DAY OF THE DEAD –
Sentence Chain
A Work in Progress
by Members of the HCFanFic list
Writers to date:
Darius, Denise, Penny, Marce, Kate, Cathy.
The outline of the church bell-tower could be seen against the moon. All but one grave was lit by candles and bowls and platters heaped with tortillas, frijoles, candied orange peel and other food offerings to entice the spirits of the village to visit with their families.
A figure approached the unadorned grave and stooped to drop
a bunch of yellow marigolds in tribute. "With your help, I will have
my revenge."
A cloud passing in front of the moon plunged the cemetery into eerie pockets of
shadows amongst the flickering candles as the person departed. In the
distance, a wolf howled. When the moonlight illuminated the tombstone's
surface again, the inscription, Xavier Montoya, stood out in stark relief.
Blue could not see the shadowy figure as it passed by him -
but he felt the presence of someone in the shadows as the hair on the back of
his neck stood to salute the swishing of what the young blond man thought was
either skirts - or possibly a cloak.
Blue didn't believe in ghosts but he had jumped at the
chance to visit the Montoya family home when Mano and
south of the border.
Standing silently striving to see into the darkness, Blue focused all his attention in the direction of the rustling as the silence of the night came in around him - no, he did not believe in ghosts, but the eerie prickle at the back of his neck sent his nerves into a spin. As he leaned into the night and cautiously rested his hand on the cold handle of his pistol a large, heavy hand from behind the boy gripped his shoulder and caused him to twist and shout in surprise as he stood face to bloodless face with.....Pedro!
"EESY AMIGO!" Pedro raised his hands dramatically and cried as he backed off from Blue quickly, "I haf just come to see if you would like to join me and my family for the heevenin. What has got jue so jumpy compadre?" he asked sincerely.
"I'm not sure," Blue told him uneasily, blue eyes
gazing beyond Pedro to search the shadows of the dark graveyard, "it's
just all this Day of the Dead thing, kinda got me spooked."
"Amigo," Pedro laughed and shook his head, "Dia de Los Muertos
is not to be scared of. Is a great celebration, a happy time, yes?"
"I guess," Blue agreed with a smile, but even as he said it, that
prickle of disquiet once again crawled coldly along the back of his neck.
Feeling the need to leave the area for a while, hopefully till daybreak, Blue and Pedro wound their way down the busy, bustling streets filled with happy participants who laughed as they chinked their glasses in the cantinas that lined the street.
********
Victoria and the Montoya servants made happy sounds as they busied themselves with flower arranging and small tokens for her mother's grave. Senora Cannon was pleased to be at her childhood home for this occasion as it brought back many memories of love and happier days.
Sitting on the small stone bench beside her mother's grave
"Si," came the familiar voice of Don Sebastian Montoya. "Go to your families. We are well guarded and there is no need for you all to stay at the Casa today....but do not be late returning to your duties manana!" This last more like the familiar imperious tone they all knew well. He dismissed the servants with a slight wave and turned to his daughter.
"Papa, have you come to join me as I visit with
Mama?"
"Si
Manolito watched from the shadows of the archway leading to
the family gravestones. He could clearly see his father and sister as they
conversed at the resting place of his mother. He resisted the urge to join the
two, though felt a little guilty listening to their conversation that spanned
some of the most touching years of his life.
The Montoya Hacienda was not always a place of rivalry between Don Sebastian
and him - the years he grew up in the company of his mother were tender, and
the memories pulled at his heart. His head bowed as he leaned on the arch
supports. A small tear escaped.
Don Sebastian looked away from Victoria towards the centre
of the village, It was imperative that he spoke to Manolito sooner
rather than later, but he did not want Victoria to know anything was
amiss,
It was now time for reflection, Taking his daughter's hand, he moved towards
the gravestone.
"Come my child, let us pray together,,"
They both knelt Don Sebastian was quiet and pensive, He knew as soon as
Manolito was informed of the facts, there would be no stopping him, This day he
not only prayed for his wife's spirit but also for the lives of his children.
**********
Manolito had decided to leave rather than disturb his father
and sister. He would return to his mother's grave later...he crossed
himself quickly with only a minute dip of the head as he moved in front of the
Virgin and Child. He hadn't been to confession for some time he chided
himself, better do so tomorrow. He was headed
for the cantina to relieve this melancholy at least temporarily.
He moved amongst the crowd headed home easily. The people moved slowly,
calling to friends and neighbours as they remembered their
children.* Ahead of him he saw the familiar hat of his friend and,
technically, his nephew. " Ayi, Pedro! Blue!"
Blue stopped and turned. "Manolito!" he
called with a waving a hand. Then when his uncle reached his side, he
continued in a loud tone to be heard above the clamoring of the crowd.
"We're headed to
"The very place I was headed Amigo." He
grinned broadly.
The three moved again through the throng and into
At first the talk was in rapid Spanish as they covered all the village recent
history and then slowed down as it became more and more clear Blue could not
follow. Pedro started to ask Mano about his family's celebrations for the
morrow when Blue interrupted, "Mano? There's a grave back there that
don't have lights or nothin'. You know why? Must be kin to you.
Name's Xavier Montoya"
Manolito, though he heard the question, did not react to it,
just took a deep breath and looked towards a happy group drinking on the next
table,
Blue was keen to know the answer to the question he put and was insistent.
"Hey Mano, never mind them pretty girls over there. Was Xavier kin of
the Montoyas?"
The mere mention of Xavier's name brought Manolito inward turmoil, but he
did not show any outward signs of the anger he felt within. After a further
pause he spoke,
"He is dead in the graveyard is he not?".
"Yep, Mano. He is.”
"We are here enjoying ourselves, in the company of beautiful
"Yep Mano, but …”
"So this is the time for the living,
Manolito might have fooled Blue and Pedro but he could not fool himself.
Xavier was dead, the headstone on his gravestone was testimony to that
fact. His burned remains had been laid to rest. He was no longer a
danger.
After a while he excused himself, “Con su permiso, Dona Rosa, senores,” he had
not spoken to his father since arriving in Mexico and he had to show his
respects at this special time, and rode to Rancho Montoya.
Meanwhile back at the cantina Pedro swallowed more than his share
of tequila and was, not surprisingly, very happy in the company of some of
Blue looked from under his hat at Pedro's jovial and lubricated face - Blue
also had more than his allocation, but having been disappointed by Mano's lack
of information he turned to the pleasures of the bottle instead. He wavered as
he stood, and then wobbled forward to rest both hands on the round table. The
'ladies' giggled at the scowling deep blue eyes and pouting mouth, and pursed
their rouged lips in feigned kisses to try to draw out the playfulness in him.
"Well Pedro," Blue spluttered with a tinge of blurriness to his
voice. "What…ch YOU know about it?"
Pedro's attention was being taken by the senorita on his left knee.
"About what Amigo?" he responded without even looking at the wavering
Blue.
"About Xavier Mon...t…oya, in the grave, out the back of the
chur…ch," he hiccupped.
Pedro winced at the boy. He had hoped the matter had ended when Manolito had
exited the cantina. In fact Pedro was quite happy that Blue had not asked him
anything for the hour that they had been sitting at the table lubricating their
faces.
"Aarrggh Amigo! Why do you ask me such things?" the Mexican cowboy
moaned with a pained expression. "Leave it alone.., and have another
drink," he encouraged shoving the nearly empty bottle across the table.
Blue stood - or rather wavered to his full height. He was not going to leave it
alone.
"NO!" he said rather loudly, unconsciously spitting drool in Pedro's
direction. His head began to swoon.
"You know…don.cha..?" queried the youngest Cannon in a rather demanding
tone. His eyes narrowed to see if he could detect any information from Pedro's
face. Blue's fist landed on the table to emphasise his conviction and the
glasses rocked and tinkled together. He looked into Pedro's blood shot eyes and
wondered why the man's face was similar to a desert mirage.
"Oohh Blue, amigo," Pedro pleaded rather nervously. Being the older
of the two, Pedro was a little more used to drinking that the Cannon son.
"Jue know..." began the Mexican in a whine, "eet is not good for
you to ask questions about thees man."
Blue perked with interest and pushed himself from the table once more. His head
reeled but he wanted answers.
"Sometimes eef you stir up the dead who do not wan… to be disturbed, jue
know," Pedro looked nervously over his shoulder as if someone might be
listening, "sometimes the dead… they... they reach out from the grave and
touch jore lives in ways jue do not want. No, no amigo... let the dead sleep,
eet is not our business" he
finalised.
But this was insufficient for Blue - his interest had been piqued and he
recalled the eerie feeling he had at the gravesite. He was not going to let
this matter rest, especially now he was sure that Pedro could spill the beans.
Angry with Pedro for dangling him and not just telling him outright, Blue
sidled round the table towards his father's cowpuncher. Perhaps a swing from a
right fist would loosen the man's tongue.
As he side stepped the 'lady' with the drink, Blue pulled his fist back in
anticipation of the strike.
"Now lo…look here!" he shouted at Pedro... then crashed to the floor
drunk as a skunk.
*********
Mano slowed his pace consciously, his senses suddenly
alerted. When on Montoya land he rarely felt the way he did
now...the sure sensation that he was being watched...and not with a kindly
eye. He stopped as if to examine his money, drawing also the small
knife nestled beside it.....
As Mano slowly moved on, alert to any movement he heard
shouts behind him.
"Manolito! ...Manolito! ... Qual es la prisa?"
Turning he realized Manuel, a childhood friend, was stumbling up the path
shouting. Breathless, his friend clutched at Mano's arm to support
himself. "I went to see
Mano gave a mumbled response, his ears straining for a hint of the other
presence he had felt. No! Whoever or whatever it was, it was
gone. ‘Whatever’ he said to himself, with a disgusted snort, ‘I
am like a gringo myself now, scared of shadows.’ Busy supporting
his inebriated friend, he dismissed the thought. If there was one thing
Mano was good at, it was crossing one bridge at a time.
“Manuel amigo, I am in no rush, I am never in a rush to
visit my father," he said ruefully, "In fact I am enjoying my time
getting there, I am glad you caught up with me,"
Manolito looked at his friends perspiring face. "You look as if you need a
drink amigo, how about we go back to
"You don't understand ... I was sent to get you. You must see Don
Sebastian, he has instructed me to fetch you. I ...I… went to every cantina to
find you, and I had to have a drink in every one. Claro.!
"Oh, Claro!" agreed Manolito.
"You should have to repay me for my diligence," Manuel said with
a wobbly voice and sad eyes.
"Aagh, no my friend, that you will have to ask from your Patron, but at
least I can buy you another drink, come my friend,”
He put Manuel’s arm around his shoulder and pulled him back towards the
cantina again,
"Manolito," Manuel's tone was now serious, "You don't
understand, I have been ordered to get you. Your father...he will not take
kindly to any more delay"
"Manuel Miguel Garcia." Manolito sighed as he
placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Do not worry any longer, I
will go immediately to see Papa."
Manuel Garcia seemed relieved.
*********
Some time later, in the great drawing room of the Casa
Montoya, Manolito confronted his father.
It was true that rumours had surfaced about the thing Don Sebastian was about
to say, but the swift punishment he had meted out to those who dared to
interfere in his private affairs was sufficient to put off any gossip mongering
among the peons. Don Sebastian knew the strength of his power in this regard.
"Come Manolo, sit," his father invited. It was a voice tinged with
the weight of a problem that had long been on his mind. Manolito glanced at
Don Sebastian indicated the chair on his right and Manolito
took his place.
The son was curiously silent as he waited for his father to prepare - there
seemed little reason for the usual banter he would normally have offered in the
presence of Don Sebastian.
It was
"What is it papa?" she almost whispered with
concern. Her father's face was lined with worry. He looked at his children.
"I must tell jue something, something of the past. Jue need to know
now," he stumbled as he fished for the right words. The tension in the
room was sharp, Don Sebastian felt it as though there was a burden of lead upon
his shoulders. The father rose from his chair and white-knuckled fists clenched
edge of the table.
"Speak Papa," commanded Manolito from the chair, his feeling of
edginess had increased and he was tiring of the suspense.
"Very well," determined Don Sebastian. "Victoria, you will no
doubt be dismayed by my confession, Manolito probably not so much, but it is
needful for me to tell jue something which happened before jue were born.
Before, even, I married jore mother."
The two children sat forward and hung onto every word.
Don Sebastian related a time when he was deeply in love with a young girl from
a neighbouring village. She and her family were very poor and the family lived
off of the small earnings the father made as a goat herder. Don Sebastian's
visits to the small village had been forbidden by his own father.
Manolito was intrigued - it seemed as though time in the Hacienda had stood
still, that the demands of parents on children had transcended generations and
gave the younger man an insight never before known to him of his father's
exploits. Oh, Mano knew that Don Sebastian preached to him about virtues and
vices, but suddenly it had become evidently clear and real that his father may
actually have been giving his unwanted advice because of mistakes that the
older man had made in his youth.
Don Sebastian continued and told of how one night he managed to slip from his
father's minders when they thought he was in his bed. He escaped to the arms of
the lovely Arcelia Isidro.
Don Sebastian's voice fell to a low murmur as he related how the young woman
told him of the threats that the then Montoya head, had made upon her own
father, his livelihood and his family if he did not succeed in keeping the girl
from seeing his son Sebastian. Indeed when Arcelia had refused to obey her
father's words she was beaten for her love of Sebastian.
That night the two young people sealed their love. Afterwards Sebastian related
how he took the young woman to
Manolito and Victoria remained silent in their seats.
But what of the rest of the story, surely it was not this simple misguided love
tryst that weighed down Don Sebastian so greatly? Manolito wanted his father to
say more. The mere mention of Xavier twice in one night, once by Blue and now
by his own father, sparked an interest in the truth behind the story. Indeed,
behind the gravestone at the cemetery that bore Xavier Montoya's name. Perhaps
now, with his father's confession, the real story would be revealed.
Victoria having wiped a tear from her eye, asked, "What
happened in Mexico City?”
“My father had given instructions to Xavier to bring myself and Arcelia home,
to face our families wrath, You must understand we were young, Once we had
arrived in Mexico City, we both realised that our love for each other was
untenable, and the adventure we had undertaken could not continue,”
"Papa. where is this going," responded Victoria,
"Emilio,” responded Don Sebastian, his normal stiff countenance was
breaking down,
Victoria and Manolito looked to one another, each trying to put a face to the
name,
Emilio Montoya, Xavier’s son.
Recognition now came forth,
"Emilio Montoya, didn’t he have an accident, didn’t he die when he was
very young?" inquired Victoria delicately,
Manolito walked to the cabinet and poured two glasses of wine from a decanter
and offered it to his now emotional father,
"It was not an accident, he was killed from a shot from his own
father’s pistola, and it was my fault "
"Madre de Dios!" exclaimed Victoria and Manolito in unison.
"Why do you say that Papa?" continued Manolito, "How could
you blame yourself for what happened all those years ago?”
There was silence for a time as the three Montoya's gathered
their thoughts. Mano quietly slipped to the dark and heavy sideboard where many
keepsakes were kept. Sitting firmly in the middle was the family Bible. Its
deep, hand-carved leather cover sat closed. The brass clasps firmly shut. Mano
flicked open the fasteners and slowly turned the pages that seemingly covered
aeons of time. The Montoya name was prevalent, but other names appeared that
were also familiar as family names. They dated back to Old Spain and were
scripted in the most beautiful of penmanship, which evidently changed with the
passing of the writers through the generations.
Mano found the spot he was looking for.
EMILIO MONTOYA
Died 1 November 1858
son of Xavier and Arcelia Montoya
Manolito stopped in his tracks. He had never noticed Emilio's mother's name
before! How could this be? It was the same name that his father had mentioned
as his lover. Then the young Montoya looked at the death date. An eerie feeling
crept up his neck. The first of November - Dia de los Muertos! Had the dead
boy come back on this anniversary? Perhaps that was what Mano had felt
looking at him from the shadows? He shook off the thought, things had become
too real.
Don Sebastian poured another drink for himself. He had his back to Manolito but
the son was sure the father knew what he was looking at.
Manolito backtracked several pages to the record of marriages. There it was,
Xavier had married Arcelia Isidro in her small village Las Clarita just a month
or two’s time after her forced return with Don Sebastian.
Mano stepped back a pace and turned to his sister. She saw his look, rose and
followed her brother’s eyes to the Bible. Confused, she also read the entries.
When the pair turned to their father he was staring at them in an unusual
solemnity.
"Sometimes," he began in a broken voice, "we pay for our
mistakes many times during our lives."
Don Sebastian, sipped his small glass again and began.
Xavier had sought and found the young lovers in
Nevertheless, at his uncle's request, the cousin convinced Don Sebastian to
return. It was not overly difficult to persuade the two, as Sebastian had
awoken one morning to the realisation that he would be cut off from his family
fortune and have to work at a normal employment to support his new family - he
shuddered at the thought. A spark of the old man's devilment flashed before his
children - then faded.
Arcelia, too already had doubts about their relationship lasting - it was the
way that Sebastian had looked at her, and, just before Xavier had found them,
Sebastian had refused to stay in her room. He left her each night to play the
gambling tables in the hope of winning sufficient to make a more suitable
lifestyle for him and his now reluctant wife-to-be.
Don Sebastian sat at the hacienda table and plonked his glass down. The amber
contents swilled with the force. The old man looked old as he retold the story.
He buried his face in his hands for a moment.
This did not mean she approved of her father's actions. In
Dragging both hands down his tired face Don Sebastian muttered something behind
his fingers. She did not catch what he said.
"Papa, you take on too much of this as a burden. Do not be so hard on
yourself," she pleaded as she stroked his arm.
He continued. "It was a shameful act, a foolish, shameful act. Jue do not
understand my dear," as he returned the patting to her hand. "On the
return trip, and for the weeks that followed our return, Xavier stayed at the
Rancho Montoya. Unknown to us he fell in love with Arcelia. She was a beautiful
woman with a wonderful spirit - it was not hard to fall in love with her."
"Arcelia's papa had her sent to a convent, to repent no doubt," Don
Sebastian's voice faltered and gruffed with deep anger. He continued with the
story. His children listened intently.
Arcelia's time at the convent was not a happy one. The work was hard and the
hours long. Prayers were common place morning,
Arcelia had gone at her father's dictate and to hide the
shame she had brought her family. Sebastian's father had financed the exile in
order to keep the exploits of his son quiet. Sebastian had no idea of the
difficult daily life of the young woman he thought he loved just months earlier
- he was back to his normal routine.
Forgiven by his family for his foolish behaviour Sebastian did make an effort
to follow his father's advice about such things. Not long after a marriage with
a suitable woman was arranged and Sebastian became a husband to a woman he grew
to love for all the right reasons. Two children blessed the union.
"Jue see my son," Don Sebastian said with more conviction.
"Sometimes a father's words are wise, no?"
Manolito had remained standing next to the sideboard - there was something else
he wanted to view but was captured by his father's tale. He raised his eyebrows
at his father and gave a short, sideways tilt to with his head. It would do no
good to for him to confirm his father's words - Don Sebastian had a very good
memory and would manipulate them against him when he required it in the future.
"What happened to Arcelia and Xavier? They married of course,"
Don Sebastian continued.
At first Arcelia had refused to return Xavier's feelings because of the mistake
that she had made with Sebastian. But Xavier had been gently persistent on the
long trip back and also again when he visited her at the convent under the
guise of protector. The nuns were not happy about the visits but as my papa
blessed the convent with funds, the Mother Superior was inclined to look upon
the visits as family concerns for the welfare of the young woman. The walks
were taken with a nun as a chaperone and were always during the daytime in the
convent gardens. Because Xavier would speak quietly with Arcelia they were able
to discuss future possibilities - tentative though they were.
Manolito listened as he gently turned the pages of the family Bible -he was
looking for something specific.
One day Arcelia was very upset and cried all during the visit. Xavier persuaded
her to leave with him and within two hours they were married.
"Did they love each other?"
"Well," her father replied slowly, "Xavier loved Arcelia from
the time he met her, and I do believe that she came to love him too. We rarely
met again after the convent, so it was hard for me to say. She went to live
with Xavier in
He looked at
Manolito had found the page he was looking for and studied it keenly. He tapped
his lightly tapped his fingers on the sideboard as he counted months in his
mind. He said nothing.
"Papa,"
Don Sebastian dropped his head, he knew more than he was willing to say at this
time, but he felt the need to answer the Emilio question as it had a bearing on
Xavier's grave.
"Xavier's side of the family did not make good investments with their
money. When Tio Paulo passed away, they made ends meet and were happy - I
suppose." The old man hesitated.
"When jore Grandpapa died, they were left some money but had to return to
the Montoya Rancho to claim it. That was the first time I had seen Arcelia in
twelve years. Xavier I saw occasionally on my visits to
accommodation."
"What was it like, seeing her again?"
"I am curious," she snapped at her brother, having been caught up in
the saga so far.
Don Sebastian seemed more at ease now that before. He
answered his daughter truthfully.
"She was beautiful but worn around the edges, like a lace tablecloth that
has seen better days. Her life had been harder than it should have been and
compared to jore Mama she was not as well cared for. Hardships were evident in
her clothing and her demeanour. She did not feel comfortable at the Rancho, and
preferred the simple
life of a small village. I think she had regrets," he continued then
tapered his voice.
Xavier's family of four were welcomed and treated like the Montoya's they were
- Don Sebastian had insisted upon it. It was a guilt provoked action on his
part. As for
Victoria and Manolito's mother arranged for the dressmaker to come and create
several dresses for Arcelia. Initially Arcelia declined; still having some
pride not to accept charity, but ended up wearing the new clothes as a gift
from a friend. The two wives grew close in the short time they were visiting.
"Papa,"
Don Sebastian nodded, "Jue were very young, and Manolito was no more than
a small child," he began but stopped for a moment as a memory flashed past
his eyes. The boy was not dissimilar to Manolito when he grew to that age, he
pictured him in his mind's eye bright and vibrant, a good rider and an
agreeable personality. The girl too,
older but with the same fine features and soulful eyes as
Manolito returned to the birth and death record belonging to Emilio and once
again scanned through the transcripts. At the very bottom of the yellowed page
were these words written:
‘Forever loved and forever remembered by your father.’
Mano recognised the writing immediately. It was not Xavier's.
Manolito spoke before Don Sebastian. "Twins," he said curtly. "A
boy and a girl. Emilio and Juliana," Manolito continued as he held his
hand lightly at the page of the record.
"What is wrong with you, Manolito?" she asked coming to her feet
somewhat annoyed at his tone. She knew her brother sufficiently to realise that
he was aggravated about something. Don Sebastian held Manolito's gaze,
which was surprisingly chilled.
The older man spoke. "Calma, niña," he persuaded softly. "Jore
brother knows of the sins of the fathers." The two men still held the
gaze. Manolito waited for his father.
"I do not know what you are talking about, Papa. Please explain,"
Don Sebastian found his throat to be dry - he took another drink, but before he
could disclose his knowledge Manolito interjected.
"It is a matter of math
"You see, hermana," he tapped the Bible once more. "The twins
were born eight months after the marriage."
"What... are you saying?" she asked hesitantly in a quiet voice as
her face paled with a slow realisation. She reached for a chair without
looking. Don Sebastian turned from the two; it was difficult to shed light on this
whole topic without the deepest heart-felt regret.
Manolito sighed. "Well,” he continued with his summary. “Either Tia
Arcelia had her children early - by one month, which is very possible, no?
Or." his speech trailed as he pursed his lips and found the last sentence
difficult to voice. "We had an older brother and sister."
Don Sebastian made a small groan, it came from deep within his soul and was as
mournful as
"One evening, close to the end of their stay I found Arcelia in the
garden, alone. Never had the topic of the children been broached, but I had a
feeling, an urge to know for sure if the children truly belonged to Xavier
or." he hesitated as he drew a breath.
"She was embarrassed, of course. She was resolute that the children were
born early and that the topic must never again be spoken of. I could not help
myself. I pressed her for the answer that I wanted to hear - what I believed
did not match what Arcelia was saying."
The old man clenched his teeth. "I offered her money, for the children's
education and well-being, jue understand. She refused. She said it was charity
and she would not concede that assistance was needed. Neither was it wanted.
The inheritance from jore Grandpapa was sufficient for their needs." Don
Sebastian slowed. "But I knew it would not last for too long."
"It was then that Xavier found us. He had overheard the conversation and
was irate. We got into an argument. Arcelia begged us to be at peace with each
other but years of hidden secrets and bad feeling came out in words and fists.
Somehow a gun went off. It ricocheted from the pillars that used to be skirt
the garden. It shocked us all to a standstill. Both Xavier and I knew that we
had been fighting senselessly. We were ashamed of ourselves for allowing it to
have developed to that state. We turned to leave when." he could not go on
without turning away. A small tear escaped his eye.
Don Sebastian braced himself against the wall. "We heard a small cry, like
an injured rabbit. We did not know the child was in the bushes. He had been
playing hide and seek. He must have heard and seen everything. The bullet
ricocheted and struck him in his chest and he died shortly after
"Xavier was heart-broken." Don Sebastian continued quickly. He wanted
this over.
"He rode a horse into the night and never returned. The next day searchers
found him at the bottom of the cliff in Arroyo Rojo, his horse had slipped in
the darkness and cast them both down."
A sharp stillness had returned to the room as the three Montoya's pondered the
images in their heads.
Don Sebastian continued with difficulty.
"Arcelia was devastated and left that night, they buried both Xavier and
Emilio in the town graveyard. She used all the Montoya money from the
inheritance to purchase a cantina and hostel for her parents as a way of
supporting the family - it was her way of paying them back for the shame she had
caused."
Don Sebastian halted for a moment. "It was not her that had caused the
shame, but me," he said with regret.
The older man bowed his head and scratched his fingers along his scalp.
Manolito thought quietly for a minute.
"Papa," he asked quietly, "there is no grave for an Emilio
Montoya in that cemetery." It was more of a question than a statement but
Don Sebastian pursed his lips. He had moved from the man willing to share
secrets, to his former self. Not all secrets from his life needed to be shared
this evening. He pursed his lips and said nothing more.
**********
Pedro had his cousin and nephew carry Blue over to their
hogar, a tiny dirt floor shack a stone's throw from the cantina.
Pedro had always thought the location a great blessing but never more than
now,
Blue wondered where he was when he woke after being
unceremoniously dropped onto a pallet of straw in the dimly lit building - he
wasn’t sure if it was lamp light or the new dawn that he could see through his
squinted eyes.
He did hear the giggly sounds of children in the background but his head
swirled as he tried to focus on there whereabouts.
The 'tut tut' sound of a mature woman he heard from the dim corners of the room.
Pedro sat heavily into the chair by a fire place smoldering embers under a
blackened pot. Small eyes were peeping at him from behind the throws of the
chair and from under a table, Pedro seemed to ignore them as he wiped the sweat
from his brow - he would think twice before carrying a Cannon home again!
Blue heard the swish of skirts and leant on one elbow to see the pretty face of
a Mexican girl looking down intently upon him. Blue tried to smile to impress
the young woman - the children in hiding laughed and giggled. The young woman
scolded them, she liked the look of the blond-headed gringo.
Blue moved up to sitting position, though his head reeled. His smile suddenly
disappeared as an uncontrollable heaving welled up in his stomach. Face
much greener now, Blue tried all he could to hold down the night’s intake. The
young woman looked concerned - the children giggled.
It came with such a force that Blue was caught by surprise. He was grateful
that Pedro had placed a pail beside his pallet. Reaching for it Blue could hear
the children laughing loudly - he must have been a comical site bent over the
side of the pallet. His face reddened with embarrassment as the convulsions
forced his head into the bucket. Suddenly the young Cannon was aware of the absolute
silence in the house. The laughing children stood horrified,
"EEEWWWWHH!" they cried simultaneously and fled from the room
Watching sympathetically, Pedro shook his head, '
Blue fumbled his way to the door. The sun had begun to rise,
and though it was not yet fully visible behind the trees skirting the town
it was evident the day was going to be a bright one. His head pounded and he
silently cursed himself for getting into this situation. Pedro was right, his
Pa would pitch a blue fit if he caught him in this condition. The young man
headed for the horse trough to dip his head.
When he came up from the chilly water Blue wiped his face with his hands. As he
shook them dry he felt the warmth of a towel as it was placed in his hands.
Pedro's niece had brought it to him and stood looking into his pale face. She
did not smile or giggle at his situation, but was intent on studying the blond
gringo's eyes. They were a colour she rarely saw, if ever. A crystal blue,
sharp and penetrating.
"Gracias," Blue whispered as he took the towel to dry his dripping
hair.
The girl gave a quick smile. It was a pretty sight for a young man so early in
the morning.
**********
The morning brought a sunlight through the window shutters that was bright, but
chilled. Mrs Cannon arose and practiced her morning prayers. Afterward she
looked longingly at the picture of her mother that stood in a silver frame on
the bedside cabinet, and wondered what she would have said - or done, in this
situation. It gave
Walking around the room she absent mindedly cast a glance through the window.
It faced toward the Hacienda graveyard. There she spotted Manolito kneeling at
his mother’s grave, hat in hand and head bowed. The contrast of brightly
coloured decorations and flowers presented the previous evening served to make
his outline more distinct as he was dressed in black. A movement from the side
of the enclosure caught her eye, it was Manolito's horse, Macadoo. He was
preparing to leave, but she did not know where. However, because of his sharp
dress
Manolito rode in silence - but in his mind voices in turmoil
screamed. Several issues had puzzled him that was spoken of by his father
during the previous evening. The first one was why there was was no grave for
the body of the child Emilio, and secondly why did the rumour persist that
Xavier's body was burned?
It was difficult to answer these questions - but Manolito hoped that somewhere
in the mists of time someone would enlighten him. He headed the golden horse in
the direction of the old churchyard, perhaps the ancient Padre could shed some
light on the matter.
As for the hint that his Papa was the true father of Arcelia's children - Mano
was caught in two minds.
True, his father had been of the same wayward character, in his younger years,
hot blooded and independent, and that was one of the reasons Manolito used in his
own defense when assailed by his Papa's demands to 'settle down and have a
family'. Even so, in light of Arcelia's life-long denial, Manolito was not
totally convinced that the twins were actually his brother and sister.
Macadoo plodded on, the rhythmic beat of his hooves on the dry and dusty road
was a comfort to Manolito. The young caballero was deep in thought,
"I wonder what happened to Juliana?"
**********
Blue
toweled his hair and looked at the toes of his boots. He could feel his cheeks
and ears begin to turn hot as he glanced up at the lovely senorita. "Uh,
excuse me Ma'am. I'm sorry about, well, being sick in your
hacienda." His head felt like it might split down the middle and his
mouth was dry as the dust in the street. 'How does Uncle Buck keep this up at
his age?' He shifted the wet towel from hand to hand, not wanting to hand it
back to the girl.
She continued to smile at him, taking the towel from his hands and brushing his
fingers lightly with her own. In spite of the heat from the morning sun,
Blue shivered slightly as her fingers stayed just a touch too long on his. His
mouth flew open in surprise and his eyes widened. She spoke, a long stream of
rapid Spanish. 'Wish I'd paid more attention to Manolito's Spanish lessons.
Maybe not, more'n likely he'd teach me the wrong words anyway.'
The girl was still smiling at him fetchingly. Blue swallowed hard, trying
to think past his aching head and queasy stomach. He looked behind him. No
Pedro.For once in his life, no Pa or Buck, either. He chewed the inside
of his lip, trying hard to clear his head. "Senorita? Su nombre? My
name is, I mean, mi nombre es Blue."
She laughed then, a clear sound that would have been delightful if his head
weren't ready to fall off and roll around the ground. Instead it cut
through his brain like an ice pick. "Nombre es Blue? Azul?"
He sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, my name's Blue.
It's a long story and it's better'n Rover." He was about to try his
limited Spanish again when movement beyond the girl caught his attention. His
eyes widened, he grabbed his hat and ran for the hogar. Skidding to a stop in
the dirt, he ran back.
"Muchas gracias, Senorita. Uh, mi nombre NO es Blue.” He looked
frantically beyond her down the road. His voice rose sharply. "Mi nombre
NO es Blue. Not Blue, you got that? Mi nombre is Manolito.
Mano, si?" He nodded wildly. "Mano, mi nombre Mano."
"Si, muchacho, Mano, Mano." The girl was plainly confused but willing
to go along with the loco gringo.
Stumbling, falling, regaining his feet, Blue ran for the hacienda.
Stalking up the slight hill toward Pedro's family hogar was the imposing figure
of John Cannon.
Blue darted from building to building as he tried to skirt
behind his father. Running down hill was faster than his father walking up hill
but even so, Blue's head felt as if it would burst with all the jarring
movements. Blue was trying to make it back to the stable before his whereabouts
was known and make out that his night had
been spent in the hayloft above old Soapy. He could only imagine how irate his
father would be if he found out the truth.
Sure that his father had passed the rickety shanty that he hid behind Blue made
a sneaky dive for the livery stables. As he moved forward his boot caught on a
loose board and he crashed to the ground.
"Blue?" questioned John Cannon loudly from the middle of the street.
He had heard the noise and turned to investigate. Seeing his son sprawled out
in the dust he moved closer leading his horse behind him.
Blue had to think fast. "Oh, hi Pa," I heard you were in town and
wondered where you were." In reality, he had no idea what his father was
doing here, thinking him safely back at the ranch with Uncle Buck.
"What are you doing on the ground boy?" he barked not so angrily and
helped the boy to his feet. Blue's hat fell from his face and he looked pale in
the new morning light.
"Awww I just tripped on that old piece of board, afore I could call out to
ya!" he said sheepishly.
John Cannon put his hand on his son's head and drew back the blond hair to look
more fully into his face. It felt like an anvil had been dropped behind Blue's
eyes.
"You alright boy?" he asked in his deep raspy voice. He was genuinely
concerned. The boy didn’t look well at all.
"Oh sure," Blue replied. "Just didn’t get much sleep last night
with all the fireworks going off 's all.
What you doing here?" the youngster added quickly changing the subject.
"Never mind what I'm doing here, you look like the
devil and you smell like the back of a saloon." Blue winced as his
father's eyes narrowed, he recognized the look. It was the one he'd been trying
hard to avoid. "Did you spend last night chasing around with
Manolito?"
Blue squared his shoulders, putting on his best innocent look. "Mano?
Big John eyed him, clearly suspicious, then decided to drop the matter.
"Sam convinced me things would run without me for a few days, and
"Okay, uh, that's nice, Pa, uh, you want to get some breakfast or
something?" Blue attempted to steer his father down the street. Gazing
over Big John's shoulder and up the hill toward Pedro's family home, he could
clearly see the slight figure of the young senorita. Worse, she was
waving to him and calling. Not his name. Mano's.
Too late. Big John turned as the young lady arrived, speaking a rapid stream of
espanol. Even Blue could translate clearly enough to understand she was
addressing him warmly as `Mano'.
John Cannon's voice in full throated roar could cover the compound at High
Chaparral. Somewhere in the middle of his current fit Blue noticed an
appreciative crowd forming. Blue's head continued to ache, he noticed it seemed
to pound in time with his fathers words. `I swear if I live through this I
ain't never drinking again, it ain't worth it.' Worn out at last, John
stalked off down the street, leaving his son to collapse on the wooden porch of
the livery stable.
Aching head in his hands, he felt a light touch on his arm. "Mano?"
He looked up into the eyes of the lovely young senorita.
He sighed and shook his head. "Blue." He rubbed his aching head.
She tilted her head, confused. "Azul?"
He smiled slightly, rubbed his eyes, then looked at her tiredly. His head
ached, he was thirsty enough to drink a barrel of water, and he still could use
that bucket in her hacienda. But she was awful pretty. Too bad she didn't
understand a word he was saying. "Yeah. Blue. It's like this, I was
named after a dog."
For a young man, even the worst morning can seem better when
a young woman is gazing happily into your eyes. Blue quickly exhausted
his limited Spanish, but the lovely Senorita didn't seem to mind. She
scooted closer to him on the porch of the livery stable, touched him lightly on
the sleeve, spoke a long and lively stream of Espanol. The words were
graceful, quick, and he understood none of it, except the occasional
"Mano". He smiled and covered her hand with his own. If
she wanted to call him Mano, he could be Mano for the day. He'd been
called worse things in his life. He stood, pulling her upright with him, and
walked to the corral. Her hand felt small and warm in his.
Soapy trotted over, looking for a treat. "Sorry boy, I ain't got a thing
for you." He stroked the soft nose and looked down into the eyes of the
young girl. "This is my horse." She laughed, petting the horse
happily. She moved closer to Blue, placing her hand on his cheek. He looked
into her soft, brown eyes, touched her hair, and lowered his head to her mouth.
"BLUE!" John's voice carried down the street to the corral. Blue
jumped and turned to see his father storming back down the street directly
toward him. 'It never fails. If I ever want to find Pa, all I need to
do is find a pretty girl.'
"Saddle up, boy. I'm going to Don Sebastian's and
you're going with me."
**********
Some time later Macadoo slowed to a stop at the bottom of
the old church steps. Manolito could see the stone statue of the Virgin Mary
suspended above the heavy, time-worn doors. She was holding the Christ child in
her arms and the flow of her mason gown and the tenderness of the mother's look
at The Child reminded him somewhat of his own mother - and he wondered if the
two had met in Heaven yet.
Manolito's faced flushed with embarrassment as he imagined his mother recounted
to the Holy Mary of her son's exploits. It would be a no good tale to tell, he
muttered as his eyes averted from the statue's forgiving gaze. Mano was
frustrated. He hadn't come to the church for his own benefit, but to seek
information from many years ago. Padre Milagros was residing here in those
days, though older in years, Mano figured the Priest would be able to enlighten
him of the situation.
The Montoya hombre entered the church. Deep was the silence that prevailed
within the columned building. Mano had always experienced it to be so. It was
not a comfortable position for him, but as he moved forward and stepped upon
the flagstones of the centre aisle he felt years of considerable training on
behalf of his mother come flooding back. Instinctively he half-knelt and
crossed himself as she had taught him to do as a child.
Feeling the forlorn gaze of the statues at the front of the church, eyeing him
with righteous curiosity, Mano moved to the side - partly hiding the statues
with the stone columns that rose to the ceiling. There was a flurry of movement
as the drapes of the confessional box opened and an old woman exited. Mano knew
that he had chosen the wrong time to make his enquiries, but as there were no
other parishioners waiting in the pews, Mano took the opportunity to slip into
the darkened box, where he knew the Padre would be. The need to find answers to
his questions was important and he could not wait another hour until
'Confessions' were over.
The dark-robed figure of the Padre sat seemingly motionless behind the grid.
The only sound that Manolito could hear was the timely flipping of Rosary beads
as the Padre systematically worked through them until Mano took his place on
the seat in the near dark confines.
Mano wasn’t sure how to start and instantly regretted not waiting until he
could see the old man's eyes. He wasn’t even sure that the old priest would
know who he was – after all, it had been a long time since he had made a
confession, and he had no intention of doing it now. He'd just come for
information.
"Forgive me Padre, I have come for information," he began but
hesitated. It sounded like the beginning of a confession. Mano winced at
himself.
A soft, grey voice floated through from the other side of the gird.
"No, no my son," he whispered kindly. "You should begin...
`Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,' the old man corrected.
Manolito squirmed on the wooden seat that suddenly seemed to be fashioned from
extremely hard wood. He knew he needed to speak plainly but found his voice
wedged in his throat and his hands clenched and sweaty.
"No, Padre, you do not understand." Mano began again. "I am
sorry to intrude during confessions but I have many questions that need
answering."
"Si my son," the shadow spoke. "God will answer all your
questions, but first you must make your confession."
Mano became a little agitated and wondered if he should leave the confessional
and wait until the priest was available later. However the weight of his
unanswered questions plagued him and he felt pressed for time. Once more he
tried to enlighten the priest on why he was present in the church this morning.
More harried than his demeanour usually allowed, Montoya began again.
"Padre," Mano spoke with control. The priest leant closer to the grid
believing this time a confession would come.
"Padre, I am Manolito Montoya..." Mano continued.
For a fraction of a moment Manolito thought he saw the Padre Milagros start with
surprise, but if he did, it was quickly covered with a gruff grumble in the
form of a cough rumbled from the Padre's side of the box.
"You do not need to tell me your name, my son. God knows who you
are," clarified the robed man.
"But Padre," Mano whispered through his teeth, "I have not come
to ask questions of God, just of you."
There was a heavy pause, Manolito waited. It seemed like a long pause, in which
time Mano became suddenly aware of the sounds and smells of the old building
and the people in it. There were others present in the Church. Their hushed
whisperings of honest prayer wafted softly like invisible mist through the
ornate fretwork at the top of the confessional box. The shuffling of poor but
honourable feet and the burning of incense and candles came as reminders to him
of another time and age.
The padre spoke. "I am God's servant, Manolito," he replied calling
the young man by name. His familiar voice sounded as gentle as a light breeze
and Manolito felt his agitation slowly wash away.
"God will answer your questions in His own good time," he continued.
"But for now, is it not time to make reconciliation?"
Manolito Montoya sat silently enveloped in the dark confines. The padre waited
patiently. Mano was more surprised than anyone could have been when he
carefully placed his black-banded hat on the seat and slipped to the padded
floor in front of the grid. He gathered his thoughts. Perhaps he had chosen
this time to speak to the priest with an unconscious desire to make confession.
The younger man rested his elbows lightly on the small bench that ran along the
wooden boards separating the priest from the penitent. He slowly bowed his head
and clasped his hands in the attitude of prayer and began.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been," he hesitated as he tried to calculate the last time he was in this humble position. Then continued, "oh . . . such a long time since my last confession."
By the time Manolito left the presence of Padre Milagros the
morning had crept by. His rather lengthy confession had taken some
consideration on the part of the old priest and a suitable penance was deemed
necessary to secure full forgiveness. After dealing with his own misdoing, Mano
talked face to face with the priest about his father's misdeeds.
"Heredaste lo inteligente de tu papa!"** was all the priest could
utter, and refused to divulge anything from Arcelia or Don Sebastian's
confessions. Mano knew the priest held the needed knowledge but he came away
non-the wiser about solving his father's intriguing tale of love, deceit and
death.
For a moment he sat on the steps of the Church exasperated and frustrated. The
inferred parentage of Emilio and Juliana by Don Sebastian the previous night
seemed to be going nowhere fast. Wondering where his inquiries would take him
next, Mano gazed down the street. To his surprise he saw John Cannon mounted on
his familiar bay - followed closely by his son on Soapy.
**********
Her father, having made weak excuses about overseeing stock
left
revelations from her family's history. She wished John was here she needed him
to talk to.
After moving her food around the plate for the umpteenth time
By the time she had dressed the servants of Don Sebastian had the carriage
waiting for her. Her father was not here to dissuade her -nor her brother, so
there was no need to make excuses about going to town to purchase some items.
That would have been her excuse if need be.
Her blue velvet travelling dress swished elegantly down the stairs of the huge
family home. Fixing her hat securely and determinedly on her head in the
hallway mirror
Feeling confident, she swung through the heavy doors of the house and out into
the courtyard where the open carriage waited. The black vehicle was
complemented by the pair of dark greys harnessed and ready to move. They
twitched their heads, snorted and chomped waiting for instructions.
The driver, Alberto, was a horsemaster of the very best kind and waited with
dark sombrero in hand on the carriage seat. His other hand contained all the
harness reins, laid perfectly flat between his fingers. Even in the quick
glance and approving nod that Senora Cannon gave him she could see how
confident he was with his steeds.
Once settled in the carriage, helped in by one of the house servants, Victoria
pondered the day ahead. Alberto manoeuvred the horses slowly toward the great
entrance. That they were slowing to a stop when there did not concern her. She
was pleased that Alberto was the horsemaster for this trip.
Alberto was obedient, not a fool, but respectful of the Montoya family. He was
a loyal servant and as such
Victoria, from her position in the carriage was a little startled, and knew if
Vaquero was to attend her this day then she may not have the freedom to
accomplish the task she so desired.
"Vaquero," she queried with a slight waver of uncertainty in her voice.
She hoped he had not heard it. "You do not need to travel with me
today." Then added, "You surely must have things you wish to do with
your own family during our visit, no?"
Vaquero glanced quickly at her.
"No," he replied matter of factly with a short shake of his head and
touched Alberto's arm to proceed.
"Wait,"
"Vaquero," she chided innocently. "Your daughter has waited a
long time between visits. Surely you must wish to spend time with her and your
grandchildren?"
It would do no good to have Vaquero along. He, like her father, brother and
husband would surely not approve of her destination. Not that it really
mattered, (though secretly it did to her as Vaquero was considered one of the
family), but she knew he would try to dissuade her from finding the answers to
her questions in this little village.
Alberto had gently pulled the horses to a stop but kept his eyes straight
forward. It was not any of his business to interfere with the Patron's family,
only Vaquero had the presence, authority and sheer guts to do that. Even then
everyone knew that Vaquero picked his moments. Alberto was please to witness
this one first hand, prior to this it had only been hearsay for him.
Furthermore, he secretly admired how the big man was able to diffuse and
dispense with the situation in a manner that was succinct and final, without
antagonising the Senora.
"Senora," Vaquero began softly, turning in his seat and reaching for
the rifle placed under it. He faced
"These times are troubled. The country is full of vagabonds and bandits.
It is not worth your life, or mine to your husband or your father, to let you
travel in such conditions without a guard."
Vaquero nodded to Alberto as he turned to face forward - it was a sign that the
conversation was over. The driver obeyed the silent instruction and the horses
eagerly resumed their journey jerking harness and clinking brass fittings as
the carriage rocked forward.
Alberto knew that Donna Victoria had wanted to reply and order Vaquero to stay
home, but she had hesitated, and lost. The big Mexican/Apache settled into the
seat next to him, rifle in hand in case of an unexpected interruption to their
journey. Secretly Alberto admired Vaquero, the man who had become a legend in
his own right amongst the servants and peons of the Rancho Montoya.
"Turn here please Alberto,"
Vaquero turned to Mrs Cannon with a perplexed expression. "You do not
wish to go to town?" he asked.
"I was never going to town today,"
"Las Claritas?" Vaquero echoed. By this time the open carriage had
pulled to a halt at the crossroads. "But Senora, Las Claritas is nearly 10
miles away and we have no outriders to accompany us." Vaquero argued.
"Las Claritas," Victoria repeated firmly. "Can the horses not
make Las Claritas today, Alberto?" she cunningly queried knowing that
Alberto did not have the influence over her that Vaquero did. She knew he would
confirm that it was not a difficult task.
Alberto could not help himself. He looked quickly at Vaquero who, with one eyebrow
cocked upwards and the other in a threatening tone, almost dared the driver not
to speak. Suddenly Alberto felt squashed between a rock and a hard place. It
was not a comfortable place to be, but he had to answer – after all she was Don
Sebastian's daughter.
"Umm," he hesitated then spoke slowly. "Si senora, the horses
can travel."
"Drive on, Alberto."
Vaquero shook his head slightly. He knew her tone from other incidents, she was
not going to be moved on this easily, despite his reservations for her safety.
**********
Blue, John and Manolito had been on the road for about half an hour. They were
several miles from the crossroads but could see the dust of a carriage far
ahead of them - at least they assumed it was a carriage. It was quite a
distance off and ducking behind the trees that lined the road to the Montoya
Hacienda. It was black in colour and rolled like a carriage and was pulled by
two greys. Manolito recognised the package and, though they could not see the
passengers or drivers, concluded it was his father's.
Behind the three who waited quietly on the knoll came a distant clatter of
horse hooves. A swirl of dust trailing behind a rider on a bay horse rose into
the sky. Loud yips and yahoos were heard as the men turned their attention from
the road ahead to the road behind.
"Pedro!" called Blue with a grin. The others nodded in affirmation.
It did not take long for the wiry Mexican to catch up to his companions. He was
dusty from the ride and his horse was sweated and jumpy when he pulled to a
stop.
"I thought jue had left me behind?" Pedro said with a wide-eyed grin.
"So did we, compadre." Mano answered with a smile and turned his
attention back to the carriage.
The obvious fork in the crossroads bore record of the direction the carriage
was travelling.
Manolito frowned. "Papa is not coming to town today!" he muttered.
John cursed. He had hoped for a meeting today with Don Sebastian.
"There are no outriders," Mano put in. "I dare say he will be
home by dark."
John asked the young Montoya what was down that road.
Mano thought for a moment, but Pedro pushed his way forward and craned his neck
to see what they were all looking at.
"Oh! Ees just a few poor villages, some small ranchos and then Las
Claritas," he interjected without invitation. Mano felt a little uneasy.
He could ride and catch the carriage in time, if, as he suspected it was going
to Las Claritas, but then he would have to spend the whole day with his father.
It was not a good prospect when
placed in the better company of the Cannons.
John grumped.
Blue, wanting to break the silence between him and his father, suggested that
perhaps it would be more prudent to visit with
John nodded. It would certainly stand him in good stead with his wife. Even so,
he was still annoyed about this unplanned change to his schedule even though he
knew it was unreasonable to expect people to be where he wanted them to be all
the time.
**********
Manolito entered the grand entrance of his family home with
his hallmark stride, outpacing the others by several minutes. Of
course, he dismounted almost before the horse had come to a halt and threw his
reins to the groom at the same time.
He called loudly but pleasantly to Felix to bring a little refreshment while a
proper comida*** was prepared. Much as he protested to his father that he
never wanted the Rancho and needed nothing but a simple life, free of
responsibilities, there was something to be said for being spoiled. The
bonus, that his father was not at home, made him even more relaxed than
usual. Unlike the compound at the High Chaparral, Hacienda Montoya
was so well guarded that he never had to worry about safety within the
house. He could almost taste the wine his father kept in his
study.
Don Sebastian reached his hand to the door just as Mano flung it open and
father and son found themselves nose to nose.
As each stepped back the sound of Big John's voice rang out in fractured
Spanish trying to ask Felix where Senora Cannon had gone.
Mano suddenly had a sinking feeling. He had been in such a hurry to
avoid his father that he hadn't taken the time to make sure who it was that
occupied the Montoya carriage. Now he realized how foolish that had
been. No. The sinking feeling became worse. There had been no
outriders with the party and his sister, he knew, would not be headed to town
as she had apparently told the household. No!
Seeing his son's sudden worried look Don Sebastian started again. He had been surprised enough to see his son again, and dressed properly for a change but, whether or not he would have found that pleasant, there was something wrong. He sighed, thanking the little gods+ that the Day of the Dead would be over that evening...
"Manolito, are you looking for me? Or is there
something in my study that you hoped to steal?"
Manolo attempted to push past his father. The elder Montoya continued to block
the doorway, tilting his head at his son. Manolito crossed his arms, a half
smile on his face. "Papa, while I am certain there are many things worth
stealing in your study, I regret I will have to leave that pleasure for another
day. Have you seen
Don Sebastian stepped forward into the hallway, turning to close and lock the
door to his study with elaborate care. "
The younger Montoya deftly relieved the house servant of his burden and poured
the wine. "Ah. And have you also seen your best carriage?" He drank
from his glass and smiled. "This is an excellent vintage, Papa. It has
been a good year for the vines, si?"
Retrieving the bottle, Don Sebastian regarded his son with a sour expression.
"It has been a bad year for the sons also. What is this talk about carriages?"
Manolito drained his glass and smiled at his father. "Well Papa, Victoria
seems to be missing." He gestured behind him, toward the sound of voices.
"John Cannon
and I saw what looked very much like your best carriage headed along the road
to Las Claritas."
Don Sebastian’s eyebrows raised and his mouth dropped open in surprise. “What? You are lying.” He gripped the wine bottle tighter as his son reached for it.
Manolo pried the wine from his father’s hand and refreshed his glass, shook his head. “Papa, why would I lie about such a thing? Ciertamente, we saw your best carriage on the road to Las Claritas.” He drank, rolled the wine in his mouth and swallowed, frowning as he looked at his father. The older man’s skin was turning a dark shade of purple. “Papa, are you feeling well?”
The Haciendado’s lips were pressed tightly together and took
a moment before speaking. “Am I well? Am I well? Do not stand before me asking
if I am well, Manolito. Do not stand before me drinking my wine.” He put a hand
on the younger man’s shoulder and spun him toward the front door, where the
sound of Cannon’s voice could still be heard. “Instead, por favor, retrieve your sister. The road from Hacienda Montoya to
the
**********
The road to Las Claritas was rough. Alberto flicked the reins, nervously wiping
sweat from his forehead, and steered the team around a particularly difficult
patch of road.
Vaquero exchanged a glance with the driver, who shook his head and shrugged helplessly. Vaquero tried again. “It is my duty to tell you when you are wrong, Senora. This area has changed since you lived at the Patron’s hacienda.”
The
air of the desert is dry; at night cold and dry, by day hot and dry. Dry air
carries sound far and clear. The sound of a rifle being cocked sounded
explosively near to
She was not old, perhaps in her twenties - so Vaquero considered.
Beautiful though, with her long black hair tied back in a knotted pony-tail
behind her back. Her expression of determination was evident from his position
upon the driver's seat, so he felt that under the circumstances he would not
press the issue of respecting
her elders. The woman bandit trained her sights in the direction of the
passenger - Vaquero dare not move. Her black hat, though dusty was wide enough
to shade her eyes from the blazing sun.
Vaquero could also see that Senora Cannon could not visualise the face, as the
sun was at the back of the bandit, facing into Mrs Cannon's eyes. A quick
glance in the passenger's direction showed him that his charge had been
startled by the intrusion into their journey. She shifted nervously in her seat
and shot a fidgety glance
and worried look in Vaquero's direction. It was all he could do not to say
"You wouldn't listen would you Dona
"Who are you?"
Alberto slowly leaned forward. There was a pistola under his seat. If he could
just quietly bring it out...
"No, no, no," came the bandit’s voice again, full of sarcasm, and her
rifle barrel moved him smoothly into view. Alberto felt Vaquero's hand on his
shoulder. It was a silent warning not to try anything at this stage.
Another rifle showed from behind a rock to the front of the carriage, the
partial tip of a sombrero revealed its owner hidden securely behind its safety.
Vaquero judged that it would be too difficult to save Senora Cannon from a
close range shot from either gun as he was perched up in the seat.
The glint of a third gun flashed, it was further away, but still within rifle
shot. Alberto nodded in the direction on the opposite side of the road and
Vaquero's eyes followed. Now there were at least three guns he knew of.
He had wished now that he had insisted on turning back when they watered the
horses at the last village, and silently cursed that they were only two miles
from Las Claritas. The Cannon ranch hand knew there was no known law in Las
Claritas but within the relative safety of the town it would have been more
difficult to have
murdered the travellers.
"Well, well, well," the young bandita smirked as she strolled around
to the other side of the carriage, looking up at the captives.
"Why are you doing this!" Mrs Cannon gasped with surprise when she
saw how young the woman was. The expression on the road agent’s face changed -
it was not smug but purely sarcastic. Bending slowly to pick up the pistol that
Vaquero had relinquished, without taking her eyes off of the men in the
carriage, the woman tucked the gun into the top of the brown belt she had tied
around her slim waist and jutted a chin in
"Jue have much to offer Senora Cannon. Nice horses, good carriage,"
she slowed as she eyed the driving dress
"Perhaps jue will even bring a fine ransom joreself!" smirked the
woman jiggling the pistol in
"Caballos!" the young woman called to the others and the gun from
behind the rock disappeared. A few moments later a young man dressed in peon
clothes rode up behind the carriage. He carried an old rifle and led a sorry
looking bay horse. He rode a mule himself. He couldn't have been more than
sixteen years old. Hardly an ardent highwayman thought Vaquero, who wondered if
the rifle actually worked. He glanced at Alberto, clearly the other man thought
the same.
The leader sprang into the carriage with
"Where are we going?"
"We go to see what my father wishes to do with your bodies," the
young woman threatened glibly.
Vaquero was beginning to doubt the intent of the bandits but could not be sure
that in the hands of the young and inexperienced, the rifles and pistol would
not go off accidentally. He instructed Alberto to move off. The third rider
came into view - another child.
"What are today's youth coming to?" he whispered quietly to Alberto,
who clucked the horses while shaking his head in disbelief.
"And just who is your father?"
The young woman glared at the flash of Mrs Cannon and waited a few moments to
answer.
"Rodenso Isidro." she replied with a snarl. "He owns Las
Claritas - and now he owns jue too!" A smug smile returned and she sat
back to enjoy the ride in a lavish carriage.
**********
Blue Cannon squinted into the
Don Sebastian answered in irritation, “Manolo, do not be foolish. Perhaps on this day you are a sheep, not a wolf.”
The younger Montoya smiled wickedly at his father. “Si, Papa. But at the end of the day, I will be a live sheep. I would not place any bets on the wolves.” He whipped the reins quickly on either side of his mount, springing rapidly forward between Big John and Pedro. “Adios, Juano!” he sang out, and was gone in a cloud of dust.
John Cannon reined his horse in surprise, standing in the stirrups, yelling “Mano!” He settled and twisted, looking back at the two men. “What was that all about?”
Montoya’s face was dark as he answered, “My son is an irresponsible scoundrel.”
Blue swiped a hand across his face and shrugged. “He’s going after Victoria alone, Pa. Said something about making a good sheep.”
Big John’s mouth sagged open, then snapped shut as he roared, “Sheep? Sheep?” He swung forward in the saddle and spurred his horse forward. “Haw!”
* First day is "Dia de los Angelitos" honoring and remembering the deceased children...toys and other childhood items are left on the grave and the deceased are expected to return to their home where an alter has been prepared in similar fashion...Often the path to the home is scattered with flowers/petals so I imagine them walking slowly so they won't outpace the children.
** When the son is just like the father.
*** Comida = Food= Dinner but that is the main meal eaten in the middle of the day and followed by siesta. The supper would be a little lighter, though a well-to-do family would have a table with much more diversity and beautifully presented. Evening meals, pre-TV, lasted from 9-1ish.
+ The earlier inhabitants of