for horses. I can cook. Please, take me.”

  “You can go,” Rocklin said. “We’ll find something for you, Callie.”

  Jori became furious. “We’ll talk about it,” she said.

  Abruptly Rocklin turned to her, and she saw that there was a steely aspect. He stopped smiling. “No, we won’t talk about it. I’ve told you what we’ll do.”

  Jori felt her face flame. She started to answer, and she saw that Rocklin was waiting for her to do that. Suddenly she remembered that he had warned her that there would be times when his word would be law. That was on the trail, she thought, not here. Still, he was waiting for her to reply.

  She swallowed hard, and suddenly he said, “What would you do, Jori, leave her here for those men?” She could not answer, and he said, “You’re a woman. You ought to have more gentleness in you.”

  Jori Hayden suddenly found she had nothing else to say. She clamped her jaw shut, and there was silence in the buggy.

  The girl said not a word, but finally Rocklin turned and said to her quietly, “We’re going to Franklin, Missouri. The train will be put together there. I’ll have to try you out to see if you can handle stock.”

  “Mercí, Mr. Rocklin. You won’t be sorry. I’m a hard worker, me.”

  “I had a friend once, a trapper. He talked like you. He was from Baton Rouge.”

  “He was probably Cajun.”

  “That what you are?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, we’ll see how it works out. I’ll look out for you the best I can, but it’ll be tough.”

  Callie Fortier said in a quiet, steady voice, “I am used to that, me.”

  * * *

  THEY REACHED LITTLE ROCK at sundown and went at once to the house. It was growing dark by the time Rocklin pulled the buggy up, and Jori did not wait for him to help her down. She jumped to the ground and moved quickly into the house.

  “I make trouble for you,” Callie said.

  “No you don’t, Callie. Miss Hayden just doesn’t know much about mules and wagons and things like that.” He hesitated, not certain how much to tell her. “It’s like this. They’ve had a lot of money and now they have only enough to take a train through to Santa Fe. They’ve hired me to get it there.” He went on to explain the situation and finally stepped to the ground. She stepped out and he saw that she was somewhat less than average height but was active and moved very quickly. “I’ll find you some place to stay. I don’t know where it’ll be. It’ll take several days to get all the mules together and check all the wagons. Come along. I’ve been camping out in the barn. There’s plenty of room. I’ll get you some blankets. We’ll probably be here for another couple of days.”

  “Thank you for taking me. Miss Hayden, she does not like me.”

  “She’s just a little used to having her own way.” Suddenly Rocklin laughed softly. “That’ll probably change on the trail to Santa Fe.”

  Inside the house the family had gathered around Jori, talking, and she explained quickly that they had found enough mules.

  “The mule skinners are here. A rougher-looking crowd I never saw,” Leland said.

  “I expect they have to be,” Jori said shortly, “to drive mules. I’ve seen enough of them to know that they’re the most stubborn creatures on earth.”

  “The wagons are here, too. Al Blanchard found them for us. I never saw wagons like them, but he says they’re just the thing. Conestoga wagons they’re called.”

  “How’d you get along with Rocklin?” Mark grinned. “I thought once or twice you might shoot each other.”

  “It was all business,” she said, then added awkwardly, “He picked up another member for the crew.”

  “Another mule skinner?” Kate asked. “Is he different from the rest?”

  “It’s not a he. It’s a she. She’s not a mule skinner.” She began to tell the story of how Callie Fortier had been added to the party. She told the story in great detail, and Mark took a deep breath.

  “You mean he just pulled his gun and shot the man?”

  “Yes, in the leg. He shot the other man’s hat off, but he could have killed them both. I thought for a minute he meant to.”

  “Well,” Leland said, “Rocklin was telling me how that a woman had never been down the Santa Fe Trail.” He grinned suddenly and laughed in a way they had not heard from him in some time. “And now we’ve got a whole wagonload of females.”

  “Rocklin thinks that’ll be trouble,” Jori said shortly. “We’ll have to show him we can do it, won’t we, Carleen?” She smiled as Carleen nodded.

  “I won’t be no trouble,” she said.

  “Well, I’m going to bed,” Jori said. “I’m worn out chasing after mules. I hope,” she said devoutly, “there are no mules in heaven!”

  * * *

  THE MULE SKINNERS WERE sitting around a fire that they had made, and when Rocklin came up to them, he nodded briefly and spoke as they greeted him. “This is Callie Fortier,” he said. “She’s going to help with the loose stock.”

  “Another woman?”

  The speaker was Grat Herendeen. He was by far the toughest of the mule skinners, a huge man, six feet two and weighing two twenty. He got up and stood staring at the young woman. His hair was stiff, and he had hazel eyes and blunt features. “Bad luck to have a woman on the trail.”

  “Not your worry, Grat. You drive the mules. I’ll take care of everything else. Come along, Callie. I’ll get you fixed up.”

  He led her off. He had found a room that had been used for supplies and he opened the door and said, “You can sleep in here. I’m sorry there’s no bed. We’ll get something to eat and some blankets. You’ll need ’em on the trail anyway.”

  Callie put her bundle down, then looked up at him. “I thank you for saving me from those men.”

  “Sure. Listen, if any of these men bother you, just tell me.”

  “I have a gun.” She reached down and fumbled with the strings on the blanket. She unrolled it and picked up a holstered gun, a small one. “If they bother me, I will shoot them.”

  She was so serious that Rocklin had to grin. “No, I need them to drive the mules. Just tell me if they bother you.”

  Suddenly Callie looked at him, and a thought came to her. She smiled slightly, and her lips curled upward at the corners in a delightful fashion. “Well, what if you bother me?”

  “You can shoot me, I guess. But shoot me in the foot not the head. Come along.”

  Callie studied him then laughed. “I will not shoot you, I think.”

  “Good. Come along. We’ll see if we can find something to eat.”

  Callie Fortier belted the gun around her waist. He winked and said, “Remember, if you got to shoot anybody, don’t kill ’em. Just shoot ’em in the leg or somethin’ like that.”

  “Yes. I will do that, Mr. Rocklin.”

  “I reckon you can call me Chad.”

  “Chad. That is a funny name.”

 
; “I’m a funny fellow. Come along. We’ll get something to eat.” He turned and did not see the smile that came to her. She followed quickly after him, staying close as they left the barn.

  PART TWO

  The Wagon Master

  Chapter Seven

  RELUCTANTLY JORI EMERGED FROM the fitful sleep that had been her lot. Usually she slept very well, but the night had produced nothing but abrupt awakenings and long periods of lying in the bed staring at the ceiling.

  The sound of rough, coarse voices came to her, and interwoven with the voices was the sound of mules braying—an ugly cacophonous sound that Jori knew she would learn to hate on the road to Santa Fe. She loved horses but could find nothing in the ugly mules to admire. The days and weeks she had spent with Rocklin looking them over had not increased her appreciation for the breed. She had asked Rocklin once why they couldn’t use horses, and he had replied, “For one thing, they don’t hold up as well as mules. For another thing, they cost more. And for a third thing, Indians like them a lot better than mules.”

  A thin, faint line representing the dawn touched the window to her left, and, reluctant to move, Jori lay there thinking, This is the last night I will ever spend in my room. She thought of it as my room because it was the only room she had ever known. She had been born in this house, and memories came back of her childhood when this very room had been filled with her toys and girlhood treasures. Now she looked around and traced the furniture that had grown so familiar to her, and the sadness that came to her was almost physical. Again the sounds of men’s rough laughter came, and she tried to shut it out of her mind. Leaving her home was like a little death to her, and though she had tried to hide her feelings from her family, when she was alone, especially in bed at night, the thoughts of severing herself from the only life she had ever known seemed indeed like a sort of doom. She had always known that she would leave this room but only for another one. She would move from this room into another fine house with a husband. There was nothing frightening about that, for this room would be there if she wanted to come back for a visit. But there was something dreadful, terminal, and utterly final about what was going on in her life and in the life of her family.

  Time passed, and the pale sunshine filtering through her windows grew brighter. But Jori’s mood darkened even as the room brightened. She suddenly felt as if she wanted to strike out, to hit something, but there was nothing to fight. She was caught up in a river, an inexorable carrying away, that was taking her to a destination that seemed dark and hopeless. She was shocked when she felt tears swim in her eyes and run down the sides of her temples. She was not a crying young woman, for there had been little to weep over in her life up until this time. There was enough now to bring tears, and she let them flow freely until, suddenly, the pounding of footsteps outside in the hall and then the opening of the door in a violent motion shocked her and ran along her nerves. She sat up abruptly as Carleen came sailing into the room calling out, “Get up—get up, Jori!”

  “Don’t you ever knock, Carleen!” Jori exclaimed. She shook her head at Carleen’s costume. She wore a pair of men’s blue jeans, the smallest that could be bought and which Kate had altered to fit her. She wore a red and white checkered shirt, and her hair was pulled back in pigtails. “What do you want?” she asked with irritation.

  “It’s time to go. We’re getting ready. Come on, Jori.” Carleen came closer and leaned forward and stared at Jori. “What are you crying about?” she said.

  “I’m not crying!”

  “Yes, you are. There are tears running all over your face. I don’t believe it. There’s nothing to cry about.”

  Jori threw the covers back and swung her feet over the side of the bed. “Go away and knock next time you come in a door.”

  Carleen shook her head. “We won’t have no doors to come through, not until we get to Santa Fe. We’re gonna camp out. It’s gonna be great.” She stepped closer and stared with disbelief at her sister. She had been excited and getting underfoot ever since the final preparations for the beginning of the great journey were underway. She had paid little attention to Jori, and now she said, “I don’t know what you’re crying about.”

  “Don’t you tell anybody I was crying, Carleen!”

  Carleen shrugged. “I won’t, but I still don’t know why you’re squawlin’. It’s gonna be just great!”

  “Go on now while I get dressed.”

  “All right, but hurry up.”

  Carleen dashed out the door leaving it wide open, and Jori got up and shut it. She dressed quickly in the early morning light, not bothering to light the lamp. She was wearing a light green dress, high waisted in the fashion of the day. The sleeves were long and came down to her wrists with a pair of turned-down cuffs. She slipped into her flat, low-cut leather shoes, then took one last look around the room. She would come back later for the clothes she was going to take, but this was good-bye to her life. Straightening up, she moved over and poured water out of the pitcher into the basin. She washed her face quickly, looked into the small mirror, and then turned and left her room.

  * * *

  AS KATE COOKED BREAKFAST, she was reminded of her earlier life when she did most of the cooking for a large family. In these later years she had done only specialty cooking, making things that she desired herself. Now, however, the memories came back of harvesttimes when she had cooked for twenty men at a neighborhood farm for little money. She thought of the cabin raisings where she had joined the other women, cooking for the workers who laid the logs, and realized that she had missed something of that time.

  She looked up as Jori entered and saw at once the young woman’s face was stiff and unnatural. She’s grieving and sad to leave home. Ignoring the thought, Kate smiled and said, “You came just in time to help with breakfast.” She saw Jori’s eyes go over the mountain of scrambled eggs and the platters full of biscuits piled high like small mountains and the bacon laid out on platters.

  “What in the world is all this food for!” Jori exclaimed.

  “It’s for the mule skinners and the men on the train.” Kate flipped over six pieces of bacon with a spatula expertly, and they sizzled on the frying pan, sending up the strong odor of meat cooking. “We couldn’t take all the groceries with us, so I thought we might as well fix a breakfast.”

  Leland entered from the door and said nervously, “Is the breakfast about ready?”

  “All ready,” Kate nodded. “Everybody lend a hand, and we’ll take it out and feed them.”

  Mark and Leland helped Kate and Jori take the meal outside. A table was set up, and the men were sitting around smoking and laughing as Kate made the preparations. She lifted her voice and said, “All right, you men, line up here and get your breakfast.”

  Kate watched as the men shuffled over and thought again of her earlier days. She had been accustomed to rough men then, but for the past years, since she had been Leland’s housekeeper and had watched over his children, that memory had faded. It came back strongly now along with the smells of tobacco, leather, and even alcohol from the mule skinners. “Pick up a plate and bring it to me.” Grat Herendeen was the first man, a huge man with his bull whip coiled and over his shoulder seeming almost a part of him. He grinned at her as she filled his plate with the eggs and motioned toward the bacon. “Help yourself, Grat.”

  “Smells mighty good, Miss Kate,” Herendeen said. He moved down and picked up a cup that Jori had filled from the large coffee pot. He winked at her and said, “Going to be a nice trip. Not used to having ladies along on freighting trains.” He waited for her to respond, but she didn’t, and he moved on.

  They loaded their plates, and finally the last man in line came to stand before Kate.

  “Good morning,” Kate said. She had not met this man before. He was no more than average height but trim and strong looking. His curly brown hair escaped from the cap he was wearing, and he had warm brown eyes. She put an extra portion of eggs on his plate and said, “Help yourself to
the bacon and the biscuits.”

  “It looks mighty good, ma’am.” He hesitated and then stood before her, holding his plate in one hand and his cup in the other. “Are you born again by the blood of the Lamb, ma’am?”

  Kate was surprised but suddenly she laughed. “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, I reckon I knowed that before I asked. I could tell you’re a handmaiden of the Lord.”

  “My name’s Kate Johnson.”

  “I’m glad to know you, ma’am. My name’s Brown—Good News Brown.”

  “Good News? That’s not your real name.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is. My ma was a real Christian, ma’am, and she wanted to give me a name to let people know where I stood with God. So, she took part of that Scripture out. She’d been readin’ the story of the birth of the Savior in Luke the day after I was born, so she told me. You know, she read that verse that says when the angels said to the shepherds, ‘Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy.’ My ma always said that sounded like the angels are saying I’ve got good news for you. So she named me Good News. Fellows mostly call me News. That’s all right.”

  “Are you a preacher?” Kate asked.

  “Me? No, ma’am. Just a voice in the wilderness.”

  Kate found herself liking the man. He did not have the roughness about him that some of the other men had. “Maybe we can have services on the trail.”

  “I reckon I’d like that a lot, ma’am.”

  “You’d better watch out for this fella, Miss Kate.”

  Kate turned quickly to see one of the mule skinners that she had already met standing there. His name was Stuffy McGinnis. He was a short, spare, young man, wiry and tough, with the biggest mustache she had ever seen. She had already discovered he was a happy-go-lucky fellow and loved to play practical jokes. He was grinning at her now with fun dancing in his eyes. “I guess it’s my Christian duty to warn you about Good News here.”

  “Is that right, Stuffy? What’s he done?”

  “Oh, he’s the downfall of women, Miss Kate, I’m sorry to announce to you. It’s just terrible the way he leads young women into the ways of unrighteousness.”