Earthbound: Science Fiction in the Old West (Chronicles of the Maca Book 1) (22 page)

Lorenz was on his way back to Rity's bakery after a day of shoveling shit. Margareatha had managed to find clothes, get him into a tub, cut his hair, and somehow found a job for him at the livery stable on the west side of town. Not many folks came in that way, but enough to keep the stalls packed with horse apples. Hay had to be shifted and fed to the animals. Tack always needed worked on too. The pay was miserly and his employer more interested in gabbing or playing cards with his cronies. One morning, the owner's wife had come by the stable to ask Mr. Pickens, the owner, for some money. Lorenz wasn't paying much attention to anything the woman said. Mr. Pickens refused her, but he was polite about it. The next day Pickens bragged to somebody about how he'd punished his wife for embarrassing him in public. Lorenz decided these men weren't any different from the men in the Comanchero camp. They just acted nice to women when there was a whole mess of people around. Rity wasn't the kind that would put up with that. He reckoned that was why she wasn't married—that and 'cause she was too tall.

Living in town had been a revelation. People always seemed to be going somewheres or busy at some kind of task. Most of them wore clothes that covered them from neck to feet; not only the top wear, but all sorts of underwear that itched or scratched in the most unreachable places. If you scratched in the wrong place in front of people, they scolded you. He'd argued with Rity about all the clothes, but she ignored him. She even threatened to hold him down and put each article on him.

“I did it when you were a baby and I can do it now.”

Lorenz would have left, but he liked eating regular like and there was the promise of finding Mama once the fighting was over. 'Course Mama might not want him, but he had to know. Rity said she knew the way to Wooden and then to the farm they used to own. He wondered why they couldn't just go now as he sure hadn't see any soldiers fighting here. It seemed like all the fighting was someplace in the East. There didn't seem to be any young men in town. 'Course not all men were gone. From what he had picked up from the conversations at the stable, most men around here didn't care who won as long as somebody sent soldiers to fight the Apache, Comanche, or even the Kiowa if they dared to defy the Comanche long enough to raid in this part of New Mexico Territory.

Rity's threat to teach him letters and ciphering hadn't come to pass. She was too damn busy in that bakery of hers. He didn't mind. If everything didn't sell, the leftovers might be part of the evening meal. She sure could make a darn good fruit pie when there was dried fruit, and her rolls and bread were better than anything he'd ever eaten in the Comanchero camp. She kept insisting he drink milk and would pour it on his oatmeal or mush in the morning, if she bothered to make it. Half the time she just sliced up bread and slapped butter or lard on the slices. The lard was all right 'cause when she used that she'd sprinkle some sugar or spread some molasses on it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a figure darting out from between two buildings. It was a woman in a ragged skirt and blouse. Her hair was pulled back, but there was dried blood smeared on her face and into her hair. Both her eyes were black, and it looked like her nose was broken. Of teeth, she had none left in her mouth.

“Niño, help me, hide me. He's coming after me to kill me.” Her speech was border Spanish which would someday be called Tex-Mex.

“Mamacita, how'd yu all git here?”

“I ran and walked. I could see the home fires in the distance. Hide me, Niño, hide me.” She had grabbed his right arm and was taking turns looking at the road out of town and back at him. Her lips were cracked from a beating and the lack of water.

“Yu all mean Zale?”

“Si, Niño, si, por favor, find some place.”

“Come on, Rity'll know what to do.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her along the streets. Rity had left the door open to cool off the place, but once at the door Mamacita stopped, her eyes wide with terror.

“No, Niño, no, they will lock me away.”

“Mamacita, this is my sister's place. She'll help us.” He pushed her inside.

“Rity, we need yore help.”

Margareatha heard the desperation in his voice and looked up from her day's receipts and cash. She stared in wonderment.

“This is Mamacita. She kept me alive when they found me. I'da been dead without her. We gotta help her, Rity. She don't know how to live here.”

“But where, where would she sleep? There isn't any room.”

“She can sleep out back, Rity. She can work, carry things. He'll kill her.”

Margareatha looked at Lorenz. “Who is going to kill her? Is anyone out there?”

“I meant Zale. He's the leader of the Comancheros I wuz with.”

“Say 'was' not wuz.”

Lorenz ignored her rebuke. “He's always beatin' on her.”

Margareatha took a deep breath and looked at the woman. “Did you see him following you?”

Lorenz translated.

The woman shook her head no, although it was hard to tell as much as she was shaking. “I saw no one, Señorita.”

Margareatha nodded while Lorenz translated. She had understood the word nada. She did need extra help. She wouldn't have to pay this woman at first as food, clothes, and a place to sleep would suffice until the woman learned to be useful. She refused to think how close to slavery such a bargain was.

“Lorenz, show her where she can wash up. I'll see about something for her to sleep on. Then you both can carry in wood and water for tonight and tomorrow.”

Mamacita broke into sobs when Lorenz translated.

“Lorenz, take Mamacita with you to the vendors stalls. The man you saw leaving said they brought in potatoes from Mexico. He saw the wagon pulling in. Here's a dollar. They're probably all gone if it's true, but if they aren't, purchase as many as you can.”

Lorenz snagged the dollar and told Mamacita to follow him. He'd just returned from the shift at the stable. If he was lucky, he could parley the dollar into more than just potatoes. Mamacita followed Lorenz as she thought this was proper. Nothing he said convinced her to do otherwise. At the stands, she stood back, waiting to see if she was needed. She looked down the road leading into town and saw three riders coming. The big roan was easy to identify.

“Niño, we must go!”

Lorenz looked up and ran back to her. He grabbed her hand and they started running.

Behind him he heard shouts and hooves. He stretched his legs out farther, figuring Zale would kill him, too, for running and killing that man afore he left.

Why ain't they shooting, his mind wondered. Probably 'cause they're in a white man's town and somebody might shoot back. Nobody would care about killing some Mexican woman and a stray kid though. They were almost at the door of the bakery when they were surrounded by three horses.

Zale jumped off his horse, his face red from the sun and anger, the blue eyes filled with hate. He was a bone-thin six footer and about thirty-five. Lorenz curled his hands into fists and stepped out to meet him, and saw the knife coming toward him. It was too late to duck. All he could do was twist to the side. He felt the knife descend from his cheek and down the front of his body and to the side where the ribs deflected the knife. He found himself hurled to the ground

“Shoot him while I take care of her. No woman defies me.” Mamacita had grabbed at Zale's arm, hoping to draw his attention from Lorenz. He turned on her and plunged the knife down into her time after time not noticing that Margareatha was in the doorway raising her shotgun.

Margareatha saw two guns being aimed at Lorenz and shot one barrel into the one on the right and another barrel at the one on the left. Both men bent over their horses' necks and their horses reared.

The noise brought Zale back to the world and he looked down at Margareatha's shotgun and realized that he had to stand straight to look at her eyes.

Strange they were; reddish-brown with a gold circle around the pupil. So strange he felt his legs grow weak and sudden fear made him turn and leap into the saddle. He rammed his spurs into the horse for townsmen were appearing with rifles.

Margareatha dropped on her knees beside Lorenz. Blood was puddling into the gravel from his face and side.

“Lorenzy, can you hear me?”

His eyes were closed and his teeth gritted as though letting out a sound or moan would disgrace him. He opened his eyes when he heard her, but they were becoming cloudy and he swallowed. “Doan call me theat…”

“Somebody get a doctor.” Margareatha yelled at one of the bystanders. “Now! And somebody help me carry him inside.”

“Tabling's gone for the doc, but I'd wait with taking him inside till you got some oilskin on your bed, ma'am.”

Margareatha ignored the advice and looked up. “Someone grab him under the shoulders.”

When no one moved, Margareatha picked him up and carried him through the bakery and into her bedroom to the only bed. She put him down as gently as she could.

“Oh, Lord, don't let him die now. How would I ever explain to Mama?” She took her apron and grabbed the sheet from the floor where Lorenz had been sleeping to staunch the blood flow. What did doctors do for something like this? How was she to keep him from discovering Lorenz's two hearts?

She was about to become frantic when there was a yell from the front.

“Anyone there? It's Doctor Shelly. Someone said there was a wounded man here.”

“Back here, doctor, please come in. It's my little brother. He's not a man. He's still a boy.”

The doctor appeared. He was about thirty-eight with curly brown hair. His mustache and goatee were luxurious. In his hand was the mark of a practitioner: the leather bag containing the tools of his trade.

“Keep that shirt away from the wound and get me some water and a rag. A spare sheet for bandages would be helpful.”

Margareatha moved to the front room. She removed all the dishes from her dish washing pan and used a pot to scoop up water from the stove's reservoir. Rag, she thought, what kind of rag? She carried the water back into the bedroom. She ignored the people milling at the doorway.

The doctor was threading some strange looking needle.

“Where's the rag and the sheet for bandages?”

Margareatha gritted her teeth. “Use what's here.” She had not had extra sheets made, but washed hers once a week. She needed this doctor. Lorenz would bleed to death, but how was she going to be able to let him work and keep him from discovering and then talking about Lorenz's two hearts.

The doctor shrugged. “If you have scissors, you can cut the sheet into strips. Do you have any whiskey or brandy to give him? If not, you'll have to hold him down when I'm sewing or go get someone to help you. There are plenty of folks standing around out there. Just make sure it's someone who won't faint.”

“There is some brandy left from the special cakes I make.”

“Get it. He'll need it. I can see you are right. This one has no whiskers. Do you know who he is?”

“I told you. He's my brother.”

The doctor's hazel eyes examined her. “Is that your mother out there in the streets?”

“No, it's someone I hired that desperately needed a job. I don't even know her name. What has that to do with Lorenz?”

The doctor looked doubtful, but said, “I still need the brandy.”

He took off his coat and pushed Lorenz's shirt out of the way. When Margareatha returned, he picked up his needle with the coarse thread. “Keep blotting with that towel and see if you can get any brandy down him.” He ignored the blood on the side and concentrated on sewing from the bottom up.

It wasn't the best sewing Margareatha had ever seen, but then she had never seen a wound like that. What brandy she hadn't poured down Lorenz's throat the doctor swallowed when it was over. He set the empty bottle down on the floor and wiped his bloody hands on his canvas trousers.

“I need to check his heart. Then I'll write you a prescription for laudanum. It'll help him sleep. If you're lucky the pharmaceutical will have some left. It's hard to get now with the war on.”

Margareatha looked at Lorenz. He had passed out from the pain and the loss of blood. She wasn't sure how she had been able to hold him down. She felt empty and drained, like she didn't even have the strength to walk outside.

“Will he live?”

The doctor pulled on his jacket. “Well, he might. He's young. It just depends on whether he gets a bad infection or not. Sometimes I can cauterize them.”

“Cauterize? You mean burn?”

“Madame, that's all there is.”

He fished his stethoscope from his bag and put the two ends in his ear before bending over Lorenz.

“Must you disturb him?”

He ignored her and held the round, metal over Lorenz's heart area.

Margareatha closed her eyes and directed her mind into the doctor's. 'One beat, one beat,' she kept mindspeaking into his.

Dr. Shelly straightened. “Hmm, it's slightly blurred. It could be the alcohol slowed his heart down. How old did you say he is?”

“I didn't, but he is twelve.”

“Hmm, a tall one. Well, I'll be back in a couple of days to check on him. I need your table to write the prescription. He'll stay asleep for now.”

She followed him to the front and realized the bread in the oven was ruined. She could smell the burnt aroma wafting in the air. She ground her teeth. How was she going to pay for all of this?

Dr. Shelly took out a pad and scribbled something on it. “Here take this into town. If they have it, you can give it to him twice a day. If they don't have laudanum, you can try for paregoric that's used for a baby's colic, but it will induce sleepiness. I suggest you keep a close eye on him for the first three days. Let me know if he develops a high fever. You do know how to nurse a sick person, correct?”

Margareatha nodded yes.

He handed her a small vial. “Here's enough laudanum for this evening. That'll be five dollars, Miss Lawrence, but that will include his care until I take out the stitches. It'll be another three dollars when I take out his stitches, but I'll be dropping by to check on him periodically.” That she wouldn't pay him, he felt was a good possibility. Most people had a few coins and liked to trade or give him food like chickens.

“Isn't that a lot?” Margareatha looked up from the illegible scrawl on the paper. ”I thought you only charged fifty cents or a dollar.”

“Well, yes, ma'am, that's true for an office visit. This was a bit more. Tell you what, we'll make it three dollars now and you can send over one of your pies. Then it will be another dollar and a pie when I take out the stitches.”

Margareatha swallowed. Her profits were down since Lorenz arrived for his appetite was double hers. At least he looked like he was filling out a bit, now this. How was she going to nurse him, go to the shop that sold drugs and herbs, and get up early to mix up the rolls and bread for tomorrow morning? How could she make pies while tending him? She needed to go shopping right now, but first she would need the laudanum to keep him asleep. Please God, don't let him get an infection, she prayed and realized there were still people milling around in the room. She ran back to look at Lorenz. His eyes remained closed, his mouth twisted by pain and pulled slightly upward from the stitching. Why wasn't there a real pharmaceutical here like in New Orleans? Maybe someone will watch him while I run to the herbalist ran through her mind and then came the realization that her cashbox was out front with all those people.

Most were the shopkeepers from the tents that had closed already. The Mexicans were outside of the door. Men and women had helped themselves to a roll while they were waiting.

“Those are a penny each, please.” She tried to keep her voice even and not grit her teeth. She felt anger starting to build. They were robbing her. The crowd didn't look at it that way. They were there to offer their help.

“Why Miz Lawrence, I thought y'all might need a hand with carrying in the wood this evening.”

Margareatha closed her eyes to blink back the tears. “I, I thank you, but there will be no baking tomorrow. Is there someone here that can watch him tomorrow while I go to the pharmaceutical?”