The Staircase (8 page)

Also, she smoked.

She smoked a pipe. "Only in here," she said. "The fragrance is good for the plants." And she winked at me.

It came to me, then. She was the one who'd carried me upstairs on my first night here, when I'd smelled Daddy's tobacco and thought he'd grown another arm.

On top of the potbellied stove, she also kept a pot of coffee boiling at all times. She'd put Mrs. Lacey's medicine in a small basket. Next to it she'd put a mug of coffee, sweet, with milk and a bit of nutmeg. The first time she did this I'd given her a questioning glance and she'd smiled and shaken a finger at me. "God forgives disobedience," she said, "when the act helps someone in need."

I was soon to discover that Sister Roberta had her own ten commandments.

After that I think I would have died for her. And then, at the end of my first week in school, she made me remain after the others in French class.

"Your French is deplorable," she said.

I summoned the mettle to suffer a scolding, but instead she smiled. "Personally, I don't see why these girls have to learn French. It's the Bishop. Anything French is dear to him."

"I just can't seem to learn it, Sister," I said.

"We will teach you."

"I don't think I'll be here long enough to learn."

"Oh? I hope you don't leave too soon. I'd like you to come along with me to the river. I need to pick some O-pshaw. My supply is running low."

I said I would likely be here. At least for a while.

"Aren't you going to ask what O-pshaw is?" she asked.

"What is it, Sister?"

"A Mexican cure-all. They have many such remedies. Half magic and half tradition. I don't believe in it as much as some of these girls do. Its curative powers are in the belief it fosters. Like so many things you will find they use around here."

I met her calm, unblinking gaze. Was she speaking of the novena to Saint Joseph?

"I'd love to go with you, Sister."

"I also have to fetch more bark from the wild chokecherry tree. And make some cough syrup with honey for Bishop Lamy. He's due home in a week. He always returns home from his trips with a cough. Tell me, where are you going when you leave here?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said you were leaving. What are your plans?"

I stared up at her. Her eyes looked as if she was about to burst into laughter any minute. "I don't know," I said. "I only know I can't stay here. Maybe I'll write to my uncle William and ask him if I can come back to Independence."

"Is he the one who taught you to swear?"

"Yes, Sister. How did you know?"

"I met your uncle William once."

"You did?"

"We Sisters come from Kentucky, you know. Before you were born. Bishop Lamy summoned us here to start the school. We came by paddle wheeler up the Mississippi. Then by wagon from St. Louis. By the time we got to Independence, three of us were taken with the cholera, myself included. We had to stay there awhile. We lost Mother Matilda to the cholera. Your uncle saw to it that we were put up in the best lodging, and he kept us supplied with everything we needed."

I beamed. "That sounds like Uncle William."

"What do you plan on doing when he writes that you should return? Living at Fort Bent?"

"I hadn't thought on it," I said.

"Your grandfather was just starting to build the new Fort Bent when we came through. I always wanted to see it. If I were a man, I'd be a fur trapper. What about you?"

"I'd join Jesse James."

She smiled again. "Do you think you could stay with us until Delvina has her baby?"

"You know about Delvina?"

"We all do. How do you think Mrs. Lacey gets food from the kitchen to take to her? We'll have to be sending her heavier blankets soon. Nights get very cold by mid-November."

"I don't understand, Sister. How can people who believe Saint Joseph will bring them a staircase leave her up there? Who will deliver her baby?"

"Saint Joseph will give us a staircase. And we will bring her here. That's why I want you to stay. I need to be kept apprised of her situation. As she nears her time, we must bring her here."

"Mother Magdalena won't allow it."

"Even Mother Magdalena isn't that heartless. Will you find out from her when she is expecting her lying-in?"

"I haven't even met her yet."

"You will. Soon. Maybe tomorrow. Promise me you will. And promise me you will stay until she has the child."

Where else would I go?
I promised.

BY SATURDAY I HAD STAKED
out my claim in the room I shared with Elinora. My poster of Jesse James that Cassie had given me, I pasted on the wall over my bed. It was about as fine a poster as could be. It offered five thousand dollars for the capture of Jesse W. James "in perpetration of the robbery last aforesaid."

Next to both of our beds, which were against opposite walls, were little shelves. On hers Elinora had a statue of the Virgin. On mine was my chamois sack that Daddy had given me. It had once held his Bull Durham tobacco and still carried the fragrance. In it was an agate marble I'd won in a game in the schoolyard in Independence, a piece of Mama's hair in a small locket that she'd given me just before she died, and three horsehairs wrapped around an eagle feather I'd found on the trail. It was my good-luck charm. Everybody had to have one.

"You shouldn't have that drunken heathen's picture on your wall." Elinora stood in the doorway.

"He isn't a drunk. He never drinks anything stronger than beer."

"You know that, I suppose."

"Yes." I was kneeling on my bed, straightening the poster. "I also know that he believes in out-of-body travel, that he was named after his mother's brother who committed suicide, that he doesn't swear in front of ladies, that he married his first cousin, and that his mother had her arm blown off when Pinkerton men attacked her home. Just like my father had his blown off in the war."

"And all that makes him a hero, I suppose."

"In Missouri he's one."

"Missouri is a robber state. Mother Magdalena said so. She said the Chicago newspapers reported that in no state but Missouri would the James brothers be tolerated for so many years."

"You come from Missouri."

"Why do you think I wanted to leave? Anyway, I come from St. Louis, where people are civilized. You ought to have a statue of the Virgin on your shelf. Or at least of Saint Joseph."

"I'm sick to the teeth of Saint Joseph already."

"Hush!" Elinora closed the door and stepped into the room. "Tonight is the eighth night of the novena. You'll hex it by being blasphemous."

"You talk of Saint Joseph like he had sorcerer's powers."

"Will you hush! Oh, why did they ever put me in the room with you! A heretic!"

"I was asking myself the same question, Elinora. Why did they ever put me in the room with a ninny who parrots everything the nuns say? And doesn't have an opinion of her own."

"I have opinions." She paced, hands clasped behind her
back. Her thick glasses gave her eyes the look of a toad's. "And I'm not as much of a ninny as you think. As a matter of fact, I came up to ask you if you wanted to go on a lark with me."

"A lark?"

"You don't know what a lark is?"

"Well, in Independence it could mean sneaking downtown to stand outside the grog shops at night to see the hurdy-gurdy girls. But I'm sure in St. Louis it consists of putting your elbows on the dinner table."

"You needn't be so superior. I've sneaked out at night twice this week already."

I stared at her hard; she stared right back. "You snore at night. I hear it all night long."

"Funny, you're sleeping pretty deeply when I do it."

I nodded, bested. "Where do you go?"

"With some other girls. To meet friends from the boys school, by the grotto. I've already met one nice young man and plan to meet him again. Are you going to tell?"

"No," I said. "But if your uncle finds out, he'll be crushed."

"He won't find out. Not unless you tell. It's harmless. The worst we do is smoke a
cigarillo.
Now, do you want to come with me tonight or not?"

"I have no interest in meeting boys at the grotto."

"Not there. I'm going to visit someone who can give me advice. I need some good advice right now."

"Then why don't you ask Mother Magdalena? You know you're her pet."

"Only because I'm the Bishop's grandniece. I know that, too. It's advice that regards my future. And I don't trust her."

"Who is going to give you this advice, then?"

Elinora gave a secret smile. "Come with me, and you'll see. And you might even have some fun in the bargain."

I NEVER WOULD HAVE
expected it of droopy-drawers Elinora. First, that she would want to disobey the rules, and second, that she would ask me to accompany her.

She was the most unlikely of confederates. The only reason I could think that she chose me was that none of the other namby-pamby girls who boarded would go with her. They would only risk sneaking out to meet with boys. Besides, I was curious. What advice did Miss Know-It-All need about her future? And from whom?

She had our escape all planned. After the eighth night of the novena, after we girls who boarded were allowed into the kitchen for a warm cup of cocoa and were then sent upstairs to bed and the convent got quiet, we two sneaked out.

It was not as difficult as it sounds, because the nuns were back in the chapel, adding more prayers to Saint Joseph's list, and we simply walked out.

Elinora had a lantern, we both wore moccasins to dull our footfalls, and the door by which we left was in the kitchen. Unlocked. Elinora had arranged all nighttime adventures with Ramona, who, as it turned out, had a special request for the Bishop when he came. Everybody gained. Ramona, the girls who sneaked out, and certainly Elinora.

Ramona wanted a new cast-iron stove in the kitchen. The one she presently used smoked unmercifully, and Elinora had promised her that she would speak to her uncle about it. Of course, not even Ramona would enter into such a conspiracy if
she knew the girls met with boys at night. They told her they simply wanted to sit in the garden and watch the stars.

This night Elinora lied to her again. She told Ramona we were going to check on Doña Elenita, a friend of Mrs. Lacey's, and that Mrs. Lacey was not able to sleep until she heard that this friend's baby's fever had broken. We would be only an hour. Ramona was inordinately fond of Mrs. Lacey. She was always baking special delicacies for her. And she had instructed her husband, Gregorio, who was also the gardener, to let us out the front gate and in an hour be waiting to let us back in.

What we were really doing was paying a visit to Dolores la Penca. She lived on Agua Fria Road.

She was a good witch.

Consuello, one of the night boarders at the school, had told us about Dolores. And explained to us the difference between
curanderas,
good witches, and
brujas,
bad witches.

Consuello had told us of Dolores la Penca's reputation of healing and relieving suffering and illness. And how she had special powers to predict the future.

Elinora had boned up on Dolores, and on other witches in Santa Fe. I thought I might ask this woman if I would ever hear from my father again. So we set off in the bone-chilling November evening. In a small basket, Elinora had some tortillas left over from supper, and cooked dried chokecherries. Ramona sent it along for Doña Elenita. We, of course, would give it as an offering to Dolores, the good witch.

I held our lantern as we stole through the streets. At first I was very frightened. What I saw bore no resemblance at all to Santa Fe in the daytime. The people looked different, sinister. The young
señoritas
had let their hair down and it flowed on
their backs like horses' manes. They wore pearl and amber combs high in their hair. Their skirts were bright red. Men wore scarlet sashes and tight pants and polished boots. Their outfits gleamed with silver, and they all seemed possessed by a quality of languorous confidence.

It was the light, I decided. The brightness of day was gone, with all its brutal truth. A special glow was thrown out onto the wooden walks from the saloons, from which drifted the music of guitars and mandolins. There was excitement in the air as we made our way through the throngs of people. I pressed closer to Elinora, who seemed to know her way.

We turned down a side lane, and the street was filled with menacing shadows. Our small lantern gave scant light. Up ahead a single window glowed with light. "That's it," Elinora said.

She did have brass, I decided.

"Consuello said this is the oldest house in Santa Fe," Elinora told me as we walked up the lane. "Another witch lives here with Dolores, but she isn't often home. I suspect that on a night such as this she is out riding her fireball. New Mexico's witches ride fireballs instead of brooms, you know."

I stared at her. "You believe that?"

"I don't dare not believe it. Any more than I dare not believe that they can cure a migraine headache by passing an egg across your forehead. Or cure a serious illness by hitting the person's shadow with a broom. Now, be careful what you say to Dolores. Call her ma'am, like you do Mother Magdalena. They require utmost respect. They can put hexes on people, too, you know. Whatever you do, just don't make the sign of the cross in her presence."

I nodded silently. And then, as we neared the house, a figure stepped out of the shadows. At first he seemed to be an old man, poorly clad in some rough cloak. Behind him stood a mule, and over the mule's back was a sack. "
Scusa,
" he said.

"Oh!" Elinora stepped closer to me, startled.

"Very sorry," the man said. As he stepped out of the shadows, I held up the lantern and saw he was not that old. Only his eyes were. His face was one minute young and the next like my father's, lined but not old. "I did not mean to frighten you. I heard you talking and thought I might ask."

"Ask what?"

I thought Elinora was being unnecessarily rude, but I kept a still tongue in my head.