Dr. Pardee looked into Chess’s eyes, opening the lids carefully. He shook his head. “Strange,” he said.
Udell held out the vial, saying, “How many did he take?”
Pardee took it from him, shook the pills into his hand and slowly worked them back into the bottle, counting. “I had twenty-two pills in there. They’re all here. He didn’t take any.” Pardee put the vial down and studied this new patient again, as if he still could use healing; he lifted Chess’s arms, inspected the fingernails, and put his hand against Chess’s still face, as if feeling for a temperature. “Whatever’s killed him, folks, looks to be nature. It wasn’t morphine. I’d attest to it in a courtroom.”
“But his letter—” Charlie said.
Pardee nodded. “I’m telling you this man did most certainly not die of morphine. All the pills are here. People think it’s a wives’ tale, but sounds to me like the man died of a broken heart. No one quite understands it—one of the mysteries of nature.”
The family got quiet. Dr. Pardee stared straight into my eyes. I remembered that he didn’t know the source of our problems. If he was the talkative kind, a family caught up in a feud could be branded as trash forever. I was not going to have Chess’s name in the territorial newspaper, in case I couldn’t trust this stranger. At last I said, “Chess was an old soldier, and the boy’s grandpa. Their papa was killed when they were shavers. His whole life was spent trying to protect us. We had that fracas with Mexican outlaws …”
I saw Savannah watching me. I know she would rather I told every bit of the truth, as unvarnished as peeled wood, no matter what it showed. Then, too, if I told everything, maybe Rudolfo would hang—I’d pay money to watch— but he could have bought and paid with railroad money for some judge to hold up anything he wants to do. I weighed the words and then chose among them as if I were picking a bouquet and only wanted particular flowers when I said, “He thought he let us down. Charlie and Gilbert, he’d helped raise, and then when he—when he couldn’t shoot straight—”
Pardee shook his head as if he knew exactly what I meant, and then sighed with a reassuring air. “Old soldiers just can hardly bear it when they outlast their stripes. You folks have had a tough go of it.”
“Mama?” a soft voice said.
I looked to Charlie, but he’d turned toward the kitchen. I raced through the door to Gilbert, thinking I’d heard the voice of a ghost. I called, “Son?”
Gilbert’s very much alive eyes fluttered, and he said, “Mama. I’m awfully thirsty.”
December 7, 1907
Well, this afternoon a rattling Mexican carreta, pulled by a donkey so small it looked to be a toy, stopped at our gate. A woman got out. The carreta driver pulled away, flicking at the animal with a string tied in a knot on the end hanging from a bent pole. It wasn’t long before I heard a knock on the door and footsteps coming to Gilbert’s room. I wasn’t all that surprised to see the flushed and dusty face of Charity James.
She tipped into the room. “I came soon as I could. I had to hire a man with a donkey. I’m sorry I smell awful. Mrs. Elliot? May I see him?”
I nodded.
She knelt by the bed and took Gilbert’s hand, brought it to her face and kissed his fingers. Then she spoke to the fingers as if they had ears. “I got here as fast as I could. I’ve been two days on the road to see you, my Sweet Boy, and I’m so glad you’ve stayed for me. Oh, Gilbert, I do care for you. I love you.” Tears rushed from her eyes as if she’d been holding them back during the long trip here. “I’m so very fond of you but it don’t do for me to tell you right out. I been praying for you and sending you my heart ever’ since I heard. Please keep on living, Gilbert, my dear, my sweet. Try hard.” Then she laid his hand carefully on his bed. “Mrs. Elliot? Mind if I stay in your barn or some other? I wouldn’t be a bother to you.” She stood. “I brought some dried apples and hardtack, so you don’t have to worry about me at all.”
“Well, honey, I won’t hear of it,” I said. “You’ll have a bed in the house. We’ll fix it up nice for you. You can take my bed. I’ll sleep somewhere else. Are you tired? You look plum ragged.”
She hadn’t taken her eyes off Gilbert. “No, ma’am. Not much. That is, now that I see he’s alive.”
I went to her and patted her arm and said, “You’re worn out. If you want to pull a bath, there’s a little room there with a pump and a tub and all. We’ll set you a place at supper. You wash up.”
The sun was setting when there came a racket that scared every horse on the place and jarred me plum out of my thoughts. My first thought was that the train was here already, had leapt its tracks and was heading straight for my parlor, just as I’d feared. In the yard, here came Harland in his horseless machine, with April sitting beside him, holding baby Tennyson. She held me tight for a second, the only greeting we needed then. Harland just stood there, looking haunted. I pointed April toward his room where Gilbert was in bed; she handed Tennyson to me, then ran to Gilbert’s side and nodded a quick hello to Charity. I followed just one step behind her. “Morris,” April whispered, “will be down tomorrow with the other children. I just couldn’t wait.”
At the doorway stood my little brother; the four of us made a strange mirroring of my daughter and her own little brother. He was gaunt and thin, and his clothes unpressed and shabby. I pressed Charity’s shoulder and she smiled admiringly at little Tennyson.
“Harland?” I asked. “Where are your boys?”
“With Morris. They’ll be along tomorrow.”
Tennyson fussed and squirmed in my arms as I went to April’s side. “Honey, you’d better feed her,” I said. “Just go sit in that chair.”
Her eyes darted back and forth. “Well, not in here. Anybody might come in.”
“It’s all right. It won’t bother Gilbert or the doctor, I’m sure.”
“Mama, she has to have perfect peace while she eats or she gets colicky. I’ll have to go to the book room. You tell everyone to stay out until I say so.”
“Sure,” I said. Heavens, as if a mother couldn’t nurse a baby in a house full of family.
“And Mama,” April said, “he’s going to be well. I know it. Little brothers like him are too special to … to go away.” Her face reddened. “We’ll talk later. Now, I have to compose myself. I have to be calm. We’ll only think of daisies and butterflies and perfect spring mornings while Tenny has her nummy.”
Charity and I exchanged glances as April left with the baby. But I saw my brother had gone, too, so I went after him.
“Harland?” I called. A few minutes went by before I found him on the front porch by Granny’s rocker. She was sleeping soundly. I whispered, “Want some coffee?” “Sure.”
“It’s cold, though. You all right?”
“I should never have taken the children to town. This would never have happened if I’d listened to you. I’d have been here to help. Blessing wouldn’t have been exposed to every disease that came down the pike.”
I couldn’t feel his pain anymore, I was too numbed with my own. I looked back toward the door where Gilbert lay dying. My voice came out dry as the desert on a June afternoon, with not a lick of feeling for him remaining. “Hush, now. You didn’t do anything wrong. A man has got to make a living to have some self-respect. I believe you did the best.”
“But…”
I brought the cold coffee and handed him a cup. I suddenly felt angry at him. “No one blamed you for Gilbert’s being shot. Stop leaning so blasted hard on me and stand on your own two feet.”
Harland looked shocked, then mad. Granny stirred between us. Then abruptly his face changed. “It’s getting late. You got any chores that need doing?”
“Feeding and watering, just like always.” I pictured his poor horses in town.
“Best somebody do ‘em,” he said, and he put the cup on the rail and went to my barn.
December 2, 1907
I had hung Gilbert’s new saddle in the barn hoping he would see it someday. We burie
d Chess at sunrise in the grave he had dug for Gilbert.
December 9 ,1907
Gilbert’s fever broke last night and his breathing was good and sound. Dr. Pardee can barely quit smiling. Gil was still weak and had lost a washtub full of blood, most of it into a pan held by Rebeccah, and some on the kitchen floor, but he was sound enough to be moved into his own bed where he could sleep much more safely, not being so far from the floor and all. Pardee had performed a near miracle.
I went to Gilbert’s room and pulled up a chair next to Charity who sat watching over him. Rebeccah moved soundlessly around, tending things as if she had been a nurse her entire life. Gil’s cheeks were drawn but pink. Udell slipped quietly in and sat by me. He patted my knee. I turned to look down at him, and he reached for my face. I touched his arm, and then he took my hand and held on tight. I leaned into his shoulder and rested there. I didn’t shed a tear, though. My face was hard and unmoving, and my heart had turned to stone. I’ll cry no more in this lifetime, I expect.
December 12, 1907
Dr. Pardee left, saying Gilbert was mending and was in good hands. I tried to give him fifty dollars, but he said no, his fee would have been twenty-seven, after all the days he stayed with us, and since he didn’t have any change for the bills I gave him, he was obliged to take thirty, but if we needed him again, he’d come for free. I told him he was a fine man and a good doctor. He just smiled and left, tipping his hat as he climbed into his buggy. But I watched from the kitchen window as the buggy stopped in the yard. Pardee removed his tall hat and stepped out again, to say farewell to Rebeccah, who’d just come to the yard with a basketful of washed and folded linen bandages. They shared some words, nods, and lastly, timid smiles. As he drove away, he turned and waved discreetly to her, and she lifted a hand in response.
December 13, 1907
For days I have wandered through a dark world of shadows and voices, hearing Chess calling for me in the middle of the day, and wide awake, barely sleeping, unsure of leaving Gilbert alone for more than a couple hours at a time. If that old man walked into this kitchen this very minute, I’d give him the sharp side of a scolding, I swear it.
Now that her brother has recovered somewhat, April and Morris and their children are headed home. Harland and his boys have decided to stay awhile, but they are bunked at Albert and Savannah’s place. I don’t know exactly why, but we have houseful enough, and so I don’t mind at all.
Udell has stayed with us, afraid of Rudolfo returning to finish the job. He only goes home to tend his animals. I don’t think Rudolfo will return. He killed what he had come to take. Finally, Udell and I decided to have a closer look, a sneak-peak, at the hacienda. On foot, we edged closer and closer to Rudolfo’s house. When at last we came to the yard, an old man and a very fat young woman came out toward us. Using a few words of my broken-up Spanish, I found out Rudolfo had moved his family overnight down to his rancho in Cananea. They left many nice things behind, the woman said twice. She and her father were watching over the place until the train came through. She said she was going to have a cantina in Rudolfo’s front room. They must have been peons for Rudolfo. No more love for the man than any hacendado, they were proud now, elevated to running a cantina in his parlor and sleeping in his bed.
Udell gave me the merest wink of one eye.
As we turned our horses toward home, the plump woman called out, “¡Vaya con Dios, amigos!” I turned to see her and she wore an open smile, nothing but neighborly cheer on her face.
December 20, 1907
Mary Pearl has made a safe trip home and she’ll be here a month. Gilbert has gotten up and wanted some clothes on. Dr. Pardee called again and he said it was a true miracle that he has pulled through. He told me it must be from healthful food and clean living. I told that Dr. Pardee he was the genuine article, a caring and curious man with the grit to try to help and the knowledge to make a clever experiment. Heaven knows, we’ve lost plenty of family due to doctors who had neither. Rebeccah stays by his side. I do like the man.
Miss Charity—reckon I can’t get used to calling her “Mrs. James”—is sleeping, what little she sleeps, in my room, at my insistence, while I’ve taken a pallet behind a sheet in the parlor. But she works as if she’d come to be a housekeeper for us, so we have to tell her to quit and rest. Charity made a fine roast beef supper last evening. While the others were cooking, I went through my chests where we’d raided every scrap of cloth to make bandages for Gilbert.
This afternoon, Udell came to the house and asked me to walk a spell with him. Buttons tagged along at his side. “I got word the herd of sheep will be coming down by wagonloads, starting next week,” he said. “They’re bringing dogs, too. Don’t know if we could get Buttons to come back here again after all this time. He’ll have to learn about sheep if he stays with me. I kind of like the little feller. If you don’t mind me trying him out.”
The sound of hammering floated through the air. Charlie and Albert, along with Ezra and Zack, were fixing the door and taking out broken windows. Harland’s boys played in the yard. I said, “It’s all right. They’re due for some new puppies up at Savannah’s place.”
Quiet surrounded us for a moment. A quail, sitting perched on the edge of the roof where a chunk was missing, gouged out by a bullet, let out a soft call.
I said, “Still quiet from Rudolfo’s?”
“As a church. You doing all right?”
“I’m all right.”
“Really?”
“I miss Chess.”
“I do, too. Aubrey and Rachel are coming down today, but they’ll be staying with her folks for Christmas.”
“Mary Pearl told me that yesterday. She’s at my place. Helping Rebeccah and Miss Charity nurse after Gilbert.”
Then we said each other’s names at the same moment. We laughed and began again, and the same thing happened.
Finally, smiling, he nodded for me to speak.
I said, “I have something for you. I bought you this as a Christmas gift last year. Then you were gone, and I was in town so much.” I reached into my pocket and took hold of the spirit level. “I had it under some things in a chest, and I haven’t looked in there all this time. I’d never have found it if I hadn’t had to make so many bandages for Gilbert.” I pulled it forth, and shrugged, feeling silly. “I plum forgot I’d bought it to help you build your house. It’s to check levels of things. See? It’s held with a string so you can balance the bubble between the lines and make sure the walls are straight and the floor is flat.”
He took it and admired the little box. “Don’t know if anything is straight there, but nothing’s fallen down. Maybe we could have used this. Sure is a fine-looking instrument. Maybe they used the old-fashioned way. Just sightin’ it in.”
“Reckon it doesn’t matter so much if it’s not so level. Reckon a thing doesn’t have to be perfectly straight to do the job.”
“Maybe a man doesn’t have to be perfectly right, either.” He cradled the little thing in his hands, watching the liquid spirit slop back and forth in its tube.
“For what?” I said.
“Oh, I was just thinking.”
“Well, I was thinking I don’t like being so far away from you all the time, Udell.”
He stopped walking and turned to face me. “I’d be always good to you, Sarah.”
I knew he would, too. That was the thing. I knew him now. Knew just what he was made of. I swallowed, hard. “I’d be always good to you, too. If you’d let me. I’m not soft and womanly.”
“You are, more than you want to admit.”
“You’re a fine man, Udell Hanna.”
“I’ve got a lot to live up to. You set the marker high. I’d be pleased ever to have the pleasure again of calling on you.”
“I’d be pleased ever to have a chance again to be your wife.”
He moved his head, slowly, back and forth, while his eyeswatered up and his lips, though they smiled, turned inward against his teeth. When at la
st he spoke, his voice was but a whisper. “There’s nothing in the world I’d like better. We could do a Quaker wedding, like Aubrey and Rachel. Just invite the folks out to the place and raise a cheer.”
“Even after I turned you away, you’d still do that?”
“I knew you had your reasons.”
“And now?”
“I haven’t changed my mind. Just quit asking you.”
I reached for his hand. We held tightly to each other and went to tell the family.
Chapter Twenty
December 26, 1907
This Christmas Day was a quiet one. We had no gifts to exchange. We had decorated no cholla skeleton. Nevertheless, plans had to be made and so this morning, right after breakfast, wagon after wagon took beds and blankets, crates and chests of drawers from my old house to Udell’s stony fortress. The place wasn’t homely, it was a monument. And it was ours.
Soon as her quilt and dresser arrived, Granny got up a fire in her little room and took a snooze, just happy as a cat. We made Gilbert sit and rest while the others scurried like ants, making the place up. Charity called out with delight, “A piano!” and sat before it, coaxing some little song from its soured old keys before she left to unload another box.
Udell took the box from her and placed the crate on the piano. It held my brush and comb, my carved box full of years of diaries, the picture of Jack and me from long ago, even April’s old doll, the one she called “Mrs. Lady.” He placed Jack’s daguerreotype on the mantel, next to a similar one of Frances, then set the diary box beside the two, next to a lamp. He fished in his pocket and took out the spirit level. When he placed it on the mantel, the liquid settled and the bubble came near to one line and crossed the other one just a tiny bit. It wasn’t truly perfect. We smiled at each other. Then I took the box upstairs to set out the last few things.