The Chili Queen (26 page)

Ned turned just in time to dodge the missile, but it threw him off balance, and he fired twice, the gun slipping from his hand as he fought to regain his footing. “You tricked me! I’ll stomp you!” he said. His face was contorted and terrible to look at. He groped for the gun, but it had slid out of reach, so howling like a madman, he set upon John.

Emma did not know a man could move so fast. John’s arm was still in the air when Ned hit him, smashing his fist into John’s face and sending him reeling against the rock escarpment on which Ned had been standing only minutes before. “You are dead!” he cried.

John caught himself and did not fall, and he laughed at Ned. “You’ll have to be better with your fists than your gun. Not a scratch hit me,” he replied. He hurtled himself at Ned with such force that Ned was knocked to the ground. Before Ned could rise, John was on top of him, encircling Ned’s neck with his hands, sinking his strong fingers into the flesh. “The gun. Get the gun,” John called over his shoulder to Emma.

But she had the weapon already. She pointed it at the two men, but they rolled over and over, making her fearful that if she shot, she would hit John. The men slid across the shale, which shattered into pieces under the weight of their bodies. One kicked the other with his boot—Emma could not tell which one did it—and there was a thud and a cry. John broke free and rose to his feet. “Kill him,” he called to Emma. She raised the gun, but she could not pull the trigger. She could not kill Ned any more than she could have shot John.

But it did not matter, for the chance was gone. John was between her and Ned, the two men circling, waiting for a chance to strike. There were long scratches on Ned’s face, and John’s back was bloody under his torn shirt. The two men were evenly matched. John had more control, but Ned was faster, more spirited. Ned’s fists moved in and out, striking John’s chest with quick hard punches. Then John landed a massive blow square in Ned’s face, and Ned’s head snapped back. He spun backward shaking his head from side to side. John lunged forward to finish him off, but it had been a trick. Ned swiveled away to avoid the blow, sending John off balance, and he fell onto the ground.

Emma watched them, frantic, shouting for them to stop. “Take the money! Take the money!” she screamed until her throat was tight and raw, but neither man heeded her.

Ned kicked at John’s head, striking his ear, and John grunted in pain. Emma thought she saw fear on John’s face, but she was not sure since she had never seen John afraid of anything. Then Ned struck out with his boot again, and John grabbed it, grabbed Ned’s leg, and pulled him down. They rolled nearly to the edge of the cliff but stopped short of it, Ned on top, locking John between his knees. Ned’s face clouded with hatred, as he reached his thumbs to John’s eyes.

“No, Ned! No! Take it. Here’s the money!” Emma shouted, picking up the carpet purse and throwing it along the ground toward the two men. They heard her then and turned to see the bag spin toward them, gain momentum, hit the slippery rocks, and slide over the cliff. The two men lunged for the pouch, rolling together, a ball of arms and legs, and plunged over the side after the money. There was the thud of impact, then a long animal-like scream, loud at first, then faint. Emma did not hear the bodies land and realized with horror that they must have fallen a thousand feet and lay smashed on the far rocks.

Forcing herself to move, Emma turned slowly toward the cliff, willing herself to put one foot in front of the other. It was as quiet as the grave when she reached the edge of the cliff. The giddy height made her sick, but she forced herself to look down, to search for some sign of either man. She could not see a body, only a piece of coat—Ned’s coat, for John had worn only a shirt—attached to a rock.

Then her eye caught something human just a foot or two below, flat against the cliff, a hand straining upward. A man stood on a tree that grew perpendicular from the rock wall. She heard a strangled human sound and saw the hand reach higher. Her heart beating wildly, Emma lay down on the ground, bracing herself against a rock and holding onto a stunted pine tree. Then she extended her free arm over the edge and felt a hand grasp hers. She gripped the man’s wrist and slowly pulled him up. The only sounds were her gasps and his boots striking the rock as, holding onto her, he walked up the canyon wall. She did not know if the life she was saving was John’s or Ned’s.

The fine-looking Negro in the derby hat and flowered
waistcoat was the last passenger to board the Colorado Central cars at Golden, just outside Denver. He looked about for a suitable seat, one that would allow him to sit by himself or beside a man, but there was neither, so he took the only place available, next to an elderly woman, careful not to brush against her. He removed his hat and the yellow gloves. The woman looked at the gloves with amusement but said nothing, and he ignored the snickers of two men a few seats away. Nor did he react when a boy called, “Lookit there at that prissy darky,” although with the back of his powerful hand, he could have knocked the kid across the car. The insult was as nothing compared to what he had endured before. Ever since his boyhood in slavery days, when he had been sold from his mother, just as the calf is sold from the cow, he had learned to let the insults roll off him. It kept him from bitterness. He was not an unhappy man. Far from it. He was a man of strong emotions, and he enjoyed life hugely. It amused him. Why else would he risk embarrassment by wearing gloves that made his hands look like two fat lemons?

After looking over her seatmate, the old woman ignored him and began fanning herself, for the coach was stifling. Then she got up to open the window, but he said gently, “Madam, may I be allowed?” and raised the window for her. She dipped her head in recognition but did not thank him.

Just as the train started up, a woman boarded and looked for a seat. The men in the car stared out the window or busied themselves with their newspapers, but the black man rose, and with a slight flourish, he indicated his place. The woman sat down without acknowledging him. As the train jolted out of the depot, he went to the observation deck and lit a cigar. Although there would be stops along the way, the ride was not a long one, and anyway, he would rather be outside, where he could breathe the clean mountain air, than confined to the stuffy coach. It was getting on toward fall now, although the weather was still filled with sunshine. The aspen were streams of gold in the mountain crevices, so brassy and bright that they almost hurt his eyes. He hoped the clear air would calm him, and it did for a time. But later, when the train slowed down on the flats just outside Georgetown, he felt the turmoil rise again in his breast.

He went inside the coach to collect his hat and carpetbag, which were stowed on the rack above the seat he had given up, and he waited until the other Georgetown passengers had disembarked before stepping back onto the observation deck and looking around.

He saw them right away, of course. There were only two persons who were still waiting for passengers. Emma stepped forward and grasped his hands. She was too aware of propriety to embrace him, and perhaps she would not have done so under any conditions, but she gripped his hands firmly, and he could tell from the joy in her eyes that she was pleased to see him. Or, at any rate, that she was happy about something. She seemed to have recovered, and he did not know if he was glad for it.

“My friend,” she said, still holding his hands.

“How are you, Emmie?”

“Well.” Her blue eyes clouded for a moment, and the smile faded. “Passing well.” She looked down at his hands, squeezed them again, then let go—reluctantly, he thought, although he was never sure about her. She had been a performer once, just as he had been. And still was, he thought, as was she. Emma said, “You know Ned, of course.”

The Negro gave a slight nod of recognition.

“And, Ned, you are acquainted with Jubal Welcome.”

Standing just behind Emma, Ned stared flint-eyed at him. “Not as a man, by zam,” he replied, looking from the yellow gloves into Welcome’s smoky eyes.

Neither man laughed. Instead, they regarded each other warily, while Welcome thought that this was awkward for Emma, awkward for all of them. Still, he would not make the first move. He had liked Ned well enough, better than he’d expected to, but that was before. The thought of what had happened since the two last met made Welcome go distracted for a moment. He blamed Ned, and Ned surely resented him for being part of the plot to steal Ned’s money. Perhaps Ned, too, was refusing to make the first move.

But at length, Ned extended his hand, and grinned. “No hard feelings,” he said.

Welcome took the hand and shook it, but he did have hard feelings. How could he not? John Roby had been his best friend, had saved his life when he was set upon by bullies, had always treated him like a man. Welcome would have sacrificed his life for John, but he had not been given the choice. He wondered if Emma had been given the choice, but that was unfair. While she had always been curiously dispassionate, she was as loyal to John as Welcome was. But now John was gone, and Welcome knew Emma would never give him the same devotion; nor would he give it to her. Welcome liked Emma, admired her, and she had treated him fairly. But they had maintained their distance from each other. There had been words between the two of them in Nalgitas when Welcome thought Emma had grown too fond of Ned. Welcome had not cared so much that their game of buncombe might fail as he had that she would do something foolish and so cause John pain.

He saw that Ned and Emma were staring at him, waiting for him to say something, so he replied, “No, no hard feelings.”

“You received the dispatch I sent by way of Charley Pea?” Emma asked.

“Yes.”

“And you understand there was nothing we could do. John threw the rock that started the fight, and then he could not be stopped. You know how he could be when he was taken up in fury.” Welcome knew, and he dipped his head in acknowledgment.

“I guess that doesn’t matter, does it? Ned and I searched for his body all that day and finally found it on a ledge. We tried to retrieve it, but we could not reach it. The body was caught halfway down the face of a sheer cliff.” Emma shuddered. “We could not have brought it up under any circumstances.”

“No,” Welcome said. He knew what an effort it must have been for Emma to look for the body, for she was greatly afraid of high places. It didn’t matter to him where the body was, only that John was dead. “And the money?” he asked.

Emma glanced around. They were alone now, but she was cautious. “Let us walk. I have made arrangements for a room for you at the Frenchman’s. I think you would be more comfortable there.”

She
would be more comfortable if he spent his nights there, Welcome thought. Still, he himself did not want to stay at the little house with Emma, not with Ned living there in John’s place. He wondered how Emma had explained that to the neighbors, but the neighbors came and went, so perhaps they did not know that John had been replaced by Ned. That was a bitter thought.

The three of them walked in silence from the depot along the street into town, past the white houses with their fanciful trim and dried yellow roses and wire fences that reminded Welcome of Emma’s hairpins lined up on the bureau at The Chili Queen. Hurt spilled over Welcome as he remembered strolling along the street with John, the two of them chuckling over a scam. At first, Welcome had played only a small part in John’s and Emma’s games, pretending to be a porter or drayman. But he quickly became indispensable, for he had a knack for playacting, and nobody ever suspected him. Welcome loved that. Their victims wouldn’t admit even to themselves that a Negro was smart enough to trick them. When the blacksmith wired Emma that Addie had lost yet another housekeeper and Welcome had hurried to Nalgitas and knocked on The Chili Queen’s back door asking for work, Addie had only congratulated herself on having good luck. It was just the way the three of them had planned it. Welcome had had plenty of time to assess the situation before Emma showed up. If the setup had been different from what the blacksmith told them, Welcome would have disappeared, and the scam would have been called off. And John would be alive, Welcome thought then. But that wasn’t the way it had turned out, and what was done could not be undone, Welcome thought as he and Emma and Ned turned in at the little place with the green shutters on Rose Street.

“There were lemons at Kneisel & Anderson, so I have prepared lemonade for your pleasure,” Emma said, as she untied the strings of her bonnet and hung it on a hook beside the door.

Welcome nodded. He himself would have preferred a drink, but he was mindful that Emma had got on the drink again in Nalgitas, and he knew that that had concerned John. He set down his valise, then took off his coat and waistcoat, and looked around. He thought there might be some sign of mourning, gauze draped over a mirror or a black ribbon across the framed sampler that Emma prized so highly. But Emma was not much for sentiment. Everything was exactly as it had been before, except for a battered yellow-splattered coffeepot that sat on the stove. Welcome wondered where that had come from, but he didn’t ask.

Emma chipped ice into three glasses and set them on a tray with a pitcher from the icebox and a plate of oatmeal cookies. Ned carried the tray into the backyard and placed it on a table. Emma picked up her work basket and followed him, but Welcome stood in the doorway a moment, looking out past the school that loomed like a mountain over the yard, to the square stone tower of the Presbyterian Church beyond. He was fond of the church. Emma was not a churchgoer, but for whatever reason—perhaps a fear of hell, for Welcome knew things about him that Emma did not—John was among the faithful. He had taken Welcome to church with him, where, to the black man’s surprise, the preacher insisted that Welcome sit next to John in the front of the church, instead of in the back row. When one of the congregation complained that the Bible did not approve of the mixing of the races, the preacher had replied, “The Good Book, like the fiddle, can be made to play many tunes.”

Emma turned to see Welcome staring at the church, and she said, “I told Pastor Darnell that John had passed, and he has offered to hold a service, with just us present. I said it would not be necessary, but he thought it might make you easy in the heart. Do you want such a ceremony?”

Welcome nodded. He was not much more religious than Emma, but he thought a service would bring a proper ending to John’s life.

“And a stone? We could buy a stone.”

“To mark what?” Welcome asked.

“Quite right,” Emma replied.

Welcome went to the little table under the trees and accepted a glass of lemonade. “The money,” he said. “Now tell me exactly what happened.”

Emma exchanged glances with Ned, then passed the plate of cookies to Welcome. They were made from the same recipe Welcome had used at The Chili Queen, but Emma had replaced the raisins with nuts. Welcome did not think they tasted as good. “It was just as I wrote you,” Emma said. “The bag with the money in it went over the cliff. We searched for it all the while we were searching for John’s body. It must be caught in the rocks, too, or maybe it fell into the river. At any rate, we never found it.”

Welcome looked from Emma to Ned, who leaned forward, his forearms on the table, and said, “That’s the God’s truth. The whole thing, just…” He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “It went over the cliff.”

“It was my fault,” Emma interrupted. “I threw it. How could I know it would slide so far? How could I?” She and Welcome stared at each other for a moment, and Welcome knew they both were thinking if she had not thrown the money, John would be alive. “We would not hold out on you. I believe you know that.” She reconsidered. “I suppose you do not know Ned well enough to assess his intentions, but you know
I
would not cheat you. That would dishonor John.”

The sound of the school bell across the yard startled them all. There was shouting, the sound of doors slamming. The three sat for a few minutes, listening as the children rushed out onto the streets, and the din died away. Emma took out her sewing. She pinned two small triangles together and began to stitch. Emma had tried to teach Welcome how to sew, but he couldn’t do it. His hands were too big, and he could not thread a needle.

Welcome looked at the yellow aspen leaves that were sprinkled about the yard like ten-dollar gold pieces and asked, “You never even counted the money?”

Without looking up, Emma shook her head. “Why would we? You saw Ned and John count it at the station. Besides, there was no opportunity. John and I were in the saddle every waking moment from the time we left What Cheer. Besides, the purse was locked, and I had no key. The money’s gone. Ned’s money, ours, all of it.”

Welcome was satisfied they were telling the truth, and he reassured Emma, “I don’t doubt you. I do not believe you capable of calumny where I am concerned.”

“You talk different,” Ned said abruptly.

Welcome grinned. “I told you once, I got the bejesus in me to talk like an old granny, Lord have mercy on me, yes, but I can talk every bit as high-class as Emmie, too.” Welcome was proud of his refined language, which, in fact, he had acquired only after careful study. His natural speech was that of the plantation, and when he was not careful, he slipped into it.

The three of them lapsed into silence again, a little uncomfortable in one another’s presence. Emma snipped a thread with her scissors, then fished more little yellow pieces from the basket, fastening them together with pins she took from a copper-colored candy tin. She knotted the thread by winding it around her finger, then rolling it off into a tangle that she pulled until it was a fat knot. She selected a finished square from the basket and flattened it on the table. “This is what I’m making—Georgetown Puzzle. I suppose I picked it for the name, although I am fond of the design,” she told him.

Welcome nodded his approval, then Emma returned to her sewing, and he watched the point of her needle dart in and out. When he tired of watching, he turned to view the yard. Tansies and late daisies were in bloom, but the little vegetable garden he had helped Emma plant in spring had died out, for no one had tended to it while they were away. Then he leaned back to look at the mountains that walled the town on two sides. He would miss the mountains. There was peace in this place for John and Emma and him, or there had been before John died. Perhaps Emma found solace here still, but for Welcome, it would never be the same. He would miss Georgetown, but his decision had been made before he left Nalgitas, and he did not regret it. Oh, no. The past had been important to Emma and John. Welcome had always looked to the future.