El Paso Way (21 page)

The feast afterward was an amazing outdoor spread, with long tables put together and covered in white linen, and numerous platters of chicken, beef, tomatoes, maize,
frijoles
, peppers, potatos, squash, tortillas,
pan
, apples, and pears. There were many pitchers of wine, and a
mariachi
performed with guitars, violin, trumpet, and vocals. Many danced, and the children all gathered around a
piñata
. It was a fiesta like none other, but what mattered most to Pang was how he saw his sister smile. It was a smile he knew he could live with.

* * *

Two days after the wedding, the trio rose early to head back to Tucson. It was not as difficult a good-bye as Enrique had expected. He half believed that Pang would not want to leave his sister, but the Chinaman did leave, and Enrique was proud of him for doing so. Even Enrique understood the challenges of the Chinese in Tucson, and Mun Lo would have none of those with Benjamin. It was a good thing for her to stay, and yes, he believed too, her destiny.

After two weeks of travel they arrived in Tucson. Dutton squared everything with the law, and after steady persuasion all charges were dismissed against Pang. To their surprise, Dutton also turned in his badge. The mayor and the judge tried to talk him out of it, but he'd made up his mind.

They rode with Pang into the Chinese district, where he found Vin Long seeing to the family tailor business. The old man greeted Pang joyfully. He informed him of Sai Min's safe arrival on the stage, and with the money Pang had sent, her father had agreed to send her back to China. She waited only a day, then was out on the next train that would take her to San Francisco.

Pang agreed it was best that she hadn't waited for him. “The first good-bye was hard enough,” he said.

Vin Long fixed them all tea, rice, and soup, and listened to their stories. The elder listened intently, finally nodding after a moment of silence.

“It is as it should be,” he said.

They all met outside Vin's home to say their good-byes. The sheriff bit his lip, removed his hat, and combed his hand through his hair. Pang stood with his arms crossed and peered down the alley at the canvas tents of his Chinese neighbors. Enrique stood next to the buckboard, prepared to climb into the seat. Sereno sat on his knees in the buckboard, peering over at them.

Enrique could tell it was an uneasy moment for all of them. He extended his hand to the sheriff. The sheriff received it and shook it firmly.

“I'm not sure how we could have made it without you,
señor
,” Enrique said. “You showed us the way, and I learned a lot from you.”

“I learned a lot from you, too,
amigo
.”

“From me?”

“From both of you. You taught me a lot about spirit and faith. Things I'd forgotten about, or maybe I never really understood.”

Enrique nodded. “Now that you've resigned as sheriff, what are your plans?”

“I thought a lot about that on the ride back here. I decided to go back to Missouri to see my brother. I may stay, and I may not. I just want to see some old country and old kin.”

Enrique and Pang both shook his hand again.

“Safe travels,
amigo
,” Enrique said. “I will say a prayer for you.”

Dutton smirked. “Just pray for the railroad. Hopefully that's what will get me there.”

They all laughed while Dutton mounted his horse. He looked back toward them, touched his hat brim, then rode away.

It was one of those happy-sad moments again. They watched him ride until he disappeared down a side street, knowing that would likely be the very last time they'd ever see Sheriff Chas Dutton. A man too good for a corrupt law, and Enrique believed that he, too, was now at peace with himself and the world.

He turned to Pang immediately, knowing that this good-bye would be the hardest.

“I will not forget you, my friend,” Pang said.

Enrique nodded. “You have a brother in me. I will always be here for you.”

“What will you do now?”

“Go back to the mission, visit with Father Gaeta for a while, and when the time is right I will ride to Hermosillo. My grandfather is my only family. I must try to find him.”

Pang nodded and looked at the ground.

Enrique sensed a lonesome feeling. “What about you? Have you thought about what you will do?”

“That's all I think about, but I have no answer yet.” He looked down the alley again, then back at Enrique. “I have some unfinished business here. Vin Long has agreed to buy my father's tailor business.”

“You are selling? How will you make a living?”

“I don't know. I want to try to bring my mother here. I have the money to do it now. But for me, I've thought about just traveling. What money I have will get me by a long while. You and the sheriff have taught me how to travel. I want to see the earth.”

Enrique pointed a chin south. “Should you want to accompany me to Mexico, you're welcome to come along.”

Pang nodded. “I will give it serious thought.”

Enrique thought about shaking his hand, but he knew it wasn't enough. He reached out his arms and embraced the Chinaman. Pang was slow to return the embrace, but he did so firmly.

Enrique held back any emotion that tried to well up within him, let go of his friend, then turned and climbed up on the buckboard. Without looking back, he snapped the reins and guided the mules toward the Santa Cruz, silently praying that he would one day see his Chinese brother again.

* * *

It was good to be in familiar country again. The Santa Cruz and the land and wildlife around it had been Enrique's home all his life. He knew every bend from the mission to Tucson, every rock that protruded from the river's banks, and every stream that delivered its water. He knew the birds and animals that drank from it, and he was sure, too, that they knew him. But life along the Santa Cruz did seem different, even though it probably wasn't. He supposed it was because now Valdar was dead that the fear was gone, and the dread of the past resolved. It was good, for a change, to be anxious to be back home, rather than anxious to leave, always wanting to go away for revenge and to seek justice. They were feelings that were all gone, and life had a new direction.

Father Gaeta was in the garden working when Enrique came into view of the mission. When the priest noticed the wagon, he held the hoe at his side and removed his straw hat, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his robe. Enrique wondered if the priest recognized him driving a buckboard, and realized that he did when he dropped the hoe, donned his hat, and raised both arms.

“Enrique, my son!” he yelled.

Enrique stopped the mule team in front of the mission. The priest came to greet him, scattering chickens that were pecking the ground in the yard. Enrique stepped down from the wagon, and the priest smiled widely and then embraced him.

He let go but held Enrique at the biceps with both hands. “I'm so glad you're back safe. That was most important to me.”

“It's good to be back.”

The priest looked over the mules and the wagon, and then noticed the brown-eyed boy in the back.

“Sereno?”

The priest looked up at Enrique, his mouth open.

“It's a long story,” Enrique said.

The priest reached in and touched the boy on top of the head and smiled, then noticed the crate. He leaned over the rails. “What do we have here?”

“It's a present—for you.”

Enrique jumped up into the back of the wagon and with the blade of his knife pried open the crate lid, then pounded down one of the sides.

The priest's eyes rounded when the contents became exposed. “Gracious Father!”

Enrique smiled. “You said the mission never had a bell. Well now it does.”

“But Enrique, how could you afford such a thing?”

“Reward money, for helping subdue Valdar.”

The priest's eyes were now more relaxed and his face solemn. “So, you accomplished what you set out to do?”

“As good.”

“I see. Well then, I do believe that justice was served.”

Enrique nodded. “Yes, it was.”

The priest slapped his shoulder. “And now you're back home. And Sereno! I bet you're both hungry. Let's get something to eat.”

They walked into the mission, and Enrique enjoyed the meal of soup and bread, and the conversation, which was the same physical and mental sustenance that had made him into the man he had become. It was a nice change, too, to have Sereno eating with them, instead of in the stable, by himself. He couldn't talk, of course, but he listened well, smiled occassionaly, and was truly at peace.

The priest had become a father to both, and Enrique loved him as much. When he shared the story of how he found Amelia, the priest understood his joy, and also his added grief. But just as Dutton had said, the priest reminded him that he should be glad for what little time he did have with her. The wisdom. Always the wisdom.

Enrique also shared with the priest his intentions for the future. He did aim to make the mission his home, a place to come back to, but he wanted to help people. He decided to spend some time with the priest, help with the harvest, then go to Mexico to look for his grandfather. He thought, too, that before he went south, he would go back north and visit Pang, and hopefully persuade him to come along. Foremost, he liked how they worked together, and he believed that together they could help other people seek out justice when they'd been wronged. It was something they were good at, and something that was worthwhile doing.

The priest wasn't that receptive to the idea, but he did commend Enrique on his big heart. “It is good that you want to help people,” he said. “I just hope that violence is not always to be your way.”

“I learned from Pang, Father, that protecting oneself is a right. So long as we do not seek violence, our defense is a method to avoid it.”

The priest nodded. “You can see it that way if you want, Enrique. It is your choice, and your right to exercise your own free will. Just remember the lesson of turning the other cheek. And that there will always be consequences to face when you choose not to.”

“I do remember those lessons, Father. You taught me well.”

“And remember those are God's lessons, not mine.”

“Yes, Father.”

Not long after their meal Enrique went back to his room, unpacked his things, and came across the skin of the rattlesnake he'd killed the day he found Pang in the desert. He smiled and thought how nice it would be to make a wallet of the skin and go to Tucson someday and present it to Pang as a gift. Yes, he would do it.

The next day the priest fixed a rope and pulley, and he and Enrique muscled the new bell into the tower. After three hours of sweat and toil, they hung it on the wooden beam. Enrique had never seen the priest smile the way he did at that moment. He could tell it was a smile of true joy.

The priest put his arm around Enrique and together they admired the bell.

“It is a very fine gift, Enrique. I am forever grateful of your thoughtfulness.”

“Aren't you going to ring it?”

“Well of course!”

The priest grabbed the rope tied to the bell yoke and gave it a tug. It was a sound that the Santa Cruz had longed to hear for many generations, and which had now come to life. It was a sound that the priest would make every day at high noon, on holidays, and on other occasions during the harvest, or during baptisms. He was not certain who would hear it, but it was mostly symbolic, and like everything else related to the priest's work, it was an exercise of faith.

To Enrique, the bell became something different than just a tool for the religious trade. Whenever he was off down the river, out hunting, or on his favorite bluff looking out over the desert, and he heard the priest ring the bell, it represented the end of era. It was a special sound for all the Sonora to hear. The sound of freedom, possibly, but foremost to Enrique, it was the sound of justice.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Steven Law comes from a family of storytellers that inspired him with both folklore and the written word, all of which derived from sources from their pioneer days to the novels of Mark Twain and Laura Ingalls Wilder. During college Steven felt inspired to write his first novel, which a constantly busy schedule forced him to put on hold. After receiving a bachelor's degree in business administration, Steven spent several years in corporate America, and he also nearly completed a master's degree in business education. Increasingly disenchanted with his career and course work, he dropped out of graduate school to devote his life to writing. While struggling to make a name for himself, Steven worked as a community newspaper reporter, a columnist, and a freelance Web publicist for writers and writing organizations. For more than fourteen years he has worked with several acclaimed authors, such as Pulitzer Prize finalist S. C. Gwynne,
New York Times
bestseller Stephen Harrigan;
New York Times
columnist Peter Applebome; award-winning novelist, singer, and songwriter Mike Blakely; and the late Elmer Kelton.

Now a successful novelist, Steven lives in the Missouri Ozarks with his son, Tegan, two cats named Pepper and Sylvester, and a shih tzu named Obi-Wan Kenobi.
El Paso Way
is his fourth novel.

Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.