Hard Country Page 45

  Spring works turned out to be the best time he had since returning to the Double K. Pa wasn’t so gloomy and bossy, which made the days more pleasant, and the lighthearted company of the waddies from the other outfits lifted CJ’s spirits.

  By the time it ended, every stockman on the northwestern quarter of the basin had thrown over their cattle or was trailing them home. After returning to the Double K, Pa paid off Joe, the temporary hand he’d hired for the works. The next morning CJ and Pa set out for Alamogordo.

  The town had grown some since CJ had seen it last. There were new buildings with fancy brickwork and marble along Pennsylvania and New York avenues, and a three-story state asylum for the blind filled up several large lots near the north edge of town. The cottonwood trees in the long park that bordered the railroad tracks were now tall enough to shade the big green lawns, and at the south end of the park a man-made lake was home to a small flock of beautiful white swans.

  CJ had never seen such pretty birds, and he slowed his pony to take a closer look, only to be hurried along by Pa in the wagon, who wanted a drink, a bath, a meal, and a room. They stopped at the Hotel Southwestern, which looked out over the lake. Pa got them a room for the night and walked across the street for a drink at the only saloon in town, while CJ put the wagon and ponies up at the stables near the hotel. Waiting for Pa to return, he walked over to the lake and watched the swans cruise silently back and forth across the water. An hour passed before Pa found CJ at the lake.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” he said gruffly. “Half reckoned you’d run away.”

  “Sorry,” CJ said. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “I would have tracked you down,” Pa said, handing him a soda pop. “I got this at the grocery store to wet your whistle.”

  The cold, sweet liquid tasted delicious. CJ gulped it down.

  “Don’t get drunk on that stuff,” Pa cautioned.

  CJ grinned. It wasn’t like Pa to make a joke. He felt a surge of warmth run through him. Maybe Pa liked him after all.

  At the barber’s, CJ took a turn in the bathwater after Pa finished in the tub and watched as the barber gave him a shave. Pa had grown a mustache, which made him look older.

  “Are you gonna have him shave the mustache off?” he asked, as the barber ran his straightedge razor up Pa’s neck.

  “Nope,” Pa replied. “Don’t you like it?”

  CJ shrugged.

  “Wouldn’t matter a lick to me if you did or didn’t,” Pa said. “I’m keeping it.”

  The barber chuckled like it was some kind of joke, but CJ didn’t think it very funny.

  At supper in the hotel restaurant, Pa ordered a whole chicken, a slew of vegetables, and a big cherry pie for desert. It was the best meal CJ had eaten since leaving Las Cruces and his mother’s good cooking. He’d learned not to say a word about her to Pa, but there were times he wanted to, especially when he missed her badly.

  After they cleaned their plates, Pa gave CJ the key to their room and told him he would be back later.

  “You’re on your own, but don’t wait up for me,” he said, handing CJ a dime. “The druggist one block over sells soda pop. Go get you one.”

  “Thanks.”

  “In the morning we’ll get supplies and head home.”

  “Okay.”

  He got his soda pop from the druggist and went back to the lake. One swan, motionless near the far shore, had his head tucked under his wing. The others floated effortlessly in the center of the lake. Three children ran ahead of their parents along the park walkway, screeching and chasing each other down the path. A couple strolled by whispering to each other. On the main street, wagons rolled by, draft horses whinnied, and motorcars chugged along.

  CJ sat by the lakeshore in the gathering dusk feeling totally alone. The lights from inside the hotel spread out across the water, making the ripples glisten. He got up, went to the room, undressed, and got into bed. Hours later Pa came in smelling like whiskey and perfume.

  * * *

  In the morning, Patrick walked CJ to Wolfinger’s Dry Goods and told him to pick out two shirts, two pairs of pants, a pair of boots, a new hat, a vest, and some underclothes. He told the clerk to put CJ’s purchases on the ranch account and left CJ there to go to the bank. At the First National, he talked to Sam Gilbert about renewing his loan for another year. Gilbert agreed, Patrick signed the paperwork, and Sam gave him an envelope addressed to CJ in Emma’s handwriting.

  “This came for CJ included in some documents Henry Bowman sent over from your old bank in Las Cruces,” Sam explained. “I’ve been holding it for him.”

  “Thank you kindly,” Patrick said. On the street, he tore open the envelope and read the letter.

  Dear CJ,

  You have a baby brother. He was born early and had a hard time of it for a spell, but he is now gaining weight and growing fast. If he’s anything like you, I’ll be plumb worn out chasing him down once he starts walking.

  His name is Matthew. It’s an old name from my side of the family that was given to my baby brother, who died when he was very, very young. I’m sure you’ll start calling him Matt right away. I’ve told him all about you and he is very eager to meet you.

  I’d hoped you might come to town to see me before school starts in the fall, but Mr. Bowman at the bank told me your pa has moved all his business dealings to Alamogordo, so I guess you won’t be coming here until then. But remember, if you want to come home for the summer, just tell your pa and he’ll bring you.

  I’ll close for now, hoping you are happy and healthy at the ranch and you have a kind thought now and then for your loving mother. I’m about beside myself missing you.

  With all my love,

  Mother

  Patrick tore up the letter and threw it in a trash can at Pop Weigele’s store, where he dropped off the grocery list to be filled.

  “I’ll need it ready pronto,” he told the clerk as he hurried out the door to corral CJ.

  The boy would probably find out about the baby soon enough, but not from him.

  63

  CJ was nearly fourteen the year war broke out in Europe. The news stories and dispatches from the front fascinated him and his two best pals, Austin Feather and Billy McFie. During his time in town with Ma and his baby brother, Matt, he spent hours with his friends discussing the armies, the battles, and especially the pilots who flew reconnaissance airplanes over enemy lines. None of them had ever seen a real airplane, only pictures in the newspapers, but they all agreed being a pilot in the war was about the best job a soldier could have.

  When they weren’t dreaming about flying airplanes, they imagined themselves as marines with the Atlantic Fleet landing in Veracruz to fight the Mexicans. All three hoped the United States joined with the English and French to fight the Hun and the war lasted long enough for them to enlist and see action overseas.

  In the meantime, CJ liked his school in Las Cruces. The teachers made him buckle down to his mathematics studies and the natural sciences, a subject he really enjoyed. Living with Ma and Matt was a lot easier than what Pa had him doing at the ranch, and he had free time on the weekends to explore the countryside outside of town with his two pals.

  CJ didn’t mind hard work at the ranch, but Pa hardly took an interest in him except to correct, scold, or talk some about the critters that needed doctoring or the fix-up work to be done. He never gave a thought to letting CJ take a breather now and then.

  With Ma, on the other hand, once his chores and schoolwork were done, she was willing to see him go off with his friends or let him relax in the evening with a magazine or a book.

  He had warmed to Matt right from the get-go, and Ma wasted no time teaching CJ how to care for the squirt, right down to diaper changing. When a dizzy spell came over Ma, CJ kept an eye on Matt. When Ma went to bed early feeling faint, he sat with Matt at the kitchen table and let him draw pictures on butcher paper while he did his studies. Sometimes when Ma napped in the afternoon, he to
ok Matt to watch the trains come into the depot. Matt loved trains.

  At three, Matt also loved taking things apart. CJ figured him to become a railroad engineer or some sort of mechanical genius.

  That summer at the ranch, CJ rode his pony to Engle and took the train to Las Cruces once a month to visit Ma and Matt for a couple of days. It didn’t sit well with Pa, who tried to talk him out of going and never had much to say once he returned. Although Pa never raised a hand to him, CJ always felt he wanted to, especially when he went against his wishes and talked about Matt and Ma.

  Aside from Pa’s stubborn rejection of Ma and Matt, as long as CJ stayed busy at the ranch and did as he was asked, things went along without a hitch. He’d gotten used to the idea that Pa would never be good company, but the ranch sure was. CJ truly loved the pretty slice of mountains, canyons, and flats bordering the Tularosa that made up the Double K. Every year he learned more and more about what it took to be a good stockman and horse trainer, and he loved that part of it, too, especially the ponies.

  About twice every summer Pa and CJ rode to Alamogordo for supplies, and in the evenings Pa left him at the hotel to go visit a whorehouse on the south side of town, where the Mexican families lived in little adobe casitas. CJ knew it was a whorehouse because once he followed Pa to find out where he went. The painted ladies sitting on the porch made it a real easy giveaway. Las Cruces had some of the same kinds of places.

  The war in Europe was good for the cattle market, so Pa had plenty of money to spend on soiled doves and whiskey. The English were buying large amounts of beef for their boys in the trenches, and with the prosperity at home, folks were consuming more meat. Pa had expanded the herd to meet demand and every year had a contract in his pocket that brought a nice profit come selling time.

  On top of that, the outfit had the reputation for the best cow and ranch ponies in the southwest and the army was buying all the saddle-broke stock that Pa and CJ could provide. Pa felt so flush he’d hired a wrecked old cowboy named Curtis to do the cooking and tend to the chores around the ranch, so he and CJ could concentrate on gentling the ponies and day herding the cows.

  Given to talking to himself and mumbling, Curtis wasn’t much better company than Pa, except he was a mite more friendly and easygoing. He had a long beard that he combed every day, wore a cowboy hat that he never took off except to sleep, and walked with a bad limp due to one leg being shorter than the other. He was a fair cook, ran a tidy kitchen, and didn’t mind any chore Pa gave him.

  By the time CJ turned fifteen he was nearly as tall as Pa and had filled out considerably. Each night as Curtis spooned a second helping on CJ’s plate, he accused him of eating enough grub to feed a bunkhouse full of hungry cowpunchers.

  CJ loved working with the ponies. He had a steady, gentle hand and an even temperament that calmed even the most skittish horse. Solid in the saddle, he rode all but the roughest-pitching ones with ease. When he did get bucked off by a snot-snorting, mean bronc, he never took it out on the critter. Once, after CJ outlasted a truly cussed pony that twisted something fierce in midair and spun completely around before thudding down on all fours, Pa allowed that CJ had glue on his pants. The compliment floored him. Pa hardly ever praised anybody.

  By the end of fall works, CJ stood a hair under six feet, weighed a good one-sixty, and had a cowboy’s sundrenched tan face and the hands of a working man. A stranger had to look close under CJ’s cowboy hat to see he wasn’t quite full grown.

  Early in the morning, Patrick found CJ in his room packing to get ready for his return to Las Cruces. Each night during the last month, after CJ had gone to bed, Patrick had fixed up Cal’s old saddle until it looked almost brand-new. The deep, rich leather gleamed. He heaved it on CJ’s bed.

  “That’s for you,” he said. “It was Cal’s. He’d want you to have it. I fixed it up some.”

  CJ caught his breath. “It sure is a beaut.”

  Patrick counted out some greenbacks and placed them on the dresser.

  “You’re paying me wages?” CJ asked in amazement.

  Pa nodded. “I can afford to this year. Top-hand wages at that, for the whole summer. Don’t spend it all on women.”

  “I’m obliged,” CJ said, smiling at Pa’s attempt to joke.

  “You earned it,” Patrick replied. “You best be on your way.”

  “I’m about to go,” CJ replied.

  “I’m keeping Curtis on,” Patrick said.

  “That’s good,” CJ said.

  Patrick nodded. “Don’t lose that saddle in a poker game.” He turned and left the room before CJ could respond.

  CJ couldn’t figure what had come over Pa. Any show of generosity was unlike him. And what did he mean about betting the saddle? Was it just another bad joke? He sat on the bed and gave the saddle a real close look. Every little rip and tear had been carefully repaired and all the metal polished. Pa had even carved CJ’s initials on the cantle.

  He counted out the money. It was more than he’d ever held in his hand in his entire life. He stuffed the bills in his pocket thinking maybe Pa appreciated him a little after all.

  64

  A week after CJ returned home from the ranch, Emma got a telegraph message that Ignacio Chávez was sick with cancer and about to die. She telegraphed Teresa that she was coming, took CJ out of school, quickly packed for their trip, and with Matthew on her lap and CJ driving the buggy, set out on the journey. Along the way, she told CJ some of the stories she’d heard from Cal, including how John Kerney had shot down an outlaw riding with Billy the Kid who was about to kill Ignacio in cold blood, and the battle the three friends had fought with Buffalo Soldiers in Hembrillo Canyon against Victorio and his band of Apaches.

  The road to Tularosa had been improved considerably, but it was still more than a day’s travel from Las Cruces to the village. They stayed overnight in Alamogordo at the Hotel Southwestern, and after supper CJ took Ma and Matt to see the swans on the lake.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” CJ said. “They mate for life, you know.”

  “That’s the way it should be,” Emma replied softly.

  A distant engine whistle sounded three times.

  “I’m going to see the train,” Matt announced happily as he scooted toward the depot.

  CJ ran after him, lifted him up, and carried him on his shoulders to the depot. Emma followed along, smiling with pride at her two wonderful sons.

  The next morning dawned hot and windy, and with dust stinging their eyes, they set a rapid pace to Tularosa. They arrived at the hacienda, where the Chávez family and relatives, some who had traveled from as far away as El Paso, and many of their village friends were gathered. The adults talked in hushed tones while the young children played noisily in the courtyard.

  Teresa welcomed Emma with a hug and whispered, “Patrick is here.”

  Emma stiffened. She’d not seen him since the day he agreed to her terms for the divorce. “Where?”

  “He’s staying at the hotel. He saw Ignacio last night.”

  “Can I see Ignacio?” Emma asked.

  “Sí, he would like that very much. Take CJ with you. That would please him also. I’ll care for the little one. He looks much like Patrick.”

  In the dim light of the bedroom, Ignacio looked old, thin, and frail. On the blanket chest stood a hand-carved wooden statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe surrounded by candles and wild roses. Propped up by some pillows, he grasped Emma’s hand, managed a smile, and looked at CJ.

  “Who is this hombre?” he said. “Not CJ, all grown-up? He looks much like his abuelo, John Kerney.”

  “Ma’s been telling me stories about you, Cal, and my grandpa,” CJ said.

  “Good stories, I hope,” Ignacio said. “More than once your abuelo saved my life.” He made the sign of the cross, gasped in pain, and waited for it to pass before continuing. “When the pain comes I have few words. Where is your little hijo, Emma?”

  “With Teresa,” Emma answered.

 
; “Ah.” Ignacio forced a smile. “I must meet him.”

  “I’ll bring him to you later,” Emma said.

  Ignacio smiled. “Good. Now, sit with me for a while. I would like that very much.”

  CJ sat on a chair against the wall and Emma perched on the edge of the bed. Haltingly, Ignacio told the story of how John Kerney found him bleeding, beaten, and robbed in La Luz, patched him up, and gave him a job.

  “Years later, I met the man who robbed me and I beat him up,” he said, making a fist. “Cal and your abuelo did many kindnesses for me and my family. I still miss them both.”

  Ignacio drifted off. Outside his bedroom Emma said, “I would have liked to have known your grandfather.”

  “Me too,” CJ replied.

  In the courtyard, some of Teresa’s grandchildren were leading Matt around on the back of a small donkey. He was grinning from ear to ear, kicking his heels against the donkey’s sides, asking to go faster, faster.

  “What can I do to help?” Emma asked Teresa.

  “Nada,” Teresa replied. “I have too much help already. I am sorry I have no room for you to stay with us.”

  “You don’t need us underfoot.” Emma stroked her friend’s hand. She looked weary and sad, and yet she seemed completely composed. “I must do something to help while I’m here.”

  “You are here,” Teresa said. “That is enough.”

  Later in the afternoon, accompanied by Teresa, Emma took Matt to meet Ignacio.

  “Come here, little one,” Ignacio said, his voice shaky and weak. “You look much like your mother and your father. Very handsome. The girls will like you mucho.”

  Matt stepped tentatively to the side of the bed.

  “Are you sick?” he asked.