Hard Country (55 page)

Cal stopped breathing several hours after Gene Rhodes arrived with the doctor, who announced that nothing could be done, expressed his sympathies, collected his fee, and left.

In Tularosa, Gene had spread the word about Cal’s bad wreck, and it got passed on by telegraph to people in Alamogordo, Las Cruces, and Engle. A number of folks rode out to the Double K to pay respects and say good-bye. Ignacio, Teresa, and their children were on hand, as were some of the boys and stockmen from other spreads on the Tularosa and Jornada. James Kaytennae came in alone from Mescalero, traveling day and night to get there in time, and former deputy sheriff Tito Barela from Las Cruces showed up. Adam Dieter, the shopkeeper in Tularosa, made the long trek, as did Oliver Lee and some other Texans Cal had known in the old days.

Leland and Maude Carter and Earl and Addie Hightower, two couples who ranched on small spreads in the San Andres, showed up early with their children to help out. Leland and Earl slaughtered a maverick cow, and Maude and Addie helped Emma roast it on a spit over an open pit and prepare the rest of the fixings.

They buried Cal next to John Kerney under a carved wooden cross Ignacio fashioned from mesquite wood. All the folks gathered around except James Kaytennae, who remained astride his pony on the adjacent hilltop to avoid getting ghost sickness from the dead. Gene Rhodes took off his hat and read the epitaph he’d written:

In this hard country where coin is scarce and loyal friends pure gold,

Here lies a man known to all as true and good and bold.

He lived by his word, upheld the law, and tamed this desert land,

Not many more will pass this way with his true grit and sand.

He gave the epitaph to Emma. Gene had signed it. She folded it carefully, wiped away some tears, and hurried to the ranch house with CJ in hand. All she could allow herself to think about was feeding the folks who’d come to say good-bye to Cal. If she stayed focused on that and that alone, maybe she wouldn’t break down in front of everybody.

While the men carved the beef, Emma got busy with Addie and Maude preparing platters of chicken, biscuits, boiled vegetables, and pies and setting out plates on the long plank table in the courtyard. After everyone ate, the menfolk smoked, sipped whiskey, and told stories about Cal, while the women cleaned up and the children played. When the last person had left and the last dish was washed and put away, Emma collapsed in her bed and slept.

CJ woke her up by shaking her. It was well into the morning, with full daylight streaming though the window.

“Pa wants you to get up,” he said, as he climbed on the bed and sat next to her.

Emma rumpled his hair. “All right.”

“Don’t do that,” CJ said, pulling away.

“Don’t you like it?” Emma asked.

“No. Get up. Pa says so.”

Emma sat up and looked at her son. “You’re pretty bossy.”

CJ grinned. “I know.”

His face and hands were dirty and his hair was matted and unwashed. “You need a bath and a change of clothes,” Emma said.

CJ made a sour face.

“Tell your pa I’ll be right there.”

CJ jumped off the bed and ran out of the room.

Emma dressed, ran a brush through her hair, and found Patrick in the front room at the desk sorting through papers. “Do I need to fix you some food?” she asked.

Patrick shook his head sharply and said nothing.

She sat down across from him and waited. He’d barely spoken to her since the night Cal had been brought home by Gene Rhodes busted up and dying. She hadn’t minded Patrick’s silence or his careful avoidance of her over the last few days, although she knew it was due to the contents of Cal’s will. The anger on his face after he read it told her so.

Patrick continued staring at her silently. She thought about walking out of the room to protest his childish ways, but that would only fuel his anger. She could outlast him when it came to holding her tongue, but that too only served to rile him.

“What is it?” she finally asked.

“You know damn well what it is,” Patrick snapped. “How often did you have to lift your skirts to get into Cal’s will? Did it start when I was in Cuba? Before that maybe? Maybe it was going on right up until the day he died.”

Emma stood up and glared at Patrick. “That’s not true. Don’t you ever say that to me again.”

“I’ll say what I please. This was supposed to be my ranch. Mine. And Cal broke his word.”

“It’s still your ranch,” Emma replied.

“Half yours doesn’t make it all mine.”

“Is that what you want?” Emma asked.

“That’s what I was promised.”

“Cal loved us both and he wanted us to share. He said so in his will.”

Patrick smiled lewdly at her.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” Emma spat, “or I will hate you forever.”

“I know what he wrote. That doesn’t make it right. I want my ranch.” Patrick slammed his hand on the desk.

Emma shook her head. “No.”

“You’re no wife to me,” Patrick said as he came out of his chair in a rage.

She wouldn’t give in to him. The forsaken, lost little boy who lived inside of Patrick made him who he was, but that didn’t give him the right to bully her. She turned, went to the bedroom, and started packing. She had known for some time it might come to this and felt no twinge of regret about leaving. She wasn’t sure if it was permanent or not. But she did know that if Patrick tried to stop her from taking CJ he would never see either of them ever again.

60

F
all works always ended the same way for CJ. After everything was packed and loaded in the wagon, Pa would stand silently on the porch and watch him and his ma leave for town without saying a word or even giving a wave. Never a “good-bye,” “so long,” or “adios” passed between them. But this time it was even more strained. Last night his parents had argued something fierce.

CJ usually rode his pony, Buddy, alongside the wagon while Ma chattered about how glad she was to be returning to town and how happy she would be to see CJ back in school. She was always sunniest when they were leaving the Double K, even though she seemed to like it well enough while they were there. Not today. She drove the wagon away from the house stone-faced and silent, her eyes hard and red, her chin set, which happened only when she was really angry.

Last night, he’d snuck out on the porch after bedtime and listened to them arguing in the kitchen, raising their voices at each other and sounding fit to be tied. Pa wanted CJ to stay at the Double K and go to a one-room schoolhouse Earl Hightower had built for his three girls on his ranch. Earl’s wife Addie was to be the teacher, and Leland and Maude Carter, the Hightowers’ neighbors, were planning to send their two boys to it.

Ma was having none of it. While she liked Addie, she wanted CJ to go to a modern school with college-educated teachers, good textbooks for reading, writing, and arithmetic, desks for every student, and maps and globes in every classroom. Besides, she argued, it would be too far to ride back and forth every day.

To CJ the idea of a school close to the ranch sounded just about perfect. They had passed through the Hightower spread during fall works and he’d seen the school, a new log building in a pretty area of grassy flats and red hills. He could get there on Buddy in little more than an hour.

Pa had argued that if CJ was ever going to ranch he needed to learn to do it firsthand, and schooling in town wouldn’t get him ready to run the spread when the time came for him to take over. That made good sense to CJ, who loved every minute he spent at the Double K. Besides, he was ten years old now and not some little kid that needed to be looked after every minute by his ma, even though he liked town and loved his school. His teacher was already talking to him about going on to college when he got older, saying he had the makings of a scholar.

He’d overheard arguments before between his parents, and Pa never won any of them, so after a time when it was clear Pa didn’t stand a chance, he quit eavesdropping and snuck back to bed. It wasn’t that Pa was bad at arguing; he just wasn’t as good at it as Ma. He’d watched her talk the school principal into letting him skip a grade, and seen her convince his teacher to let him use an eighth-grade reader when he was still in the fourth grade. When she set her mind to it, she was almost certain to have her way.

He fell asleep only to get woken up an hour later by an awful row between his parents. They were yelling at each other in the courtyard at the top of their lungs. Ma was calling Pa a son of a bitch, telling him to let go of her, and screaming no over and over again. Pa was yelling back, calling her a bitch, and sounding drunk and angry.

Suddenly, CJ heard the door to the casita, where Pa bunked while they were at the ranch, slam shut. After that, all he heard were muffled shouts. He sat bolt upright in bed thinking he should go listen at the door, but everything soon got quiet. It was late when he finally got back to sleep. Ma got him up before first light. She was about as angry looking as he’d ever seen her and had a big red welt across her cheek. She gave him a quick kiss, told him to dress and get ready for breakfast, and flew out of his bedroom.

In the kitchen, Pa was nowhere to be found. Ma said barely a word as she fixed breakfast just for the two of them. When he asked why Pa wasn’t eating with them, she told him to hush. He could hear Pa’s footsteps on the porch, but he didn’t come inside.

After breakfast, CJ wanted to go looking for him to say good-bye, but Ma hurried him along, not even bothering to clear off the table or wash the dishes. They loaded the wagon, hitched the horse to it, and saddled Buddy before the sun broke over the Sacramentos.

“I need to say good-bye to Pa,” CJ said.

“We’re leaving now,” Ma said. “Get on Buddy and come with me or I’ll take a switch to you.”

CJ looked at her in disbelief. Never once had she raised a hand to him, but the look on her face told him she meant it. He mounted Buddy and rode next to the wagon in silence, hoping she would say that everything would be all right and not to worry, like she always did after she fought with Pa. This time she wouldn’t even look at him.

He kept glancing at her and then back at the ranch house, thinking Pa would be on the porch watching them leave like always, but he wasn’t there.

CJ reckoned something mighty bad had happened between his parents last night. They’d never cussed each other so hard or shouted and yelled like that before, and he’d never seen Ma stay so angry. It scared him.

* * *

P
atrick watched from the side of the barn as Emma and CJ faded into specks at the far end of the pasture. Whatever good there was in his marriage had been wiped out last night; whatever affection Emma had for him had been erased. All because he’d gotten a little drunk after their argument about CJ’s schooling, pulled her out of her bed, yanked her along to the casita, and forced her to have sex.

She’d kept him out of her bed all summer long with one excuse or another. She felt dizzy, had indigestion, or was too tired. As far as Patrick could tell, there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with her except she’d gotten skinny, slept longer, and had soured on sex.

After he got liquored up a little, he’d decided he had rights he hankered to exercise. She was huffy when he went to her room and grabbed at her, so he slapped her for acting uppity. She slapped him back, broke away, and ran into the courtyard. He caught up and slapped her again, and she yelled like a banshee, clawing his face and calling him a son of a bitch. He yanked her into the casita, threw her on the bed, lifted her nightgown, forced her legs apart, and took her. She froze up under him until he finished. He rolled off, his face throbbing from her scratches.

“Don’t you ever touch me again,” she whispered harshly.

Patrick laughed as he rose to his feet. “Why would I want to? You ain’t the gal I remember from before. I can get more pleasure from a five-dollar whore than from you.”

Emma got up and pulled her nightgown down. “I told you what would happen if you ever raped me.”

“I’m your husband, so it ain’t rape,” he said as he pushed her toward the door. “Now, git.”

“We won’t be coming back.”

“You ain’t welcome,” Patrick replied, “but by God I’ll have CJ back here where he belongs. Tell me true, is Cal CJ’s pappy?”

“You son of a bitch,” Emma spat. She slammed the door behind her.

Patrick stopped running the memory of last night through his mind as he walked to the horse corral. If it was over, so be it, he thought. On his next trip to town he’d see what could be done to buy her out and get a judge to give him CJ. He was darn certain she’d want a divorce. There had to be some way to get the boy to live with him, although judges were mostly on the side of women when it came to raising children.

If she really was feeling poorly, he might have a chance to get CJ if he could prove she couldn’t take proper care of him. Thinking back over the summer, he saw that Emma hadn’t been herself. She’d worked hard and all, but her mood had been different, more serious and less lively. Maybe she’d just up and die. That would solve everything.

Whatever happened, he was already feeling good to be rid of her. The lie made Patrick’s stomach turn over. It was pure bull. He knew what he’d done was wrong, and lying to himself about wanting her gone wouldn’t make the hurt of losing her go away. He’d never get over her. He was a spineless fool for letting a woman worm inside him that way.

He got busy with the ponies. It was best to concentrate on work and forget about her. He’d sold six ranch horses to a stockman north of Carrizozo, a new village that had sprung up a few years back along the railroad on the far-north side of the Tularosa. He’d have the ponies finished in a month, deliver them, then head to Las Cruces to make a bank payment and find himself a lawyer to talk to.

He wondered what it would take to get Emma to turn CJ over to him, at least partways. He damn sure wasn’t willing to lose both a wife and a son completely. Then he’d be back to having nobody, and he couldn’t cotton to that.