“Now what’re you gettin’ yourself all fired up for?” the matted-haired trapper demanded. “I’m your pa and I can do I want.” He lifted the pottery jug from the wooden table with both hands. “I been feelin’ a mite poorly since I come in from the mountains and this here’s a right good anti-fogmatic.”
“Aquardiente,” the girl said contemptuously. “Your so-called water of life.” She pushed her long black hair away from her face. “Water of hell!”
“Ah, now girlie.” He grasped the jug’s narrow neck with one hand and reached for her arm with the other.
She slapped at him. “I’m not your girlie any longer. Don’t you touch me!”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m still your pappy,” he said. “Just ’cuz I been gone five months don’t mean you can be disrespectin’ me.”
She sniffed and turned away.
He gulped down a swig of the liquor. “Where’s your ma, anyways?”
“She went to the merchant’s to settle her bill.”
“Don’t want me to know how much she spent while I was gone, huh? What new piece of fooferaw have the two of you took a cotton to now?”
The girl whirled. “You mean the cotton for your shirts? The white wheat flour she saved for your biscuits while we spent the entire winter eating cheap corn tortillas?”
The jug thudded onto the table. “What’s eatin’ you girl, that you think you can chaw on me so right catawamptiously? It ain’t fitten!” He surged from the chair, his hand raised. “I’m thinkin’ you need a rememberance of who’s head o’ this household!”
Her lower lip curled. “That’s right. Beat me. Just give me an excuse to leave. That’s everything I could wish for.”
He dropped his hand. “And why would you leave, girl?” He peered at her. “You find a young man to spark you while I was gone?”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t need a man.”
He threw back his head. “Hah! And what else you gonna go and do?” Then his face changed. “You ain’t gone and done something you’ll regret, have you now?”
Her lips twitched with amusement. “You might regret it,” she said. “I won’t be of much use to you.”
He moved toward her. “What the tarnation have you gone and done?”
“You’ll know when I’m ready to tell you.”
As he grabbed her arm, the door opened.
“Be careful of her, por favor!” the girl’s mother said as she entered. “She has been accepted into the convent in Santa Fe, to serve as a helper! Our child is a matter of grace to us now!”
The mountain man stared at his wife, then his daughter. He turned to the table. “Women!” he muttered as he lifted his jug.
from Old One Eye Pete