Hard Country (19 page)

He turned back to Patrick. “I’m your father, Patrick. A long time ago I had to send you away with your aunt Ida, and I’ve been trying to find you ever since. I want you to come home with me.”

Patrick shook his head and stepped back behind Dr. Lyon. The man who said he was his father was dirty and ragged looking, just like all the men in the mining camps where he’d lived before the doctor and his wife took him in. He didn’t like the doctor and his wife but was scared to leave them and go someplace worse.

“You’re not my pa,” he sputtered.

“I am your pa,” Kerney replied, looking from the major to the doctor and his wife, “and you all will hear me out and get this settled now.”

Major Griffin nodded grimly, Dr. Lyon sighed sorrowfully, and his wife burst into tears.

They sat and listened to John Kerney’s story well past dinnertime. Patrick hid behind Major Griffin’s desk, occasionally peeking out to look at Kerney with wide-eyed apprehension.

When Kerney finished, the room was silent until Major Griffin spoke. “Do you believe him?” he asked Dr. Lyon.

“I do,” Lyon replied.

“And you, Polly?” he asked.

Her face tear streaked and red, Polly Lyon nodded.

Griffin stood. “Have the boy ready to leave with Mister Kerney in the morning.”

“No,” Patrick wailed as he scampered from behind the desk and out the door.

“You will not have an easy time of it with him, sir,” Dr. Lyon said sternly as Kerney started after Patrick.

“I expect not,” Kerney replied.

15

A
year to the day after the doctor at Fort Selden saved his left arm and John Kerney found his son, Ignacio was about to marry Teresa Magdalena Armijo. His parents, grandparents, and siblings along with many of his aunts, uncles, and cousins, some who had come from as far away as El Paso, had all gathered to attend the ceremony. At Ignacio’s request, John Kerney and Cal Doran were to sit with his family in the front pews of the church, along with Kerney’s son, Patrick. They were the only
americanos
invited to the wedding.

With all the Mexican villagers attending the ceremony and the pews full, the aisles would be crowded with people standing along the wall under frescos of the Stations of the Cross.

An hour earlier Ignacio had seen Teresa in her wedding dress. She looked beautiful to his eyes. Under a creamy white veil, her long, curly hair brushed her shoulders, and her dress, with a high collar and lace border, made her look like a regal lady. He was amazed at how womanly she seemed, as if she’d grown up overnight. She had a silk sash around her tiny waist and wore her mother’s small silver cross on a chain around her neck. She smiled serenely at him, while her mother and sisters bustled about making last-minute adjustments to their dresses and the younger children’s clothing.

In a few minutes the wedding party would leave the Armijo hacienda for the processional walk to the church, and Ignacio was nervous and uncomfortably hot in his new suit as he waited under a courtyard tree. He knew very little about married life other than the small familiarities and occasional fiery disagreements he’d witnessed between his parents, and he had no idea what kind of husband Teresa expected him to be. She was strong-willed just like his mother, but all she’d asked of him so far was that he not come drunk to their marriage bed on their wedding night. To that he had readily agreed.

In turn, he’d asked her to leave Tularosa and live with him at John Kerney’s ranch for the first year of their married life. He knew she would not refuse him, for John Kerney had saved his life and many times she had witnessed his kindness and generosity firsthand.

Any other
jefe
would have let go a man with only one good arm. But once he’d recovered, John Kerney put him back to work drawing full wages, helping to build the ranch house.

He quickly learned to do most of his chores with only one good arm. Although he could use both hands, his frozen elbow didn’t bend at all, making it difficult for Ignacio to lift a lot of weight. Still, he usually managed to figure out a way to get his work done without needing to ask for help, which was a great source of satisfaction to him.

As he waited for Teresa and the rest of the wedding party, Ignacio remembered how sick he’d been after his surgery. A bad fever lingered for more than a month after his return home from Fort Selden, slowing his recovery. When it broke, an infection in his lungs kept him weak, wheezing, and in bed for two more weeks.

Throughout his confinement Teresa kept him company every day. As his condition improved and his mind cleared, he read to her from the dime novels Kerney brought as gifts whenever he visited.

Some of the books Kerney gave him were free with coupons that came in sacks of Bull Durham smoking tobacco. A few of them were hard for Ignacio to understand, especially the ones by a William Shakespeare who wrote in a funny kind of English. Other novels were much less of a problem for Ignacio, and with great delight he read to Teresa tales about seafaring pirates, bandits and rogues in the gold fields of California, intrepid explorers on the frontier, and daring young men in big eastern cities. Teresa liked the big-city novels best, whereas Ignacio favored the seafaring pirate stories.

His English got better the more he read to Teresa, and he encouraged her to practice new words with him. Slowly, she, too, began to learn the
americanos
’ language, although she found it harsh on her tongue compared to Spanish.

Only when he was back on his feet did he realize that many in the village considered him a hero. While he’d not been named in the newspaper stories, it had been mentioned that a Mexican scout had been wounded in the Hembrillo battle. Also, some of the troopers who had fought at Hembrillo spread the word throughout the village that Ignacio and his bosses had risked their lives to get water for the trapped, desperately thirsty soldiers.

During long walks he took while regaining his strength, the men of the village, both young and old, pestered him to tell the story of Victorio’s ambush. At the dinner table, his brothers and sisters asked to hear about it repeatedly. Soon, Ignacio tired of it all and, whenever possible, politely declined to recount his adventures. But it made no difference; others in the village gladly stepped forward to recite his bravery and daring.

In the latter stages of his recovery, Teresa made it clear that she would welcome Ignacio’s petition to her father to ask for her hand, and his heart raced with joy. But even with his newfound standing in the village, he half expected to be sent away by Perfecto as an unworthy cripple. To his great delight, Perfecto not only agreed to the union; he also added to his daughter’s dowry a lovely, tree-shaded lot along the river where one day Ignacio and Teresa could build an adobe casita. It was a prize piece of land, and Ignacio had been made momentarily speechless by Perfecto’s generosity.

A breeze stirred through the leaves of the courtyard tree as Ignacio nervously awaited the appearance of Teresa and all their many relatives. He stiffened when the door opened and his father stepped out alone.

Cesario walked to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you ready, my
hijo
?” he asked.

His mouth suddenly dry, Ignacio swallowed and nodded.

“You must give your mother many grandchildren to comfort her in her old age,” Cesario said.

“How many is that?” Ignacio asked.

Cesario chuckled, shrugged, and squeezed his son’s good arm. “Only God can decide how many. Just do your best.”

The door opened again and Teresa appeared, clutching a bouquet of spring flowers. She seemed somehow different to him, almost a stranger. He smiled shyly, wondering if she truly was the same girl he’d known all his life.

Up ahead at the side of the road, Cal Doran, John Kerney, and Patrick waited. He’d never seen the trio looking so clean and neat. He waved and the two men grinned and waved back.

“Let’s go,” Cesario whispered with a push. “The priest is waiting.”

With his parents at his side and his brothers and sisters just behind, he joined Teresa and her family. He took her hand, and leading the procession, they walked up the dusty road to the hillside church.

* * *

T
hree days later, after the last of the wedding festivities, Teresa tried to keep her spirits up as the wagon bumped along the faint trail that served as a road across the basin to Kerney’s ranch. Since they’d left Tularosa that morning, she’d felt less and less sure she was going to like life in the remote wilds of the San Andres Mountains.

If Ignacio were driving the wagon, she could pepper him with questions about her new home. But John Kerney sat next to her handling the reins because Ignacio’s bad arm made it difficult for him to control the team of horses over rough terrain.

Kerney’s son, Patrick, sat in the back of the wagon, squeezed in among the trunks, boxes, and barrels that held her wardrobe and all that she needed to set up housekeeping, including a crate of clucking chickens, a crowing rooster in a separate cage, and her precious packets of herb and vegetable seeds.

She had spent only a few hours in Patrick’s company and found him to be like no other child she’d known. He said very little, seemed happy to be left alone, and whispered to himself a great deal. He hummed a tune she wasn’t familiar with over and over again to the point of distraction.

She turned her head and looked back at the boy, who quickly glanced away. She’d caught him watching her several times and wondered if in time he would warm to her. From what she’d heard, until his father found him there had been mostly misery in his young life.

John Kerney slowed the heavily laden wagon to a stop at the approach to a steep hill and told Teresa and Patrick to get down and wait there. Ignacio and Cal Doran rode up on their horses, tied their lariats to the long wagon tongues, wrapped the ropes around their saddle horns, and used their ponies to help haul the wagon up the hill as Kerney urged the team forward. Once safely at the top, Kerney called for Teresa and Patrick to join them.

Patrick scooted ahead. As Teresa picked up her skirt and carefully made her way around the rocks in the trail, she wondered once more about what lay in store for her at the ranch. Why had John Kerney told her to come to him if she ever felt lonely or unhappy at the ranch? Would it be that miserable for her? Or did he think her unsuited for the primitive conditions she might face?

During much of their yearlong engagement, Ignacio had been gone, working for John Kerney and Cal Doran at the ranch. When he came to town briefly every month or so, he replied to her questions about how they would live at the ranch vaguely or with sweeping generalities. All she knew was that the valley was well watered, with good grass, the views of the basin were a marvel to behold, the ranch house was finished, corrals and a saddle shed had been built, and Cal Doran had bought some Mexican horses that he and Kerney had trailed north to the ranch a month ago. It was mystifying because Ignacio usually described things in much greater detail.

Since the start of the journey, she had twice tried to get John Kerney to tell her more about the ranch, but he only smiled and said it was coming along just fine. She wondered if she’d be living in a tent, sleeping on the ground surrounded by rattlesnakes and centipedes, and cooking meals over a campfire while the
americanos
slept safe and secure in the big house her husband had helped them build. Or would she be forced to live in a cramped cabin with three men, a boy, and absolutely no privacy? She had no idea what to expect, and it preyed on her mind.

She reached the hilltop to find the land beyond mostly a long stretch of flats with the San Andres Mountains filling a horizon lit up by the late afternoon sun. Ignacio smiled at her as he untied his rope from the wagon. Over the past two years, his body had become more muscular. He was taller now, filled out in the chest, and the mustache he’d grown made him look less boyish.

“Soon, we will camp for the night,” Ignacio said to her in Spanish, “and tomorrow we will be at the ranch.”

She glared at him with her hands on her hips. “I will not go anywhere tomorrow unless you tell me exactly how I am to live at this ranch you love so much. If you do not tell me, I will ask Señor Kerney to turn this wagon around and take me back to my family in Tularosa.”

On the wagon seat, John Kerney shook his head and grinned at Ignacio. “You’d better tell her right now. Otherwise you’re in a heap of trouble.”

“Better get to it, amigo,” Cal echoed as he coiled his lariat and mounted up. He looked at Kerney. “I’ll mosey on ahead to the ranch. See you there
mañana.
”

“
Mañana,
” Kerney said.

Cal touched his spurs to Patches and trotted off.

Patrick scrambled to his pony, hitched at the back of the wagon. “Take me!” he called to Cal.

Cal backtracked and smiled down at the boy. “I can always use another hand, partner, but ask your pa.”

“Can I?” Patrick asked with his chin stuck out defiantly.

Kerney paused. Patrick favored Cal over him, and there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it. He was happiest when Cal was around and downright grumpy otherwise.

“Get your pony and go,” John Kerney said.

Patrick climbed on his pony, and soon the two riders were lost in a haze of rippling heat waves rising from the desert floor.

Ignacio and Teresa were off behind the wagon, deep in conversation, with Ignacio doing most of the talking in rapid-fire Spanish while Teresa held him under a steady gaze.

“We’ll camp here,” Kerney said mostly to himself, thinking he needed to find a spot a good bit away from the wagon to bed down for the night.

* * *

T
he big secret Ignacio had kept from Teresa was the small casita he’d built for her behind the ranch house. It had adobe walls more than two feet thick, a small sitting room with a fireplace, and a bedroom with a small corner fireplace, just big enough for a bed and a dresser.