Heaven Is a Long Way Off (13 page)

“And took it out on us,” Sam said to Hannibal.

Up the valley of the Gila they went, clear to where the Salt River joined it, and above. Though the river was full of beaver, they didn't pause to trap. Their minds were on getting the livestock safe to Santa Fe. Coy stayed near Paladin's hoofs and helped control the herd.

The Apaches watched them closely all the way, but didn't seem to want to make trouble.

Flat Dog, Julia, and the small children spent every night in a tipi. She fed both of them at her breasts, and tended to all their needs.

Spending his days alongside the herd, watching for trouble, Sam realized that he felt more like Esperanza's uncle than her father. He reflected that Julia and Flat Dog were the real family, and would be the parents in the eyes of the Crow people.

I have no family,
he thought often.

That night, as all of them sat around a warm, crackling fire, he felt like playing his tin whistle. He hadn't touched it in California. He played an old tune in a minor key. Coy joined in with a mournful howl. Sam spoke sharply to him, and he fell into a resentful silence.

After one time through the tune, Hannibal raised his husky bass voice with the words, and Julia hummed a high, floating harmony over it all:

Sam thought,
It's how much I miss my dad, that's why I played this song.

After singing the second verse, Hannibal put in the other chorus—

Sam wondered if his mother, that good, weak woman, was still alive. If so, she was under the thumb of brother Owen.

When Sam put away the tin whistle, he realized how much he'd missed playing it. He reached down and scratched Coy's head. The coyote felt like an old, old buddy.

The next night Sam played again for a few minutes. Then he did something totally spontaneous. He said to Grumble, “Teach me to read.”

Grumble and Hannibal competed for the privilege of teaching Sam. Grumble wrote out a list of the twenty-six letters of the alphabet. Hannibal taught Sam how to recite them to “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep.”

“Now you can sing the alphabet while you ride alongside the herd by yourself all day.”

Near the headwaters of the Gila they saw the rough road that led up to the copper mines, and wagons coming down. They crossed the divide above, coasted down the mountains into the huge valley, and turned north along the Rio Grande.

As they drove their herd up the river toward the capital city, Sam picked out his first words from a copy of the King James Bible, one of several books that Hannibal carried. He found reading frustrating, maddening, and worse. The way English is spelled made no sense to him.

By the time they passed the hamlet of Albuquerque, he was understanding his first English sentences. Soon he learned to pick out sayings he'd heard all his life—“Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot.”

“Not enough for me,” said Sumner. “You take my eye, I take both yours.”

Coy squealed.

“I abhor violence,” said Grumble.

Sam sounded out the next one Hannibal had marked for him slowly. “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.”

“The world chooses not to live by that admonition,” said Grumble. No one disputed with him.

“Why can't they use plain talk?” said Sumner. “‘Thou,' ‘thy'—it's dumb.”

“He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.”

“I'd recommend that one,” Grumble said.

“You're just afraid of getting stoned,” said Sam.

“You white folks,” said Sumner. Everyone looked at him. “Bible words,” said Sumner, “made me dump that whole religion down the outhouse.”

They all looked at each other around the fire.

Finally Hannibal shrugged. “Sam, if you want to know some gods, read up on the Greeks. Sex, murder, revenge, incest, the whole kit and caboodle.”

Sam looked at Flat Dog. “What do you say about this? Give us a story about Crow gods.”

“They're not really gods,” said Flat Dog, “more like heroes.”

Julia cleared her throat. Flat Dog looked at his wife. Her face gave warning. He smiled at Sam and shrugged.

“All right,” said Sam. He turned to Julia. “What about you?”

“I am a Catholic. Religion is something I do, not something I analyze.”

Coy whined and looked at Sam for attention. He cocked his ears forward and then backward. Sam scratched his head.

“So what do you want to
do
?” asked Hannibal.

“Go to mass on Christmas Day. Get me to Santa Fe in time to go to mass.”

They rode into the city on Christmas Eve and close-herded their horses on good grass on the Santa Fe River above town. Flat Dog went with Julia to the Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe the next morning to celebrate the anniversary of the birth of Christ.

And Julia had more to do. The next day the priest baptized their son Azul into the Christian faith. At her request, which felt like a command, Sam Morgan stood as the infant's godfather.

Father and godfather,
he thought. He didn't know what it all meant.

T
HE PRIEST
, F
ATHER
Herrera, took them visiting. “This is the casa of the Otero family.” Sam, Coy, Hannibal, and Flat Dog trundled along beside the priest. “Señora Luna, the sister of Señora Otero, is likely to help you, I think. Since it is the day of the birth of our Lord, she is in town.”

Sam liked Santa Fe. It was perched on a high plateau below snowy mountains. The low buildings were all adobe, and columns of smoke rose straight up into a golden light that shimmered. The town was built along the river, and the streets wound out from the plaza unpredictably, twisting like roots of a tree. He had no idea where this winding lane would lead them, but the town was striking, even beautiful.

He hadn't seen so many people in several years, several thousand of them. The men of means wore huge-brimmed hats, the rowels of their spurs were enormous, almost comical, and they threw a blanket over one shoulder in a dashing style. Their horses were the same wiry Spanish ponies he'd seen in California.

“Señora Luna owns Rancho de las Palomas,” the priest had said. “It is a splendid ranch of great size. The wagon trains, on El Camino Real from Santa Fe on the way to Chihuahua, they stop and trade there. The señora does an exemplary job running the enterprise.” Sam's Spanish really wasn't up to words like “exemplary,” but he got the point.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow at the priest.

“A widow,” the padre said, “and an accomplished woman.”

“Paloma?” said Sam as the three of them ambled lazily along. “That's a new one on me.”

“It means ‘dove,'” said the padre. “There is a fine Spanish novel called
Linda Paloma.
Beautiful dove.

“Here we are,” said the priest, opening a gate into a courtyard.

The casa was handsome in the Santa Fe way,
vigas
jutting out above walls of plastered adobe. But they weren't going inside. Father Herrera led them into a courtyard and introduced them to two sisters, Señora Paloma Luna y Salazar and Señora Rosa Otero y Salazar.

“Excuse me a moment,” said Señora Luna, finishing some sort of work with her hands. Sam was stunned. He'd expected a woman well along in years. The señora was in her early thirties, he guessed, and possessed of a grave beauty.

Señora Otero acknowledged the introductions, excused herself, and stepped into the house. The priest went with her.

Señora Luna came forward, holding a long string of red chiles. She hung it from a
viga,
retreated, and looked at it and the entire row of them along the house.
“Ristras,”
she said. “I find beautiful things irresistible.”

Sam thought,
She is beauty.

She made sure of each of their names, gave Coy a pat on the head, and invited them to sit. The winter afternoon was mild and the sun strong. “It's pleasant out here,” she said. “Very well. Padre says you have a business proposition for me.”

They explained. If Señora Luna would permit them to turn their horse herd out on her grass, Sam and Flat Dog would train her horses as saddle mounts. “One horse each,” Flat Dog offered. Sam couldn't have squeezed a word out.

He and Señora Luna gazed at each other.

“Also,” said Hannibal, “you will get new blood for your mares.”

Coy made a squealing yawn, perhaps in approval.

The señora snapped back into the conversation.

“Do you train with the
jaquima
?” she said.

“Sure,” said Flat Dog. Since Indians didn't use bits at all, he and Sam were used to training riding horses with the piece of equipment called in English the hackamore.

“Sam is something special,” said Hannibal.

Sam flushed red, which he always hated because his white hair made him look redder. The señora couldn't resist a smile of amusement.

“May we show you tomorrow?” said Hannibal.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “I'm sure we can work something out.” She gave them instructions on how to get to her rancho, which was down the Santa Fe River.

“I remember the place,” said Sam. He was half proud that he'd found words and gotten them out.

Señora Luna rose. “Tomorrow, then, with your herd.”

“Yes,” said Hannibal.

“When will you take the horses to head for your fur hunters' summer rendezvous?”

“Early May,” Hannibal said.

She thought. “Four and a half months.” She turned to Sam. “I think we can form a profitable relationship.”

Sam nodded.

“I'll expect you in the afternoon.”

She stood. So did they, Sam tardily.

“You must call me Doña Paloma,” she said. “We'll all be friends.” But she was looking at Sam.

Walking back through the narrow streets, they talked about Doña Paloma. Sam had nothing to say. Flat Dog and Hannibal were full of admiration for her beauty, her low, husky voice, her intelligence, her business sense.

“Sounds like the girl for you,” Sam said to Hannibal, and heard the foolishness in his own voice.

“Me?” the Delaware said, chuckling.

Flat Dog pointed to his eyes. “Sam, he has a pair of these, but he doesn't see.”

“It's you she's interested in,” Hannibal said to Sam.

Sam shivered, but could think of nothing to say to that.

 

S
AM'S NERVES WERE
tingling like a teenager's, and that was making Paladin skittish. She pricked up her ears and turned them constantly, as though she might be able to hear what was wrong with her rider. Her hoofs slipped in the soft surface of the river road—this afternoon was warm and a winter thaw was on. She swished her tail edgily. Once she even stopped and turned her head, maybe wanting to go back. But she had horses to lead, and she knew the job. Sam rode in front of the herd, Coy beside him. Flat Dog and Sumner rode flank and Hannibal came along behind. They were accustomed to this work—they'd trekked a thousand miles with the loss of only one animal.

Now Sam shook the memories of that long trail out of his head and came back to his job. He turned Paladin sideways in the road and waved at the horses, turning them into the road onto the north side of the señora's property. Hannibal pushed them from the far side, and Flat Dog herded them from behind.

Paloma Luna came out on a good-looking sorrel mare and helped herd the new horses back toward her band. She wore a skirt that was split for riding and big spurs. Across her shoulders, with artless grace, were tossed two colorful blankets.

Sam's first thought was,
She's much too old.

And then he felt a flush of shame for what he'd been thinking.

Coy started a howl that came up short in a groan.

“Now. Would you like to take a tour of the rancho?”

They would.

It sat in a pleasant valley along the Santa Fe River. On broken land along the north side she grazed sheep, cattle, and goats and bred horses—“Trying to improve the line,” she said, “my personal effort.” On the south side of the stream she raised pigs, and chickens, grew fruit, and planted crops; she irrigated these fields out of the river via a
madre acequia,
mother ditch.

“We put this vineyard in,” she said. “In two more years we will have some grapes, and soon enough to produce wine, which we will make ourselves.”

A middle-aged man walked up, probably to see the strangers. “This is Antonio, my foreman.” She introduced everyone, which surprised Sam. “Antonio will produce the wine. He is proud of the vineyard, his project.”

Sam felt dazed—maybe it was the beautiful woman and her fine seat on her mare, or maybe the dazzling sun. Though he liked her elegant Spanish (she offered no English), he didn't seem to understand half of what she said. He gathered that this ranch had come down through her family, and now that her husband was dead, she ran it, with the help of half a dozen Mexican-Indian families who lived in the
casitas primitivas,
rough houses, on the property.

“I will establish a blacksmith here,” she said, “and a wheelwright there. Along the creek we will build a mill. While my husband lived, the rancho did not progress. He was not interested in it. I love this land,” she said, “and I am a serious woman of business.”

As they rode back toward the main casa, the señora said, “What is this special thing that you want to show me?”

Hannibal grinned. “Watch. It takes a few minutes to set up.”

Quickly they cut willow branches along the river and improvised a ring. Then Sam took the saddle and bridle off Paladin. He stood in the center of the ring. “Señora,” Hannibal said, “if you will join Sam.” She did.

Sam whistled. Paladin came to him immediately. With hand signals he set her to cantering around the ring clockwise. At another signal she reversed direction. He called to her and she stopped and faced him. At another call she pranced sideways, and then back to where she started. When he motioned down with both hands and stepped behind the señora, Paladin walked to the lady and bowed.

The señora laughed and applauded, delighted as a girl.

Then Sam whistled, Coy jumped onto Paladin's back, and around the ring the mare loped, the coyote standing up on her back.

“You are a magician!” said the señora. “Is Señor Flat Dog equally talented?”

“You bet,” said Sam.

“Then please train any of my horses, train all of them. They will bring fine prices, so I will pay you well. Handsomely.” She thought, hand in her chin. “Here is a proposal. Señor Flat Dog, you have a wife, two children.”

“One child his, one mine,” said Sam.

“Then you may live in one of my casitas. It is not occupied in the winter. You will be comfortable and close to your work.”

Sam and Flat agreed with their eyes. “Sounds fine,” said Flat Dog.

“The horses of mine you train, we will sell them just before you leave. Untrained, they are worth about two hundred fifty pesos. I will give you half of every peso above that amount.”

Sam shot a look of gratitude at his teacher. Hannibal winked at him.

They went into the courtyard, which enclosed a well and an
horno,
an outdoor oven. They sat, and a servant girl brought them hot chocolate and
pan dulces,
sugared breads.

Sam felt like an idiot. As they chatted, the widow looked at him constantly. “Your white hair,” she said, “on so young a man, it's charming.” For a moment he thought she was going to reach out and touch it. Instead she turned away to the wall, looked over and said, “This is my flower garden and herb garden. It looks so sad in the middle of winter. But perhaps you will see it in the spring. I have transplanted the wildflowers of the region. They make rainbows of color.”

She hesitated. “Señor Morgan, Señor Flat Dog, may I show you your new home?”

It was thirty paces away and indistinguishable from the other casitas. “Perfectly fine,” Flat Dog said. “I will bring my family tomorrow.”

Sam looked at Flat Dog edgily. He often spoke as though Esperanza were his own daughter.

“Señor Morgan, Señor Hannibal said you are learning to read. My father owned some English books. He spoke the language, and he loved literature. Perhaps you would like to see them.”

Coy let out a squeal.

Sam nodded that he would like to see the books.

“You will find them in the
cuarto de recibo.
You may use them this afternoon,” she said, “and stay to supper with us if you like.”

Her gaze made it clear that Sam alone was the focus of the invitation.

“Thank you,” Sam mumbled.

A stable hand took Paladin.

“Good day, gentlemen.”

Paloma Luna turned toward the house, and Sam and Coy walked beside her.

Hannibal said to Flat Dog and Sumner said in English, “See what learning to read will get you?”

Sam thought he saw the señora suppress a smile—maybe she did speak English. Coy followed the two of them into the courtyard and the casa.

 

A
T SUPPER
P
ALOMA
Luna smiled seldom. Sam wondered if she felt the sadness he felt, an undercurrent of melancholy that sounded in the heart of everyone who lost a spouse, and would never go away. He felt sure she did.

A gray-haired Mexican woman dished up the food and an attractive young woman served them. The señora introduced Sam to her servants—the cook was Juanita, the young woman Rosalita. Remembering his manners, Sam rose and said he was pleased to meet them. He caught a hint of a smile from the señora. “I don't like it when people treat their helpers like they're not people,” said Sam.

“Then you'll be interested in Rosalita's story,” said the señora. “You Americans are informal. May I call you Sam?”

He nodded yes.

“Will you call me Paloma?”

He nodded again.

Dinner was shredded pork in a green chile sauce on corn tortillas, with beans on the side, and boiled carrots diced with onions, and goat cheese. “I'm sorry we don't have fresh greens,” said the señora. “This country is so high and cold. But I love it. I love the starkness of the earth here, the way the rock sticks out like bones. I love the red earth. Especially I love the quality of the sunlight—this light, it's like a diamond. When I was a child, my father took me to Chihuahua so that I could experience a real city. I saw light like this nowhere else, absolutely nowhere.”

Sam looked at her in silence. He wanted to feed Coy pork by hand but didn't dare.

“My grandfather founded this rancho and named it after my grandmother, Paloma. In each generation the first daughter is named Paloma.”

Except that you are childless,
Sam thought. The melancholy throbbed within him. He thought of Esperanza, who would spend the winter here with himself, Flat Dog, Julia, and her cousin Azul. He tried to take comfort in that.