The following material is an extract from NOT JUST ANY MAN, A Novel of Old New Mexico, Copyright © 2018 Loretta Miles Tollefson. Published by Palo Flechado Press, Santa Fe, NM
A Note about Spanish Terms: This novel is set in northern New Mexico and reflects as much as possible the local dialect at that time. Even today, Northern New Mexico Spanish is a unique combination of late 1500s Spanish, indigenous words from the First Peoples of the region and of Mexico, and terms that filtered in with the French and American trappers and traders. I’ve tried to represent the resulting mixture as faithfully as possible. My primary source of information was Rubén Cobos’ excellent work, A Dictionary of New Mexico and Southern Colorado Spanish (University of New Mexico Press, 2003). Any errors in spelling, usage, or definition are solely my responsibility.
CHAPTER 12
“I’m glad you invited him and that he came,” Suzanna says at dinner that evening, interrupting her father’s silent train of thought.
He looks up from his plate. “Who, my dear?”
“Mr. Locke, papá.”
“He’s quite a nice, gentlemanly young man,” he agrees. “Although I fear you may have frightened him off with your diatribe about trapping and the resultant drunkenness.”
“He didn’t seem frightened,” she says. “Besides, if he’s going to visit us, he’ll have to get used to my opinions.” She dips her spoon into the bowl of mutton stew, then pauses to look up at him with narrowed eyes. “And what do you mean by ‘frighten him off’? Why should it matter to me whether he visits or not? After all, he’s not coming to court me. You’ve made it clear enough that I’m not of an age for such things.”
She takes a bite of stew, chews, swallows, then adds firmly, “Not that I’m particularly interested in him or any other young man.”
Her father’s lips twitch. “It would be wise to not become interested in a trapper,” he observes mildly. “Theirs is an unsettled life and prone to discord. Unlike that of, for example, New England.” He bends his head over his food, his eyes clouded.
Suzanna puts down her spoon and studies him. She’s never been certain just why her father left New England. Something about a girl, pistols, and the wounded heir of a powerful family. Jeremiah had just read Lt. Zebulon Pike’s newly-published book about the far-away land of New Mexico, so that’s where he headed. Suzanna knows more about his journey west than the events leading up to it.
Her father rarely speaks of New England, although it’s reflected in the intonation of every word, the turn of his narrow head, his firm and piercing eye. To him, his true life began somewhere on the trek from New England to the Rocky Mountains, found its purpose when he held Suzanna in his arms for the first time.
She doesn’t know much about his early life in the Rockies, either. Once in a long while, a man who knew her father in the two years between his New England life and Suzanna’s birth shows up in Taos. Their reminiscences have given her a glimpse of a man quite different from the dignified scholar she knows. A warrior, a man who dealt with the natives in a way that won their grudging respect, a skilled fur trapper and hunter.
She looks at him thoughtfully. “Did you dislike trapping so very much?” she asks.
He shrugs. “Any man can hunt and trap if he must,” he says. “But it is not well for a man to get caught in that life if his heart is elsewhere.”
“And that appears to be the case with Mr. Locke.”
Her father nods. “It does so appear.” He shakes his head. “He seems to be a man with a dream. Whether or not he can achieve that dream will depend on many things, some of which he cannot control.” He reaches for a tortilla and begins tearing it into small pieces and dropping it into his stew. “I would not desire any daughter of mine to be dependent on the dream of a man without the means or the will to accomplish what he sets out to do.”
Suzanna’s lips tighten. She’s already said she’s not interested in Gerald Locke, Junior. Why does her father persist in this train of thought? Besides, Mr. Locke appears to be perfectly capable of making any dream he may dream a reality.
The thought creates a small bubble of something like hope in her chest, but Suzanna only shakes her head at her father and smiles. “Since you only have one daughter that I know of, and that daughter is known for her independence of mind, I doubt there’s any real danger,” she says lightly. She reaches for a tortilla. “At any rate, your concerns are of a purely hypothetical nature. I’m not interested in becoming dependent on Gerald Locke or anyone else.”
Jeremiah Peabody smiles at his stew, then asks, “Is your garden in the courtyard ready for the soil to be turned? I believe Ramón is bringing us more firewood tomorrow morning. Shall I ask him to start digging?”
“I’ll ask him,” Suzanna says. She grins mischievously. “It’s still cool enough outside that Chonita can invite him into the kitchen to warm his hands. She seems to enjoy feeding him.”
Copyright © 2018 Loretta Miles Tollefson
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Fiction and Fact From Old New Mexico 