The Killing Season (39 page)

“In Santa Fe,” said Mother Magdalen, “at the Loretto Academy of Our Lady of Light. You have been here three days and two nights.”

“My name is Nathan Stone, and I ...”

“You are still very weak,” Mother Magdalen said. “Rest, and I will have one of the sisters bring you some supper.”

Nathan was fed soup until he could take solid food. He learned, only after he had regained consciousness that the doctor who tended him was there for the third time. Nobody questioned him, and his gun belt with its twin Colts hung on the head of his bed. There in a corner was his Winchester and saddlebags. His fifth day there, he had begun to feel guilty, and he spoke to Mother Magdalen.

“Ma'am, I'm obliged for all you've done. I owe all of you my life, and ...”

“You owe us nothing,” said Mother Magdalen. “We have done no more than our duty, for what we have done unto the least of His, we have done unto Him.”

None of them would talk to him about what he considered his obligation. Besides Mother Magdalen, there was Sister Rosana who played the organ, and Sisters Francisca and Lucia, who were teachers. Only occasionally did he see Father Augustine Truchard, or his assistant, Father Thomas Hayes. Eventually, it was Father Hayes who began spending some time with Nathan, inquiring about his travels, about the frontier, and it was from Father Hayes that he learned much about Santa Fe, the building of the Loretto Academy of Our Lady of Light, and of the adjoining Loretto Chapel.

“When you are strong enough,” Father Hayes said, “I will show you around. There is a newly built Loretto Chapel, just finished last year. It's the first Gothic structure west of the Mississippi.”

This was Nathan Stone's first time in a church since he had been a child, led there by his mother's hand, and it stirred some long-forgotten feeling within him.

“Thank you,” said Nathan. “I'll look forward to it.”

“Perhaps tomorrow, then,” Father Hayes replied.

“I hope you are a patient man,” said Father Hayes, as he joined Nathan for breakfast, “because it is difficult to tell you any of our history, without telling you all of it.”

“Then tell me all of it,” Nathan said.

“In September 1852, the Sisters of Loretto arrived,” said Father Hayes. “They came to the Southwest by covered wagon and paddle steamer. Their journey had begun in May 1851 in Kentucky aboard a steamer named
The Lady Franklin,
which took them up the Mississippi to Saint Louis. From there to Independence, they took the
Kansas,
but on the way, their superior, Mother Matilda, took the cholera and died shortly after their arrival in Independence. Two other sisters who had been stricken, recovered.”

Father Hayes refilled his own and Nathan's coffee cup. Then he continued.

“There were months of struggles and fears. Wagon axles and wheels broke, and under a terrible sun, there were days on barren prairies littered with animal and human bones. What was left of the group—Sisters Magdalen, Catherine, Hilaria, and Roberta—finally arrived in Santa Fe, and at the request of Bishop Lamy, Sister Magdalen was appointed superior of the group. She was a woman of faith and resolution, and the situation she and her sisters faced was a difficult one. The country was still raw and unsettled, and they had no comfortable convent waiting for them on arrival. They lived at first in a little, one-room adobe house, and the little town of Santa Fe was made up mostly of Indians and Mexicans at that time. But it soon became quite evident that, if the sisters were to fulfill the intentions of Bishop Lamy who had brought them to Santa Fe to teach the people, they must have a convent and a school. Mexican carpenters built the school, and when it was completed, it was called Loretto Academy of Our Lady of Light. Plans were made next for a beautiful chapel. It was designed by the same architect, Mr. Mouly, who designed the cathedral in Santa Fe. Bishop Lamy being from France, he wanted the sisters to have a chapel similar to his beloved Sainte Chapelle in Paris. It would be strictly Gothic.”

“I still haven't had a good look at any of it from the outside,” said Nathan. “I reckon I was pretty well used up when I got here.”

“You'll be more appreciative of Loretto Chapel,” Father Hayes said, “so I'm taking you there first. It was built by French and Italian masons, and it is twenty-five by seventy-five feet, with a height of eighty-five feet. It is larger than most of the mission chapels in this area. Mother Magdalen has recorded in the annals that the erection of the chapel was placed under the patronage of Saint Joseph, ‘in whose honor we communicated every Wednesday that he might assist us.' The chapel work progressed with some financial worries and a maximum of faith on the part of the sisters. It was not until the chapel was nearly finished that they realized a dreadful mistake had been made. The chapel itself was wonderful and the choir loft was wonderful, too, but there was no connecting link between the two. There was no stairway and, because the loft is exceptionally high, there was no room for a stairway as ordinary stairways go. Mother Magdalen called in many carpenters to try and build a stairway. Each, in turn, measured and thought and then shook his head sadly saying ‘it can't be done, Mother.' It seemed as though there were only two alternatives: to use a ladder to get to the choir—which seemed impractical in any case—or to tear the whole thing down and rebuild it differently.”

“But they didn't tear it down,” said Nathan.

“No,” Father Hayes replied, “but you're getting ahead of me. To destroy so beautiful a structure would have been heartbreaking. But the Sisters of Loretto are so devoted to Saint Joseph, they made a novena to him for a suitable solution to the problem.”

“A novena?”

“A Roman Catholic nine-days' devotion,” said Father Hayes. “On the last day of the novena, a gray-haired man came up to the convent with a donkey and a tool chest. Approaching Mother Magdalen, he asked if he might try to help the sisters by building a stairway. Mother Magdalen gladly gave her consent and he set to work. His few tools consisted of a hammer, a saw, and a T-square. It took him six to eight months to complete the work. When Mother Magdalen went to pay him, he had vanished. She went to the local lumber yard to pay for the wood, at least, but they knew nothing of it there. There is no record stating that the job was ever paid for. Now that you have heard the story, would you like to see those stairs?”

“I would,” said Nathan.

They entered the chapel, and Father Hayes said not a word. Nathan swallowed a lump in his throat as he beheld the masterpiece of beauty and wonder the old man had left the sisters. It was a winding stairway that made two complete three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turns. But there was no supporting pole up the center as most circular stairways have.

“I've never seen anything so amazing in my life,” said Nathan.

“Neither have I,” Father Hayes said. “I've studied it almost daily. It hangs there with no support, with its entire weight on the base. Some architects have said that by all laws of gravity, it should have crashed to the floor the minute anyone stepped on it.”

“I can believe that,” said Nathan. “What do you reckon is holding it up?”

“The same faith that built it,” Father Hayes replied.

“I'm enough of a believing man that I'd have to agree with you,” said Nathan.

“I have gone over it many times,” Father Hayes said, “and it was put together without nails. There are only wooden pegs. Architects who have heard of these inexplicable stairs—those who have seen them—cannot understand how the stairway was constructed. Most of them agree on one thing, that they have never seen or heard of a circular wooden stairway with three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turns that did not have a supporting pole down the center. One of the men who has examined the stairway says that perhaps the most baffling thing about it is the perfection of the curves of the stringers. The wood is spliced along the sides of the stringers with nine splices on the outside and seven on the inside. Each piece is perfectly curved. How this was done by just one man with so few tools remains a mystery.”

“What kind of wood was used?” Nathan asked.

“Another mystery,” said Father Hayes. “Some have said it's fir of some sort, while others believe it is long leaf yellow pine. But it's been claimed by good authority that none of the wood used came from New Mexico. So where the old carpenter got that wood is a mystery.”

“It's a supernatural thing,” Nathan said.

“The church is always cautious about making statements concerning things of a supernatural nature,” said Father Hayes. “Therefore, the sisters and priests of Santa Fe have, in the same spirit, refrained from saying anything definitive about the stairway. But Mother Magdalen and the sisters at Loretto Academy know that the stairway is Saint Joseph's answer to prayers. Some like to think that the carpenter was Saint Joseph, himself.”

“Thank you for telling me the story,” Nathan said.

“We never tire of telling it,” said Father Hayes. “I hope it becomes to you, as it has to us, a testimony of faith.”

While Nathan appreciated what had been done for him by the sisters and the priests of Loretto Academy, he had grown restless. It was time to move on. He had made a silent vow to track down Chapa Gonzolos and his gang, and to this end, he spoke to Father Hayes.

“Señor Chapa Gonzolos is a most respected member of the community,” Father Hayes said. “His ranch, Casa De El Aguila, belonged to his father before him. It is five miles east of town, and covers many hundreds of acres. Are you a friend of Señor Gonzolos?”

“No,” said Nathan truthfully. “I've heard of him, and that he lives in these parts.”

The sisters and priests of Loretto genuinely hated to see Nathan go, and he felt a real sense of loss as he saddled the bay. He had known better than to offer them money for their compassion and kindness, but from his saddlebag he had taken ten gold double eagles. On his way down the hall, he ducked quickly into the study. Opening the center drawer of Father Hayes's desk, he left the gold there and silently closed the drawer.

“Adios, muy bueno companeros,”
he said, as he rode away.

“Vaya con Dios,”
they responded.

Nathan followed the rutted Santa Fe Trail on into town. Finding a telegraph office, he addressed the telegram to Foster Hagerman, Dodge City, Kansas. His message was brief:

He signed off with only his first name. From there he rode until he found a livery, and leaving his horse there, went in search of a hotel. In the lobby he bought a copy of the local newspaper,
The New Mexican.
In his room, he studied the paper, wondering if he might find something on Chapa Gonzolos. It complicated things, learning that Gonzolos was apparently a respected member of the community. He was reminded of the James and Younger gangs, who presented a respectable front while riding to distant towns where they robbed banks or held up trains. What he had learned about Gonzolos answered probably the most important question, which was whether or not he could turn to the law for help. Obviously he could not, because if he accused Gonzolos of being a thief and a killer, there was absolutely no proof. The man might be prominent enough to turn the law against Nathan, forcing him to ride out of New Mexico with a price on his head. He found himself with just one course of action. If Gonzolos was brought to justice, then it would have to be a one-man vendetta. Tomorrow at first light he would find the Gonzolos ranch and determine a means of reaching Chapa Gonzolos. While he wanted the entire gang, he would settle for Gonzolos, if that was the best he could do.

 

Nathan arose at first light, found a cafe, and after breakfast, sought a mercantile. It was still early, and the store had just opened. The storekeeper seemed surprised to have a customer so early, and came to meet Nathan.

“Pardner,” Nathan said, “I'm needin' a few sticks of dynamite, some caps, and fuses.”

“I ain't got much. It's mostly used for mining, and nearly all that's farther south.”

He brought out a wooden case that was two-thirds empty. “Twelve sticks is all I got,” he said. “Will that help?”

“I'll make do,” said Nathan. “Put it in a burlap sack, if you have one.”

Nathan tied the sack behind his saddle and rode south. Let the storekeeper and others who might have seen him think he had ridden toward the distant mines. Once he was well away from town, he circled around and rode eastward. He had no real plan as to what he would do, and the dynamite was an ace in the hole, should the Gonzolos ranch actually be an impregnable stronghold. He half expected to see grazing cattle, but there were none. He suspected he was nearing the ranch when he came upon a clearly defined wagon road leading in from the northwest. If there were sentries, they most certainly would be watching the road, so he rode north for what he estimated was three miles.