The Man from Misery

by David C. Noonan

  Emmet handed Mariana a packet and looked into her eyes as he spoke his next words.

  “They murder innocent people. They kidnap innocent children and sell them off as slaves. They’re animals. Lower than animals, because animals don’t kill for pleasure.”

  Mariana lifted her chin and nodded.

  Emmet approached Soapy and flipped him his money. “My friend, you and me saw a lot of action together during the war. I believe with the weapons you brung, the element of surprise, and enough gumption, we can beat them. What do you think?”

  Soapy waved the money back and forth in front of his face like a fan. “I stood beside you at Chickamauga, brother, and I’ll stand beside you now. I believe we can best them, but our chances would be considerably better if Frank would help us.” Soapy looked at Frank, who once again shook his head.

  Emmet approached Frank, tugged five hundred-dollar bills out of a packet and handed it to him. Frank jammed the cash into his pants. Then Emmet dipped into his shirt pocket and, with a trembling hand, removed the photograph that he kept so close to his heart.

  “Your hand is shaking, Honeycut,” Frank said. “You nervous about something?”

  “I’m gonna tell you something I’ve never told anyone before,” Emmet replied.

  “That don’t make me feel privileged,” Frank said.

  Emmet handed him the photograph.

  Frank examined it and said, “It’s a picture of you with a woman and a girl. Means nothing to me.”

  Emmet took the picture back and said, “Those two meant the world to me. For all your bluster about what I did in Dixville, you sure don’t know the story too good.” He handed the photograph to Mariana, who studied it for several seconds.

  “The woman is beautiful, and the girl looks just like her.” She passed the picture back. “Mother and daughter?”

  Emmet nodded and then pressed the picture into Soapy’s hand.

  Soapy jumped to his feet and cried out, “Damn me to hell if that ain’t Amy Baxter and her mother! I almost didn’t recognize her because they’re both gussied up. The only pictures I ever saw of them were the ones they put in the paper. Emmet, what’s this mean?”

  “That was my engagement picture, Soapy. Me and Polly Baxter was supposed to get hitched. That’s why she and Amy were at the Dixville Hotel that Saturday night. We were gonna get our license the next morning and get married later that afternoon.”

  Soapy smoothed the palm of his hand over his bald head. “How come nobody knew about this?” His voice was a shaky mix of bewilderment and distress. “It never came out at your trial. Nobody knew anything about it.”

  “Three can keep a secret when two are dead,” Emmet said. “Polly’s husband abandoned her and Amy two years before. She was still married according to the law, so we kept our relationship secret. Nobody knew about our engagement, especially not in Dixville. We agreed not to tell anybody we were married until it was done.”

  A puzzled look came over Chiquito. “What happened to the woman and the child?”

  “They died in a hotel fire along with several others,” Emmet said, “including her brother, who was gonna be my best man. Amy was gonna be her mother’s maid of honor.”

  Chiquito lowered his head as if to let the enormity of the tragedy soak in. Tears rimmed Mariana’s eyes. Everybody remained silent as Emmet turned back to Frank.

  “I came to Dixville to start a new life, Frank, but that night, fate turned my new life into cinders and ash. Amy was gonna be my stepdaughter, and I shot her. I killed my own kid. I killed the little girl that I loved so much. Now, what do you think of that?”

  Frank stared at Emmet with eyes as cold as cairns. The big man rose and, in an uncharacteristically soft voice, said, “If I ask you an honest question, will you give me an honest answer?”

  “I almost always tell the truth.”

  “When you shot that girl, did you know her mother was already dead?”

  Emmet ran a sweaty hand through his hair and looked up at the sky, steeling himself, trying to keep the bitter memory from besting him. He bit back tears, tasted blood in his mouth, and looked back at Frank.

  “No, I didn’t know her mother was already dead. I was hoping she had made it out alive.” He took a deep breath. “And if I was willing to answer to her for what I did, I sure as hell don’t need to answer to you.”

  Frank’s shoulders drooped, and he stared at the tops of his boots. He exhaled a slow sigh that shrank his big body.

  “I don’t know if you’ve done things in your life that you wish you hadn’t, Frank, but I have,” Emmet said. “And rare is the day when a person gets a chance to make up for it. But I’m in that position now, and tomorrow is that day. Not that I believe what I did was wrong, but to answer to those people who’ve believed I was wrong. People like you. Now, will you help us free those girls?”

  Frank lifted his head, stood tall again, and said, “Honeycut, I guess my motivation is a lot simpler than yours—I joined this posse for money, so, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to take the rest of my two thousand dollars right now.” He extended his doughy hand, palm up.

  Emmet supported the bottom of Frank’s outstretched hand with his left palm, slapped the packet of money into it with his right, and said, “Frank, thanks for letting me think dangerously noble thoughts again.”

  Soapy ambled over and wrapped an arm around Emmet’s shoulder in a gesture that appeared to be one part admiration for his confession, and one part condolence for his loss. “Looks like you’re heading up a shooting party,” Soapy said. “Looks like it’s time for a reckoning.”

  Emmet offered a weak smile. “Then let’s get going.”

  The group bolted into action, removing the contents of the supply wagon to make room for the girls they hoped to free, hitching the animals, and stashing the packets of money. As Mariana turned to go, Emmet reached for her arm.

  “If nothing else,” he said, “I’m gonna prove to you that I’d kill for love and, if necessary, die for it, too. There ain’t a greater testament I can make to you, Miss Mariana. And just in case something happens to me, I want you to keep my money.”

  “I can’t,” Mariana said. “I’m superstitious. It could jinx you. Better that you keep your money and take this.”

  She removed the cross from her neck. “Miguel gave it to me as a wedding present.” She pressed it into Emmet’s palm. “Promise me I’ll see you again.”

  “I promise I’ll do everything possible to try and make that happen.”

  Their lips and tongues met in a salty, bittersweet kiss, and Emmet felt all his past sorrows evaporate in that one tender moment. He clung to her a bit longer, her mouth soft and warm, unsure of whether he’d ever see her again.

  “I’ll pray for you,” she whispered, and then she took Lucita by the hand and led her to the wagon. They climbed into the seat just as Chiquito lobbed himself into the back next to Reno’s body. Through the trees Emmet followed Mariana with his eyes as she guided the wagon along the trail until it disappeared over the ridge. Now it was time to saddle up, get into position near the hacienda, and wait for morning.

  CHAPTER 28 PEDRO’S BAKERY

  Mariana, Chiquito, and Lucita rumbled down the road to Santa Sabino. Dusk had blackened into night, and high thin clouds surrounded the risen moon.

  “I’ll hide under the blanket when we get to Santa Sabino,” Chiquito said.

  “Why do you have to hide?” Lucita asked.

  “People are looking for me,” the Apache replied. “People who want to hurt me.”

  Mariana added, “Just like those bad men who took you away from your father and mother.”

  “But you didn’t do anything bad, did you?” the girl asked.

  “Some people think I did,” Chiquito replied, “but I don’t think I did.”

  Mariana glanced up at the darkening clouds and lifted the rebozo over her head.

  “It must be strange, Chiquito,” she said, “spending your days knowing th
at men are hunting for you, that death could be right around the corner.”

  “Death is around the corner for all of us.”

  “True,” Mariana said. “Better to focus on life.”

  “What is life?” the Indian said. “It’s the flash of a firefly dancing in the twilight, the sound of a bird singing at dawn.” He pointed to the sky. “It’s a perfect pale ring around the moon telling us that tomorrow will bring rain.”

  “You strike me as a man of fierce dignity,” Mariana said.

  “I seek to become a good ancestor.”

  Mariana sat contemplative for a few minutes and then said, “My father was not a good ancestor.”

  “I’m sorry about your father,” Chiquito answered, “but, from what I understand, he was only trying to protect you.”

  “By killing Emmet? By betraying all the people who trusted him?” Mariana’s words blazed with anger. “Garza murdered my husband.”

  “I did not know that.”

  “It was years ago, but I’ve never forgotten Miguel, and I’ll never rest until he is avenged.”

  “I am grateful that I can help you with your sacred duty,” Chiquito said.

  “My father was not an honorable man, but I believe you are, even with a bounty on your head. And I believe Emmet is an honorable man, chivalrous even.”

  Lucita turned to Mariana and asked, “What does ‘chivalrous’ mean?”

  “Emmet told me that back in olden days, knights in shining armor swore oaths to be chivalrous,” Mariana explained. “That meant they would try to be brave and honest and do nice things for people.”

  “Then Emmet is chivalrous,” the girl said with a smile and a bounce of her head.

  “I think so, too,” Mariana said, and then she stroked the girl’s black hair.

  “What about Dixville?” Chiquito asked. “Was that chivalrous?”

  Mariana’s smile faded as she considered the question. “I think he did what his conscience told him to do. I think he has always remained true to himself.”

  “Sounds like a lot of people hate him for being true to himself.”

  “Emmet told me that he’d rather be hated for who he was than loved for who he wasn’t,” Mariana said, “which I find strange, because I believe most people want to be loved.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “I do.”

  “Your feelings for him have nothing to do with his willingness to take on Salazar and Garza and avenge Miguel?” Chiquito asked.

  “It’s not like that. I would feel the same if he had decided not to fight.” Mariana looked back and saw Chiquito arch an eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?” she asked.

  “Whatever you say,” the Apache replied. “You realize he comes across as cold and quiet to people who don’t know him.”

  “Every person has his secret sorrows that none of us knows about. Emmet has a scar on his heart. A lot of times people call a man cold or quiet or aloof when he is only sad.”

  “Do you have secret sorrows?” Chiquito asked.

  “I do,” Mariana answered, “just like you.”

  They fell silent, and Mariana returned to her own thoughts until they reached the outskirts of town, where Chiquito concealed himself under the blanket. The wagon rolled along dark, empty streets. Mariana detoured around the Ox-Bow Saloon to avoid any encounters with early morning carousers and squeezed the wagon along an alley next to the church. She escorted Lucita to the back door and knocked several times.

  “Father Ramirez will keep you safe until I return, Lucita. And I will keep these beautiful flowers in my hair to remind me of you.”

  The little girl grinned, and they hugged, just as the sleepy priest opened the door. Father Ramirez had a long face shaped like a shoe with a wide, round forehead and a smaller, curved jaw line. Even through drowsy eyes he radiated kindness. As soon as Mariana explained Lucita’s situation to him, he yanked the girl inside out of sight. Then he helped Chiquito remove Reno’s body and place it in his office and drape a blanket over it.

  “Nobody will see him in here, Mariana,” the priest said. “I’ll get the undertaker later.”

  “I’ll explain what happened to my father later, too,” Mariana said. “In the meantime, if all goes well, Pedro will be bringing you the rest of the girls in this same wagon in a few hours.”

  “I’ll be ready,” he said.

  She climbed back into the wagon and wove her way through the side streets. She could tell she was nearing Pedro’s bakery because the aroma of fresh bread filled the air. When he saw Mariana pull up, the baker sprang through the front doorway to meet her. Pedro was a short, clean-shaven man in his mid-thirties, with a wide nose and thick eyebrows.

  “Right on time,” he said wiping his floury hands on his apron. “Time to swap wagons. But where’s your father?”

  “Dead,” Mariana said. “It’s a long story that I don’t have time to tell right now.”

  “But who will drive the wagon with the food into the hacienda?”

  “I will.”

  ‘No,” Pedro protested. “It’s too dangerous. Does Major Kingston know about this?”

  “No. Salazar took him prisoner.”

  Pedro’s forehead dripped with sweat from the heat of the ovens, and he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “And yet we’re still going through with this?”

  “Yes. The army is arriving later this morning, but Salazar doesn’t know it.”

  “A day early,” the baker said, rubbing his hairless chin. “So we need to get in and out before they arrive.”

  “Listen to me, Pedro. I can do this. I will get Chiquito inside the compound and deliver the food before the shooting starts. I’ll be safe.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Believe in me. I plan to be out of there as soon as these supplies are unloaded.”

  The baker gazed at her for several seconds and then nodded.

  “You’re a good man, Pedro. Don’t worry. You’re the one who is taking a big risk. You are willing to drive the getaway wagon with the girls inside in the middle of a gunfight.”

  “I was blessed with two sons,” he said. “If they had been daughters, who knows? Maybe the cousins would have abducted them, and then where would I be? Come, let me show you the trick wagon; it’s a clever design. Major Kingston told me he used it several times during the war to sneak spies behind enemy lines.”

  Mariana alerted Chiquito with a light tap on his moccasin, and he slid from beneath the blanket. Pedro flipped the tarp back on the bakery wagon. It was loaded with baskets of tortillas and sweet breads.

  “You’ll miss Salazar’s business when this is over,” Mariana observed.

  “No, I won’t,” Pedro said with a snort of disgust. He reached beneath the wagon and pulled out a wooden pin that held the trap door up. The door dropped and thudded against the hub band of the wheel.

  “Mariana, the door opens from the outside only. When you let Chiquito out, let the door down gently to avoid making any noise. Don’t do what I just did.”

  She practiced several times to get it right. Once she was comfortable maneuvering the trap door, Chiquito climbed in and scrunched himself into the cramped quarters. Mariana handed the Apache his rifle and knives, which he tucked against his side, and then she slipped the pin in, locking him inside. She noted that the freeboard above his head extended less than three inches.

  “Do not forget about me,” Chiquito whispered.

  “How could I forget somebody so willing to help me with my sacred duty?” Mariana whispered back.

  She turned and embraced Pedro. The baker handed her a bag of pastries. “Use these to distract the guards. And give my regards to Mrs. Medina in the kitchen. She’s as ornery as they come.”

  Mariana stepped on the toe board, climbed into the seat, snapped the reins, and steered the horses towards the hacienda.

  CHAPTER 29 WAITING FOR SUNRISE

  Even with the gathering clouds, the moon provided enough light to guide Emmet
’s night travel. He maneuvered into position an hour early to make sure the baker’s wagon got through. Ruby Red was tied up fifty yards behind him, pawing at the ground, itching to go.

  Emmet wiped the dew off Big Betty with his hand and then unwrapped the spyglass. It felt as cold as an icicle lying across his fingertips. Squinting through the eyepiece, he saw the front gate through the trees. The breath of two guards positioned behind the campfire puffed out in little white clouds in the early morning chill. The frosty air forced Emmet to wrap the blanket tighter around his torso.

  He hoped everybody would soon be where they needed to be: Mariana driving the wagon to the compound, Chiquito hidden inside it, warming the cold metal of his knife and rifle with his body heat; Zack perched on the ledge looking down on Salazar’s window; Soapy swabbing out the cannon while Abe stacked shells; Frank and Billy maneuvering the Gatling gun near the humpback bridge; Pedro positioning the getaway wagon near the hacienda.

  For now, all he could do was sit. Trees around him swished in the occasional breeze, and a great horned owl hooted several sad notes in the distance. Emmet had never felt more alert. Blood was coursing through him like spring snowmelt, and the hairs on his arms extended like brush bristles. But his excitement was tempered by the knowledge that lives could be lost—innocent lives.

  As he waited in that dark surround, it struck Emmet as strange to know that this night of peace was about to explode into a morning of cannon blasts and gunfire. But then he realized this was just like so many of his war experiences: crouching in the woods at night, eager to attack at first light, hoping that all his friends would make it out alive.

  Now Emmet heard the wee-wah of wagon wheels. Mariana rolled up to the main gate, and a shiver of anxiety came over him as his first minutes of worry commenced. Emmet believed nothing should divert a man’s attention when he goes into battle. Nothing. And here was Mariana, more than a beautiful distraction; she would be a source of constant worry to him as long as she remained in harm’s way.