Listen to the Mockingbird (33 page)

He spat on the floor. “I would take it as a kindness if you would piss off.”

Involuntarily, I jerked back, then studied my hands in silence. Was I to be cowed by a prisoner in chains? I bade myself to rise, drew myself to my full height, strode toward him and peered into his face. What I found there surprised me, but I did not draw back.

“I know nothing of Mockingbird Spring.” His eyes were small and hard, like those of a dog biding its time before an attack. “Never heard of it.”

I turned away from him and walked to the window. “But you have. You stood on that ranch not a month ago, on the edge of an arroyo—about noon, it was—and spoke with Tyler Morris about a map of that land.”

The face I had gazed into was broad and square below dirty pale hair. The stubble of a week’s growth of beard did not hide the scar that might have been drawn with white ink on the sun-darkened cheek. This time, I recognized that face. This was the officer whose foot I had trod on in clumsy haste in the plaza the day after Diego had died in my barn. “You are Lieutenant Beauregard Jenks, are you not?”

“No longer lieutenant, as you well know,” he snarled. “They have stripped me of that.”

“That had naught to do with me. It was because of Morris. You were a good officer before he tempted you with talk of gold. It was he who ruined you.”

“He did that, all right.”

“Some time ago, I trod on your foot in clumsy haste in the plaza. Do you remember that? Why were you in the plaza that day?”

“Because the bloody fool had got himself shot. A bullet had grazed his damn face. I couldn’t take him to the fort. No one was to know that he was with us. I had to fetch some salve from the barber.”

“Did you know he took that bullet while killing a boy on my ranch?”

“A Mex kid.”

“The boy had a map.”

Jenks’ eyes narrowed to slits. He said nothing.

“I gave that map to someone,” I said quickly. “Someone who is now dead.” Jenks might be in prison now, but there was no guarantee he would stay there. “I do not know what became of the map.”

“James O’Rourke.”

I blinked away the tears that rose at the name of my lost friend.

“Morris blundered there. He was to rile O’Rourke to kill Baylor, but it turned the other way.” Jenks paused. “He didn’t know that dolt of an editor had the map. He reckoned you had it. He knew it wasn’t on the kid’s body. He dug up the coffin.”

I sighed silent relief that Jenks had accepted my story. “Why did Morris try to buy my land?”

Jenks gave a dry laugh. “That wasn’t Morris. That was me. I had a little put aside. I thought it would be so much cleaner, easier, if we just bought it.”

“Cleaner and easier than what?”

“Than burning you off it. Running you off it. He even ruffled up that preacher’s woman about that nigra of yours. He was a good riler, was Morris. I tried to tell him we could find that gold without the map, but Morris wanted things the easy way. He wanted that map.”

“How did he know Diego Ramirez?

Jenks snorted. “Morris had just linked up with us. We sent him to San Antone to join the Texans. He just happened to sit down next to that Mex kid in a saloon. The kid had a story of a mine. Sure enough, he had a nugget and a map to prove it, but he’d run out of money. He couldn’t even get himself out of Texas without cashing in that bit of gold, and he was almighty fond of that nugget.”

“Why did Lieutenant Morris tell you about the map, about the boy?”

“Morris didn’t have any money. He lost just about every three-cent piece he laid hands on before it got to his pocket. Poker. Three times I had to give him the money to get himself elected lieutenant.”

“Was he a good spy?”

“Oh, he was that. He gave us the territory. He told us exactly where that Reb wagon train would be after Glorieta. But he was also feeding the graybacks and using our spoon to do it.”

“Why?”

“Money, of course. He was into that blackguard of a gambler in Mesilla for hundreds.”

“You knew that?”

“Of course, I didn’t know it. I would have been tickled pretty to turn him in. You would have sold that land eventually, and I would have me a gold mine all to myself.” Jenks spit on the floor again in contempt.

“But General Canby thinks you did know.”

“I should have known. When I put all the bits and pieces together, it was obvious. But Canby’s a hard man. He said it mattered not whether I was a knowing party to it; it was my responsibility to put those pieces together sooner.”

“You told the general everything?”

“If I hadn’t I would be standing out there next to Morris, looking into the next world from behind a blindfold.”

I was about to ask if he had told Canby about their interest in my land when a soldier stepped through the still-open door. “The general requests your presence, ma’am.”

999

Canby was leaning against his desk, arms folded across his chest.

“Did you learn what you wanted to know?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I shall arrange for the charges against you to be dropped, although that may take a little time because I cannot divulge my full knowledge to the civil authorities.”

I had not expected so much luck on a single day. “Thank you.” Giddy with relief, I thanked him twice more.

“Also, I have a proposal for you.”

“Yes?”

“I understand you own the horse ranch called Mockingbird Spring. I should like to purchase it. I will give you a very good price.”

And he named a figure more than twice what I had paid for it.

My mouth dropped open, and I fear I may have drooled like an idiot.

“Come, come,” he said to my wordless stare. “The price is not fair?”

“It is very fair, sir.”

“I am a horseman, you know. In my native Kentucky there is no higher calling than breeding horses. I find this valley quite to my liking, and your horses are said to be very fine.”

My head was still whirling.

“I am told you work the ranch only from necessity,” he said gruffly, “not from any liking of it. After all, it is hardly a fit occupation for a woman.”

An odd sense of impending loss stirred within me. Almost everyone believed I did not belong on a horse ranch, not least of all myself. But suddenly I was loath to sever myself from this “unseemly” occupation.

“Well?” the general rumbled.

A series of distant cracking sounds interrupted my spinning thoughts. “Forgive me. I fear I’m too stunned to answer just now. I’m sure you will allow me to think it over?”

Just then the door opened. A tall, lean captain marched in, saluted, gave a sharp nod and departed. Morris would no longer trouble me.

I turned to leave but at the door turned back. “Beg pardon, sir.”

“Yes?”

“Did Lieutenant Jenks tell you anything about my ranch?”

“Jenks? What would he know to tell me?”

“Nothing, sir.”

999

At home, I danced through the parlor toward Winona, unable to contain myself. Frowning, she listened silently while I related the events of my journey to Fort Fillmore.

“Even my fondest hopes,” I finished, “were that I might—might, mind you—get that much money for the ranch after three or four more years, and then only if the breeding business prospered. But now we might as well start packing for Philadelphia.”

“That is mighty good news, Miss Matty.” I hardly noticed that she didn’t smile.

The next day and the one after I did not go out to do the chores. Instead, I set about mending my dresses and babbling about bonnets and bustles.

Winona muttered at me, “You done told the general you take his offer?”

“Not yet. I’ll take the carriage in tomorrow. But this time I want to look right. I want him to know I’m a proper lady. I have to get this awful dress sewn up first.”

“That be a right fine buckboard, but it ain’t no carriage.”

“I’ll buy all the silk Mr. Garza has in stock. I don’t suppose he has any pongee or linen or Swiss muslin. I wonder if there’s a good seamstress in town. You and I and Zia will have twenty new gowns.”

“Zia needs diapers, not gowns. And a muslin frock be plenty good enough for me.”

Her straight face and set jaw baffled me. “Whatever has annoyed you, Winona?”

“Nothing,” she said sulkily and stomped out of the room.

I went back to my sewing. Whatever it was would right itself as soon as we were on our way to Philadelphia. I was sure of that. I made a mental note to buy a bolt of cloth for petticoats as well.

The following morning, being Saturday, Ruben and the other hands took off for town. Since I no longer needed a bodyguard, I let them go early. Nacho and Herlinda had gone to Doña Ana for a few days to visit his sister, who was ill. Herlinda had been strongly affected by the exorcism I had so brazenly staged. The air had finally stopped squirming with sullen looks, and she and Winona had become almost cordial.

I was so intent on what I would say to Canby that I heard no horse approaching. The thumping on the door startled me. I hadn’t finished dressing, so I stuck my head into the hall. “Winona?”

She didn’t answer.

I hastily donned the waist I had laid out and was still fastening the long line of buttons as I made my way to the parlor.

Winona was at the door, her shoulders stiff the way they get when her mind is boggled.

“Who is it?” I asked.

She didn’t turn. “I ain’t sure.”

Then I heard the voice, and every drop of blood in me congealed.

“This is my house, you damn nigra bitch, and I’ll not be kept waiting at the door.”

Somehow, as though slogging through mud, I moved forward and nudged Winona aside.

The door swung open a few inches to reveal a man, tall and slender and fine-looking in his Union lieutenant’s uniform. His flesh looked a little pale and there were half moons of darkness beneath his eyes, but otherwise he looked much the same. The forelock of red-blond hair still swung jauntily above his eye.

“Ah, the fair Matilda in the flesh!” He smiled into my eyes, for all the world as if we were friends. “As I have been explaining to this slave here, she belongs to me. I own her, same as I own this ranch. I am the master here. You do realize that? Of course, you do. A married woman owns nothing in her own right. That is the law. And I am your husband.”

Andrew smiled again and stepped inside.

Chapter Thirty-eight

”You did me grievous harm, my dear. But I am prepared to overlook it.” The statement slipped from Andrew’s lips like drops of honeyed hemlock.

“Get out.” I ground out the words through clenched teeth. Now I could smell the whiskey on his breath and see the drunkard’s web of fine red lines that had claimed his nose and cheeks. Still, he looked quite dapper in his freshly pressed uniform.

“Your countenance is exceeding fine, Matilda. You are still the most handsome woman I have ever laid eyes upon.” His tone was caressing.

“How—?”

“Did I find you? I came down from Craig with Colonel Carson, though I admit to little liking for the man nor him for me. So, he left me here. I’ve asked for you in every town I passed through, though I did reckon you had gone back to St. Louis. Imagine my amazement when the saloonkeeper was acquainted with you. Now, if you please, stand aside.”

“I do not please.”

Andrew put his hand gently on my shoulder and stroked it. Then, he shoved.

I staggered backward, and he stepped inside. His eyes, shiny as new buttons, seized mine. He crossed the parlor then turned back, wanting me to see him run his gaze slowly over the fireplace, the walls, the furniture. “First-rate house, from the look of it. You invested my money well.”

He ambled back to me as casually as if he had just returned home from a day’s journey and leaned forward, his breath brushing my cheek. I recoiled. He pulled me to him and squeezed my breast. “Did I interrupt your morning primping?”

As if it were no part of me, my hand flew toward his jaw. My palm stung as if it had touched acid.

Laughing, he danced away. “You robbed me, Matilda. I found it most difficult to believe that you had such mettle. I’m sure the sheriff here would like to hear about it.”

“I turned myself in. Served my time in jail.”

“Did you now? That must have been congenial. Did you fuck every guard or just the ones you liked?”

“Get out!”

Winona had remained riveted to the spot, watching. Now she threw the door wide.

“Oh, come now, Matilda.” Andrew gazed through the doorway. “This surely is a fine spread. How much land do we have here?”

I took a step forward, thinking, I suppose, to flail at him with my bare fists. But just then, in the back of the house, Zia waked from her nap and let out a howl.

Andrew’s eyes fixed on mine and a puzzled look spread over his face. “A child?”

The words came calmly, as if rehearsed without my knowing. “My son.”

Andrew tried to read my face. “You…”

“Yes.”

Andrew was drawing himself up with the new thought. Winona was staring at me. I looked down at my hands, then back at Andrew, trying to make my eyes soft. “I suppose he is that, Andrew. Perhaps I was wrong, keeping a son from his father. Would you like to see him?”

His eyes held mine as he nodded.

“I will fetch him for you.” I strove not to break into a run as I left the room.

Zia gurgled when she saw me and held out her arms to be picked up.

Despite his vanity that he had fathered a son and his slightly drunken state, Andrew was not so stupid that he would not soon recognize the cry of a baby less than a year old and realize that any son of his by me would have to be at least six.

I gave Zia the rag doll she had thrown from her crib and took a piece of horehound candy from the bag on Winona’s bureau; she was teething and liked to bite on the hard candy. Cooing happily, she reached sticky hands to my shirtwaist and tried to unbutton it. She adored buttons. I took it off and gave it to her. She drooled her appreciation but when I started to move away, she began to whimper.

I grasped her chubby arms and looked into her huge eyes. “You must be very, very still,” I whispered, and she must have understood because she didn’t make a sound as I left the room and slipped down the hall to my office.