by Savanna Sage
Then she saw the dog, bigger than Prince, but she couldn’t stop herself from calling to it, inviting it to come close enough for her to pet. But the dog kept its distance.
Finally giving up, she straightened, and Adam took her hand in his big, warm one as if he’d been holding it all her life. To her surprise, even though she barely knew him, she didn’t mind at all.
The one-story DeSoto house was built within sight of the barn. Four children of various sizes waited at the railing of a porch stretching the width of the house. When they caught sight of Paul, two of them went racing in the front door as if in competition, shouting over each other, desperate to be the first with the message, “He’s home!” “Papa’s here!” “He’s back!” “Papa brought comp’ny!”
Paul reached out and ruffled the short hair on the nearest child remaining on the porch. The other child, also with hair that hung above her shoulders, stared at Stella and Adam with a steadfast gaze that challenged their right to be there.
“I’ve brought guests,” Paul announced as he stepped through the doorway.
The staring child pointed up at Stella. “Is you a gi’l or a boy?”
Stella hesitated, unsure how much she wanted to reveal to this child.
“Ya looks like a di’ty gi’l, but you got on boy britches,” the child explained.
“Well, girls can wear britches,” Stella replied. “Haven’t you heard of women who dressed as soldiers and fought in the war?”
“Not s’pposed ta fight,” the child said. “Have ta clean the privvy if ya do.”
“You don’t have a bathroom?” Stella asked in dismay.
“Nope.”
“I could put one in,” Adam said. “It’d be easier here than up north where it freezes.”
Stella glanced up at him with admiration, and a tinge of embarrassment. Bathrooms weren’t the subject of polite conversation.
“No room for one,” Paul called through the doorway. “Come see for yourself.”
Stella gazed in through the door at a moving mass of small humans. She’d never seen so many children in such a small space before. It was like the Old Woman in the Shoe brought to life. How could she work here when there wasn’t any room to walk?
A plump, black-haired lady just taller than the tallest child turned from the stove and smiled at her visitors, her round apple cheeks rosier than her brown skin.
“Carmen,” Paul said. “Do you have enough for two more?” He glanced at Adam. “I mean, three more?”
“Three?” Carmen said, her forehead creasing in thought. “If they aren’t all as big as him.” She gestured toward Adam with a fork.
“How big’s this manager of yours?” Paul asked.
“Small as Steel,” Adam said, putting his flat hand on Stella’s head.
“Who’s stealing?” Carmen asked above the din of children’s voices, scanning her children as if she could spot a culprit.
“Not stealing, as it taking things,” Adam explained. “Steel like metal. It’s her name.” He patted Stella on the head like a puppy. She moved out from under his hand and folded her arms.
“Strong name,” Carmen said. “Strong girl.” She nodded. “You seat everyone, yeah?” Then she turned back to the stove.
Stella looked around the room. Did Carmen mean for her to make all of the children sit down at the same time? How could she possibly do that? The only thing she could think of was to grab them one by one and tie them to their chairs, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t what Carmen had in mind.
A piercing whistle made Stella slap her hands over her ears. Surely a runaway train wasn’t headed their way. Her pulse quickened as she imagined a locomotive smashing into this crowded house, splintering the walls and the children’s bones with no regard for what was what.
Instead of a wildly careening train, she saw Paul take his fingers out of his mouth and stand at attention, surveying his children. “Listen to her,” he said, pointing at Stella.
When all the eyes suddenly swiveled toward her, Stella froze.
“Well?” Paul asked.
“Uh,” Stella said, trying to think beyond the sharp hunger digging into her belly. “Thank you for letting us come here.” She pointed to Adam, then herself. “We are so glad you’ll share your food with us.”
“Say what you want them to do,” Paul prompted.
Stella stared at him as the children at the edges of the room started roaming again. Paul’s whistle brought them up short.
“What did Carmen tell you?” Paul asked, impatience plain in his voice. He made shooing motions toward the table.
“Oh, all of you take a seat.” Stella patted the air with her hands, her face growing warm with embarrassment as she wondered why Paul didn’t just tell them himself. “Sit down. At the table.”
The children scrambled for the benches along either side of the long wooden table. With a practiced move, Carmen slid a plate of fresh tortillas and a large bowl of beans onto the tabletop between the heads of two children. Then she turned back to the sideboard and swept back again with a bowl of rice. Then she clapped her hands once and all the children bowed their heads like puppets. Carmen dropped her gaze to the floor and fired off some words in Spanish. “Amen,” she said, followed by a thunderous roll of “Amen’s” from the DeSoto children.
Stella turned to see Paul watching his brood. “Sir?” she asked.
He turned toward her, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m just wondering, you could have sat them down after a single whistle.”
Paul nodded.
“So why did you have me do it?”
“Carmen asked you to.”
“She could have done it easier herself.”
“Then how would you learn?” Paul asked.
“Truthfully, sir, I’m better with horses than children. I’m an only child.”
Paul glanced up at the ceiling and muttered, “How would it be?” His gaze settled back on Stella. “Well, there’s no better time to learn than now for when you have your own babies.”
Stella could hardly believe he’d mentioned having babies with Adam in the room, even though he’d wandered across to another door while the children were seated. Blushing hotly, she wondered if having so many children made it such a casual subject of conversation.
“Now, do you want to eat or not?”
Stella nodded.
Paul glanced at Adam, who opened the far door and stuck his head out as if checking the weather. “Hey, Adam, if you don’t come and get it, there won’t be any left.”
Adam pulled his head back in and announced, “There’s room back here for a lean-to bathroom.”
“Are you a plumber?” Paul asked.
“No. More like a helper.”
“Then come and eat.”
“I helped with different kinds of building when I was a boy,” Adam said, “even bathrooms.”
“Pipes, fixtures, lumber, it all costs money,” Paul said. “So does feeding you, so just plan on earning your way in the barn. Alright?” He pushed two children closer together on the bench. They giggled. “Here. See if you can fit.”
Adam eyed the small space. “I’ll just eat standing up.” He glanced at the doorway again as if working numbers in his head, then added, “I should go see if Spud is out there looking for me.”
“That your dog?”
“No. My manager.”
Paul scooped some beans and rice onto a tortilla, rolled it up, and handed it to Adam. “What does he manage, again?”
Stella watched Adam give Paul a wary glance before answering, “My appointments.” He waved his rolled-up food at the DeSoto family and ducked outside.
Chapter 10
Adam bit into his tortilla bundle with his hand cupped underneath to catch any spills, but the roll was so expertly wrapped that all the loose ingredients stayed in. As they welled up over the top from the pressure of his fingers, he slurped at them to keep them from sliding down over the sides. It was delicious, even though the
last bite still wasn’t enough to fill his stomach.
He wanted to tell Cinderella who he was, that he’d already met her, and thought she was beautiful and interesting, but she’d seemed so afraid in the woods. He didn’t want her to be scared of him. He also had a feeling that she wouldn’t want any part of someone who earned an illegal living by punching an opponent until he couldn’t stand up. A woman’s perception of violence, even if it was agreed upon by both parties, didn’t make either a good impression or acceptable marriage material.
Adam headed for the center of town, scanning the streets for Spud. His manager never liked sleeping in barns, but enjoyed booking a room in the best hotel every time there was a winning fight to pay for it.
Adam’s hand ached to hold Steel’s again. That couldn’t be her real name. She was so appealing, even dressed in men’s clothes, with a dirty face and ragged hair. What had happened to her since the last time he saw her? Why did she try to pass herself off as a man? She seemed so scared and defensive. He wanted to know everything about her, wanted to protect her and help her feel safe again.
“Hey, Smasher!” Spud called, hurrying toward him. Then he stopped and sniffed. “Where you been?” He glanced down at Adam’s boots. “You step in something?”
“Could have.” Adam scraped his shoes against the ground. “That’s what you usually find in a barn.”
“Let’s get some grub,” Spud said.
Adam thought about all the hungry mouths devouring Carmen’s tortillas, and decided it was best not to take Spud back there for dinner. “With what?”
“I already got a bet on you, from the worst enemy of your opponent.”
“You shouldn’t spend it,” Adam said. “What if you have to pay it out?”
Spud slapped Adam on the back, “What’re you sayin’? You’re a winner, sure bet. You worry too much. Besides, there’s a free food table.”
Spud led the way into a sagging saloon that looked ready to fall down alongside London Bridges. Adam hesitated in the doorway, wondering what magic kept it standing. He didn’t feel up to the task of holding up the ceiling, should the need arise.
“C’mon!” Spud called, glancing back and rolling his hand in encouragement. With the familiarity of a repeat customer, Spud strode to a table near the bar, picked up a cracked slice of rye bread, and popped it into his mouth. His loud crunch acted like a summons for a round middle-aged lady to bob out of the back room, her cheeks jiggling as she carried a bowl of boiled eggs with suspicious dark streaks on their pocked white sides, as if they’d been handled by dirty fingers.
“Spud!” she cried as if spotting an old friend. “You’re back.” She waved the bowl beneath his nose, swirling the pungent odor of sulfur through the air. “You buy a drink, you get a free egg,” she said.
“You know it,” Spud said, reaching out for an egg, swiping it across his sleeve, and popping the whole thing in his mouth. Chewing, he mumbled, “I brought my friend, too.” Spud tipped his head toward Adam.
The woman held out the bowl of eggs, which actually didn’t look as bad as some things Adam had eaten in his life, but they didn’t look good enough to add to the warm burrito sitting comfortably in his belly, so he shook his head. He’d rather fill in the gaps with something else.
“Your drink, then,” the woman said. “Help yourself to the food while I get it for you.” She threw an elbow toward the table, making her eggs wobble dangerously in the bowl. Adam glanced over the familiar offerings of pretzels, pungent sauerkraut, little dry-eyed herrings, peanuts, hard, wrinkled sausages, potato chunks fried nearly black, and pickles.
“Hey,” Adam said. “There’s sauerkraut.”
“You can have it,” Spud said.
Adam piled some pickled cabbage onto his plate. Not all saloons put out sauerkraut as a thirst-inducing food to generate sales of overpriced, watered down drinks. Another item Adam tried were regional fried corn chip triangles. Adam crunched on one while Spud loaded up his own plate. “These potatoes ain’t right,” Spud complained, heaping a goodly amount of scorched potato chunks onto his plate. “Can’t never get ‘em as good as Idaho’s,” he added wistfully
“Why is it you never think anything’s as good as what you grew up on?” Adam asked. “I’ll bet you just forgot about the weevils in your cereal and all the bruises on your potatoes.”
“You only wish you was a Idaho boy,” Spud said, then carried his plate to a wobbly corner table with two empty whisky bottles. He picked one up and put his eye to the open neck. “Not even dregs,” he said, then sniffed the bottle and set it back down.
Adam followed. The lady set drinks in front of them and Spud gave her a coin and a wink. She gave him a smile before strutting away.
“I’ve got you a fight,” Spud said as Adam pushed his drink over to the edge of Spud’s plate. Spud took an appreciative bite just as Adam asked, “Who with?”
Mouth full, Spud pushed a paper covered with a hand-written scrawl over to Adam’s side of the table. Adam stared at it, then glanced up at Spud’s bulging cheeks.
Spud grabbed the paper back and swallowed with an effort. “Sorry, I forgot.” After taking a long drink from his glass, he pointed at the first line and said, “You fight the Waxwing Wonder tonight.”
“Tonight?” Adam asked, alarmed.
Spud nodded. “You’re lucky I arranged it so quick-like. I never seen so many fans, already gathering as we lick our plates clean. Money’s already changing hands. Think of it, Smasher, you was in that jail long enough to rest up, and there ain’t no use putting it off, is there? Ain’t it better to do it quick-like, so’s not to noise it about where the law might hear of it?”
“Where?”
“Out by the river, under cover of the cottonwoods. And the full moon tonight’ll be high enough we don’t need torches. They smell, and could give us away.” Spud motioned to Adam’s plate. “Hurry. Eat. Get your strength up. You need some sarsaparilla or something for washing it down?”
Adam glanced at the broken corn chips left on his plate. If Spud wanted him to eat for fighting, he should have ordered him a steak. “I’m alright,” Adam said, glad all over again for Mr. DeSoto’s hospitality and his wife’s food.
Reaching past his empty glass, Spud picked up Adam’s drink and drained it while getting to his feet. “Where you going?” The waitress asked as they moved toward the door.
“We’ve got business,” Spud said. “But we’ll be back.”
She smiled at him. “More drinks, then.”
Spud grinned. “A whole bottle.”
Adam tensed. Spud with a whole bottle of alcohol in him was a bad idea. It was a waste of money, too. If he won this fight, and he was determined to win it, then he’d fake an injury if he had to, just so Spud would have to go with him to a hotel and doctor him with bandages or pain remedies. Adam realized with a pang of regret that he wouldn’t be seeing Steel again tonight, and he hadn’t told her he wouldn’t be back. Would Steel even notice that he didn’t return? They may have saved a burrito for Spud. If he won the fight, Spud would insist on a hotel room rather than sleep in the barn. Adam resolved to go back to the DeSoto’s first thing in the morning.
As they walked out into the cooling night under a brilliant full moon, Adam asked, “Where’s my gear?”
“Under that tree.”
When they retrieved their two satchels, hidden so well beneath creeping mahonia that robbers would have had to prune back the groundcover to steal them, Adam pulled his bag open. There wasn’t much worth stealing. An extra shirt and pair of trousers in Adam’s size were just about all that fit in his bag, leaving precious little room for a razor and comb. He’d also rolled and stuffed a towel inside for washing up after a fight.
As they made their way toward the Santa Fe River, Adam felt his blood course hot through his body in anticipation of the coming action. He didn’t really like fighting. He would never punch out a hobo stumbling off a train. When he fought off bullies, he was doing it for a good reaso
n. Now he fought willing opponents, but they weren’t bullies. Still, he once made $500.00 from a single fight in Bodie, California when pitched against the town favorite, a blonde giant hailing from a frozen island in the northern Atlantic. California may have been too warm for the ice giant to keep his edge, because Adam beat him, winning against staggering odds. It was a thrilling moment.
As they approached the fight area, the flickering light of a couple of torches stood out like lighthouses. “I thought this was a moonlight fight,” Adam said.
“Not everybody agrees.”
“Those lights will beg the law to come arrest me,” Adam said.
“You’re too fresh from jail,” Spud said. “That don’t hardly ever happen no more. Pueblo’s just a backward town.”
“Fighting’s still against the law. I could be arrested.”
“You won’t.”
“I wish they’d put out the torches.”
“Them’s paying customers.”
When they broke through the outer rim of the cottonwoods, Adam scanned the crowd reaching from the river bank to the treeline. A hundred faces turned his way, sizing him up, shuffling money in their hands as they thought over who to bet on and how much to wager.
Adam’s shirtless opponent stood halfway between the trees and the river, the moonlight sculpting his muscles in silver. The fighter was turned away, focused on a long-faced man thumping his hand against his fist in practice punches. At the increased murmuring of the crowd, the Waxwing Wonder turned his head, surprising Adam with his youth. Perhaps it was just a trick of the moonlight, which glinted off Waxwing’s copper colored hair, making Adam suspect there were freckles spilling across the young man’s face.
Adam tightened his fists, ready to expand those freckles into bruises. He imagined using some of his winnings to treat Steel to a fancy dinner at the Corn Exchange Hotel. He supposed Spud would want to eat with them, too, unless he’d rather pick at the free crumbs in the saloon.