Between Earth & Sky (6 page)

The afternoons are already hot, and so after lunch, Amy sleeps in the house. We had a brood of little chicks, and it is her job and delight to care for them. Before supper I read to her and try to teach her to make her letters. If I would let her, she would spend all day playing with rabbits and toads or with the Mexican children who live nearby. But I am concerned her English is suffering, since she hears only Clayton and me speak it. She is such an obedient child, and I do wish to give her every opportunity she would have in the east. But there are no schools here; indeed, I do not know of any American children living within an hour's ride.

“I like to play with the rabbits,” she said one evening after hearing me discuss my concerns with Clayton. We have several we are raising now in a pen, and Amy feeds them and spends half the afternoon playing with them. She sometimes takes one out of the pen and brings it inside, carrying it around as if it were a doll. I do not know what she will say when she finds out they are for our dinner!

Your Sister,

Abigail

August 29, 1870

Dearest Maggie,

We were not able to get water for our land, and most of our crops are dried up. But there has been more rain this summer—thunderstorms that race through the valley just before sunset—and so we have some beans for drying and a little corn. I have plenty of tomatoes, green beans, and some grapes from the vines you sent.

I asked Clayton if I could visit home with the children during Christmas, but the trip by train is expensive, and unless he has more luck with the mines, we won't be able to come. I do miss you and the children. Irene and Robert must have both grown so, and I can only imagine from your descriptions what little Alex must look like. Clayton left a week ago to make the extra money we need to get our supplies for winter and has promised we can hitch the wagon and ride to Mesilla when he returns. Last year after the drought and Clayton's loss in the mines, we were unable to go. I have so looked forward to the trip. If there is enough money I will get a bolt of cloth for a new dress for me and for Amy, and I will get Mexican Christmas presents for you.

Yours,

Abigail

January 21, 1871

Dearest Maggie,

Your gifts were much appreciated. I have not had persimmons since the ones you sent last Christmas, and the shoes were needed by all of us. Amy is so used to going barefoot, she had to be shown how to button hers. Now she wears them everywhere and is proud of the buttons on them.

I am glad you liked the weavings. The carving is of olive wood and quite rare. I bought it from an Arab in Mesilla. There were all sorts of people in the market—Chinamen, Arabs, easterners, and, of course, the Mexicans. We saw every sort of vegetable and fruit and various goods for sale there also, many of which I did not know the name. There were brilliant birds in cages and richly colored cloth, porcelain figures and tea sets, if you could pay the price. The southerners have started a school and two churches. Would that we lived closer so that we could attend church and I could send Amy to school. We met a rancher who has made his fortune growing cotton. How he gets so much water I am not sure.

Clayton allowed me to purchase a new sketching pad, and I bought calico that is black-striped for dresses, and a heavy cotton for Clayton's trousers, and muslin. I will put a piece of the calico in with the letter. I have given up on bustles, the same as I did on hoops. I simply cannot get around in them.

Your Sister,

Abigail

April 15, 1871

My Dear Maggie,

Rainstorms sweep across the sky these past few weeks with the sudden sound of horses pounding over a hill or a stampede of cattle. Almost every afternoon I must call Amy inside, then we two stand at the front door, watching the thick, dark sky move towards us like a heavy cloth pulled by the hand of God. Seconds later, His fury is upon us with the pummeling of heavy drops that splatter when they hit the ground, and in an instant the world turns so thick with water that we cannot single out one drop but see only the pounding darkness as if the curtain has been drawn round us.

But it is God's blessing, also, any water that falls, even if it comes in torrents. The desert blooms wildly this spring, cacti which were dried husks all of last summer bursting with yellows, deep reds, and pinks and blues, everywhere the brilliant, exotic flowering.

There is so much rain that I have had to replant our spring crops, some several times, as the seeds wash away. But we have plenty of lettuce and greens, rows of turnips, even, and peas. I have introduced some of our varieties of vegetables to the locals, who think they are indeed good.

Clayton is away most of the time, working at the mines, and so it is Amy and I who do the planting. I carry George Michael strapped in a carrier to my back as I am planting, like a little papoose! This is a most practical arrangement, as it leaves my hands free and George Michael is content to watch us, swaying gently in his perch.

All of last week Clayton was gone, hoping he would find the vein of gold he assures me does exist. Both the water rights and a windmill must be purchased if we are to irrigate our crops, and he is hopeful the money will be forthcoming. With any luck in the mines, it will be.

We look forward to a summer, finally, when we will be able to bring in a harvest.

Your Loving Sister,

Abigail

June 1, 1871

Dear Maggie,

There have been days these past few months when I have wished the mines and the gold and copper, whatever comes out of them, into oblivion. When Clayton returns from them he is most often in a rage, for every mine he invests in fails. Three days ago he rode up just before supper and threw his bags on the floor. He was standing in the doorway—all dark with the sun behind him—and Amy ran to me, saying she was afraid. “That's right, child,” Clayton told her. “Run from me. Wherever I go, there is no good comes of it.”

“Forget the mines,” I said to him after we had eaten supper. “If we can get more water for the crops, we can try farming. You said yourself the land is fertile.”

Clayton shook his head and laughed. “All we need is water,” he said, throwing his hands up as if the only way we could get it would be from God Himself. Indeed, Maggie, some days it does seem this is true. There has been no rain for ten days, and already, this early in the summer, after such a wet spring, the ground is dry.

But I must keep hope, so I grabbed one of his hands between mine. It was thick, and rougher than when we lived in Virginia. “We have the water,” I told him. “We only have to get it up here.”

“All right,” he said, but looked as if he had given up making things work here. “I'll go tomorrow and see about the water rights. We still need money for a windmill and a pump. But if I pull out all my money, we might scrape together enough.” He stopped talking and looked straight at me. “It will mean quitting the mines.”

I almost smiled. I am overtired, Maggie, of him being gone days at a time. “The seeds are nearly in,” I told him. “Amy and I will start digging the ditches.” We had watered the garden near the house, but the corn and cotton and beans need water from the river.

“It is what I came here for,” Clayton said, so quietly I had to stop thinking to hear him. “The mines are what I came here for.”

I had nothing to say to that and went to call Amy from the yard, where she was splashing cool water on herself at the pump.

Clayton left the next morning to collect his money. He is not back yet. I spent all day with Amy in the field, hitting the ground with the hoe, breaking up the dirt for planting or digging an irrigation ditch. I promised her we will buy more chickens and rabbits with the money that is left over. She wanted to know if we could get a cow for milk and butter, and I told her she would have to help walk it every day to the river, where there is enough grass. I thank God for sparing her, she is such a good girl.

Your Sister,

Abigail

September 12, 1871

Dear Maggie,

I have not had the heart to write to you all of this. Clayton got what money he could out of the mines, but we did not have enough after buying the windmill to purchase the water rights. All during the dry summer, we sat with our windmill and ditches partly dug, watching our crops burn up. I was afraid to put water on the patch near the house for fear that the pump might go dry, and we lost even the grape vines. Feed corn is so high this year we cannot get enough for the chickens, but they and the rabbits are the only food we have.

I went out at sunset tonight and walked to the river. The sky, which is like a huge bowl that fits over everything, was streaked with red and purple. The colors spread across the mountains and got all through me until the whole world was blazing. I cannot understand how land that is this beautiful can be this hard.

Mr. Peerson, who has a big ranch near here, says it took him three years to get water and we should not give up, the land is too good. He gets so much cotton he has to pay Mexicans to help pick it. I nearly asked would he pay us, but that would not have been seemly.

I must confess, I am of different minds about your news. Of course, I am glad for you that John has made such a success of his store, but as I am sure it means you are less likely to join us in New Mexico, I am also saddened.

Yours,

Abigail

January 29, 1872

Dearest Maggie,

Clayton is gone now except one day a week, freighting supplies to the mining camps. He does not talk about speculating anymore. There seems to be surer money in freighting.

You say that I must ask myself why I came, that I must regret the trip since our life here has not met with success. I can only tell you my life seems as it should be. Each morning I peer out our narrow window and see mountains, which cut into the deep-blue sky. They have sharp, clean lines, and in the winter they are partly white with snow. I cannot imagine my life elsewhere.

Mr. Peerson is an interesting man. He came here eight years ago from Texas to establish a ranch. His wife died that first winter, but he has stayed on alone, learning the complicated methods of irrigation and raising cattle and sheep. He has sometimes gone for months without conversing with another Anglo, as we are called here, but that does not seem to bother him.

Several years ago he was hired by the government as an Indian interpreter, and he speaks many of their languages. There is a story that his wife was dark, that he met her while living with a tribe to learn its language, but I do not believe it. A few weeks ago Mr. Peerson's nephew, who is a doctor, came to stay with him. I am much relieved to have a doctor staying so close by. Last week, when Dr. Mayfield heard that Amy had cut her foot on a rough board, he came over and offered to look at the wound and put a fresh dressing on it. He did all this and gave me some syrup for George Michael, who has a belly ache now and again, and he would not take any of the chickens I offered him to carry back to Mr. Peerson. We have good neighbors here, so do not despair for me.

Your Sister,

Abigail

April 29, 1872

Dearest Maggie,

The desert is in bloom. It is still strange for me to see the hard, thorny cacti covered with delicate blossoms. The prickly pears in our yard have deep-pink blossoms the size of roses. I look into their thick, spiraling petals and cannot find myself. On long afternoons when Clayton is gone, I get out my sketching paper and try to draw them. The cottonwoods near the river will flower soon. In early summer they are covered with downy white flakes and delicate leaves.

Dr. Mayfield has decided to stay on through the summer. He tells me he has fallen in love with the desert. Clayton took him riding last weekend up into the mountains, where they saw several antelopes. The evening they returned, I left Amy and George Michael with a reliable Mexican woman, and Clayton and I rode out to Mr. Peerson's ranch for dinner.

After Mr. Peerson's wife died, he hired a Mexican woman, who does all his cooking. The food was very spicy, as she mixes hot red peppers in everything. There were dishes of corn, rice, and beans, and she cooked pieces of chicken and served them with a spicy sauce. Clayton and I drank several glasses of water with this meal, but Clayton said he would like to have more of the hot peppers. Mr. Peerson promised to send over some seeds. There was fine china on the table, and the floors are all wooden and covered with Mexican rugs.

After dinner, Clayton and the men played cards. Another couple was visiting from one of the mining towns, touring the area. The lady wanted me to play cribbage with her and smoke. She was dressed in bright red and blue taffeta, a fancy dress with a bustle. She had a loud voice and seemed to find everything quite funny, such a disappointment, as she is the sole female I have met since leaving the camps.

Clayton says we will have money enough to purchase water rights by next month. He has filed a petition with the water commissioner, and we are waiting for their reply. Meanwhile, Amy and I are digging more ditches. She has taught George Michael how to feed the chickens, and he spends much of his day trying to chase after them. We will plant a small crop and hope to keep it watered this year!