NOT JUST ANY MAN – CHAPTER 13

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 13

Gerald stops in the middle of the path and stares at the small fenced-off area beside the brimming irrigation ditch, what in nuevomexico is called an ‘acequia’. The plot is perhaps an eighth of an acre and filled with vibrant green sprigs of pigweed, a sign both that the soil has been turned in the past year and that it’s fertile. The weeds will be easy to pull once the plot is flooded with water from the ditch.

He puts a hand on the rough rail fence. A shallow indentation extends from the acequia along one side of the plot. Only a small ridge of dirt blocks the ditch water from moving down the furrow and into the weeds. Gerald crouches, reaches through the fence, and picks up a small clump of dirt. He lifts it to his face. It smells good. As if it’s been fertilized. Potatoes would do well here.

“Señor?” a boy’s voice asks.

Gerald looks up. A thin dark-skinned teenage boy with large brown eyes and a mass of straight black hair stands behind him, clearly trying to understand why this americano is holding a clod of dirt to his nose.

Gerald doesn’t know the Spanish for ‘garden’ or ‘rent,’ so all he can do is gesture at the garden plot and ask “A cómo?”

The boy frowns, puzzled, then lifts a hand. “Un momento,” he says. He circles around Gerald and the plot of pigweed to the acequia. He moves nimbly across it on a narrow plank of thick wood and disappears into a tangle of young narrow leaf cottonwoods.

Gerald waits, not sure if the boy understood. The sun is warm on his shoulders and he breathes in the green smell of the plants in the plot. It’s good to just stand here, soaking it in.

Just as he’s beginning to think the boy won’t return, two figures emerge from the cottonwoods: the boy and a solidly-constructed woman in a knee length black dress. Gerald holds his breath as first the boy, then the woman, use the plank to cross the ditch.

The woman’s dress is spotted with damp, her long sleeves pushed up, and her hands pale and wrinkled, as if she’s been interrupted in the middle of her washing. Her eyes are narrow and her lips tight. She puts her hands on her hips. “You want buy land?” she asks brusquely.

Well, at least she speaks English, even though she looks ready to do battle. Gerald shakes his head. “I apologize,” he says. “My Spanish is not good.”

Her expression softens a little and she nods.

“I want to know if the plot is for rent,” he explains. “Not to me, but to someone who may wish to use it for her garden.”

The woman looks at him impassively. “How much?”

“I—.” He stops, unsure. After all, he has no idea what price would be appropriate, if this is something that Miss Peabody truly wishes to do, or if her father has the resources to rent the plot. “I would need to consult with the young lady,” he says.

“Ah, una señorita.” She smiles a little and tilts her head to one side. “It depends on la señorita and what it is she wishes to plant.”

“I will need to consult with her,” he says again. What a fool he is. What has he gotten himself into?

The woman shrugs and turns away, then back. “I am Maria Antonia Garcia,” she says. “It is my land.” She gestures across the ditch. “If your young lady wishes to speak to me, she can find me there.”

Gerald hesitates, then nods. The woman turns and heads back across the plank. The boy smiles shyly at Gerald, then follows.

Gerald puts his hands in his pockets and watches them disappear into the trees. Then he turns back to study the garden plot. Would it be presumptuous to use this as an excuse to call on Miss Peabody and her father again? He grins. It’s better than nothing. And she did say that she wants to find a plot for her potatoes.

~ ~ ~ ~

Suzanna Peabody strides so eagerly beside him that Gerald has to lengthen his stride to keep up with her. “I know Antonia Garcia,” she says. “She and Encarnación are related somehow. Antonia does laundry for us sometimes, when Chonita has more baking than usual, or when the load is more than she and I can do on our own.” She glances at him with a small smile. “I may not cook, but I do know how to clean.”

He smiles down at her. “I suspect, though, that you would rather be gardening.”

She laughs. “You suspect rightly!” She looks eagerly up the path. “Is that the plot? Oh, that’s where they were holding the pigs last spring!” She purses her lips, eyes dark with thought. “The fence was too low for them, so they weren’t there very long. Certainly, it’s been enough time that the manure will have cooled sufficiently.” She looks up at him, eyes dancing. “Potatoes could do well here!”

He nods. “I think they might.”

They stop at the fence and gaze into the plot. “There’s access to water from the ditch,” he points out.

She peers across the pigweed at the acequia. Gerald looks at her in amusement, then finds his gaze dropping. Her breasts strain slightly against the cotton of her dress. He pulls his eyes back to her face as she turns to him. “If I’m allowed to access the water, it will do nicely,” she says.

A figure moves in the trees on the other side of the ditch and the teenage boy materializes on the opposite bank. Suzanna waves her hand. “Hola Juan Gregorio!” she calls. She gestures at the acequia. “May we cross?”

The boy smiles and makes a beckoning gesture. Suzanna moves around the garden plot and trots briskly over the wooden plank. She stops on the other side and grins at Gerald. “It looks more narrow than it actually is,” she says.

He raises an eyebrow and follows her gingerly. As he steps onto the opposite bank, his foot slips and he throws his arms out for balance. Suzanna grabs his hand, pulls him to safety, then releases him the instant he’s upright again.

“Thank you!” Gerald exclaims, but she’s already turned away. She and Gregorio plunge into the cottonwoods without looking behind them to make sure Gerald is following.

He lags behind glumly, but by the time he can see the Garcia’s low adobe house through the trees, Suzanna has turned twice to glance behind her, and Gerald’s confidence returns. He’s beside her as they enter the yard. Wooden washtubs stand in a neat row along one side of the building and men’s drawers hang from clothes lines that have been strung from the adobe’s vigas to cottonwoods on the other side of the yard.

Señora Garcia invites them inside and they sit on blanket-covered adobe benches that jut from the walls while she and Suzanna negotiate terms. The Spanish is too rapid for Gerald to follow, though he has the impression that the conversation has moved on from the garden plot when the señora glances at her son, then Gerald, and frowns irritably. She almost seems to puff up with annoyance. But then Suzanna says something soothing and the woman settles.

Finally, the conversation ends. Suzanna and Gerald say their farewells and slip back through the trees. “Isn’t there another route to this house?” he asks.

“There is.” Suzanna waves an arm. “It’s in that direction, but it’s very long and involves trespassing across the land of a man who Antonia is angry with. There was some kind of boundary dispute a number of years ago and she believes she was cheated of her rights. Antonia isn’t one to forgive and forget easily.”

They reach the irrigation ditch. Gerald waves Suzanna ahead of him and she slips easily across the plank. He follows more slowly and makes sure his footing is secure before he steps onto the opposite bank. Suzanna stands back, giving him plenty of room as she pretends to examine her new garden plot.

They head back toward the village. “It’s a good bit of a walk to Taos from here,” Gerald says. “I wasn’t sure if that would be an issue for you.”

“Oh, I love to walk,” Suzanna says. “I constrain my ramblings when the American hunters are in residence, because my father worries, but when you all aren’t here, I often walk to Ranchos and back.”

“You walk for health reasons?”

She looks at him in surprise. “No, I walk because I like to walk.” She smiles mischievously. “I find an errand that requires that I go to Ranchos, and then I go.” She shrugs. “But the garden plot isn’t nearly as far as Ranchos. I’ll explain to Father why it’s important to me, and he won’t protest.” She chuckles. “Not too much, at any rate.”

“Are we American hunters so dangerous?”

She smiles. “Not all of you.” She looks up at him. “Certainly, I wouldn’t be worried about meeting you on the streets.” She makes an annoyed flapping movement with her hand. “But you saw how Enoch Jones is. And there are others like him.” There’s a long pause, as she studies the trees beside the path. Then she glances at him shyly. “I never thanked you for intervening that day.”

“I was happy to do so,” Gerald says a little stiffly.

“Jones is—” Suzanna sighs. “How can I say it? I don’t believe he is an evil man, but he seems persuaded that all women are his property, especially if they are women with brown skin. And that, as his property, we are required to do whatever he wishes.”

Gerald feels a surge of revulsion. “His wishes are pure filth!” he says, more sharply than he intends.

She smiles at him. “That’s what I like about you.” She slows her pace slightly and takes his arm. “That and the fact that you know how to walk quickly.”

“While I’m here, will you allow me to accompany you?” he asks impulsively. “Then you can walk as far as you like.”

“I would like that,” she agrees, her eyes on the path. Then she looks at him again. “Though I expect you won’t be here much longer. You’ll be going out on another hunt soon, will you not?”

He nods glumly, wishing he could walk this path with her for the rest of his days.

“Did you see the look Antonia sent your way?” she asks abruptly.

“She seemed quite annoyed with both me and her son,” Gerald says.

Suzanna chuckles. “She is,” she agrees. “I told her you’re a trapper. Her son has expressed interest in going with the men this fall and she’s unwilling to allow it, but he’s insisting quite strongly. He says he can make more money being a camp keeper than he can staying at home.”

The girl shakes her dark head. “He’s quite strong, although he doesn’t look it. I’m sure you noticed the wash tubs and clothes lines. She may not like trappers, but she does washing for them. Gregorio helps her with the heavy lifting. But he wants very badly to go trapping instead.”

She lifts her hand in a helpless gesture. “Antonia worries that he will be in danger in some way or that he will be treated unjustly. But in the end he will undoubtedly have his way.” She grins ruefully. “As my father says, we only children can be quite willful.” She lifts an eyebrow at Gerald. “Didn’t you say you also are an only child? Did your parents find you willful?”

He laughs. “My mother used to say I was the sweetest obstinate child she ever knew.”

“I’m not sure my father would include ‘sweet’ in his description of me,” Suzanna says ruefully. “I suspect he’d use the term ‘verbal’ instead. He claims that I can talk him into almost anything.” She grins. “I prefer to think of myself as logical.” Then she sobers. “I wasn’t sure what to say to Antonia about Gregorio going out with the hunters. Do you think it would be safe? After all, he is her only child.”

Gerald shrugs. “Is anything completely safe? If he goes with responsible men, he will be as safe as staying here. Even here, there are dangers.”

Suzanna nods. “Yes. A group of Comanches raided some ranchos in the cañon east of here just a week or so ago.”

He looks at her in alarm. “And you still walk alone?”

She laughs. “They weren’t here in the valley. They were out on the fringes.” She grins. “Actually their presence is something of a boon to the American trappers. Governor Narbona stationed soldiers at Taos to monitor the trappers’ activities, but the troops have been too busy chasing Indians to pay much attention to the Americans.” She shakes her head and shrugs. “Even if the Comanches get closer to town, I know enough sign language to communicate with them. And they have dealings with my father. I don’t believe they would harm me.”

Gerald chews on his upper lip. He has no rights, but still— “I hope that while I’m here you will allow me to accompany you when you should feel the need for a walk,” he says, his eyes on the path in front of his feet. “I would blame myself greatly if something were to happen to you as you go to or from that garden plot.”

She pulls her hand away from his arm. “I am quite capable of looking after myself,” she says stiffly.

“I am sure you are,” Gerald says. What has he done? He has no rights. And now she’s angry. “But I cannot forget Enoch Jones and his attitude,” he says lamely.

They walk several more minutes before Suzanna takes his arm again. “It’s just that I dislike being constrained,” she says. “Even the Taos, as small as it is, seems to constrict me sometimes. I long for movement and space.”

“And plants?” he asks, his spirits lifting.

“And plants!” she laughs. She waves a hand at the wild rose bushes between the path and the acequia. “Have you noticed how plump last year’s rosehips are this spring? I must bring a container next time and collect some. Encarnación makes an excellent rose hip jelly which my father particularly enjoys.”

Gerald smiles at her, marveling again at the way her eyes are level with his. But as they enter the town and turn down the lane to the Peabody gate, his spirits drop. He wishes the distance between the house and the garden plot is longer, that there’s somewhere else she wants to go, some other destination to which she needs an escort. But he can think of no good excuse to prolong their walk.

His pain lessens when Suzanna turns at the open gate and looks into his eyes. “Would you mind very much if I ask you to accompany me to the garden plot tomorrow?” she asks. “Gregorio has agreed to irrigate it and pull the epazote for me, but before he does, I’d like to harvest the smaller leaves so Encarnación and I can dry them for her cooking pot this winter.”

“The pigweed?” Gerald asks in surprise.

“Oh yes. It’s an essential addition to the beans that we eat so often here. Besides enhancing the flavor, epazote increases the bean’s digestibility.” She grins mischievously. “My father says it civilizes the beans. Or at least the bean eaters.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Gerald spends the next several weeks accompanying Suzanna back and forth to the new garden plot and helping her plant the seed potatoes. He notes with a relief he doesn’t dare express that she carries a cutting knife with her at all times. She uses it for her gardening, but its sturdy eight-inch blade would do substantial damage if she had to use it against a human foe. She calls it her cuchillito and says Encarnación gave it to her as a gift.

Gerald’s eyes narrow at that. So the Peabody cook also feels Suzanna needs protection. But he has no right to further caution Suzanna. Perhaps someday he will have that privilege— Even then, it’s unlikely. She isn’t a girl who likes to be cautioned.

Somehow this train of thought converts into a mental tally of the funds in Gerald’s possession. His only option for increasing them is to trap. Although he hates the thought of leaving Taos, he pays close attention when the fur brigades begin to form up in August. At least three parties are heading south and west to the Gila River and its tributaries. But that’s all owned by Mexico and a man needs a Mexican passport to trap there. At least, nuevomexico’s Governor is insisting that passports are required, even though no one seems to have actually seen the directive that says so.

But, according to Old Bill, passports aren’t an insoluble problem. “You just got to sign on with someone that has one,” he explains one afternoon in the Peabody parlor. “One guía is good for however many men you tell his Excellency the guvnor you’re taking, and after that nobody’s counting.” He leans toward Gerald, whisky on his breath, and Gerald exchanges an uneasy glance with Suzanna.

“Me and St. Vrain, we’re sayin’ we’ve got around twenty men,” Old Bill says. “But that don’t include camp keepers and such.” He winks and leans back. “We ain’t truly decided just yet where we’re headed, neither.” He grins. “The paper we got says we’re going south to Sonora.” Suzanna looks at him disapprovingly and he swings his red head toward her father. “What do you think, Jeremiah? Think we’ll find beaver in the deserts of Sonora?”

Jeremiah Peabody glances up from the two-week-old newspaper he’s been thumbing through. “I’m sure I couldn’t say,” he says. “Although I understood from St. Vrain that the guía you obtained was for trading, not trapping.”

“Ah, it’ll cover it all!” Williams chuckles and slaps his knee. “And it’ll take in the Gila River quite nicely. Even the mountains to the north of it.”

He looks at the three faces gazing back at him. “Well, I can see you all have more interesting things to cogitate on than mere beaver,” he says mischievously. “So I’ll just mosey on back to the taberna.”

They all say muted goodbyes and Suzanna rises to see him out.

“Are you anticipating a return to hunting with Mr. Williams?” Jeremiah Peabody asks when he and Gerald are alone.

Gerald shakes his head. “He hasn’t suggested it,” he says. “And I doubt I would take him up on such an offer if he did.” He gestures toward the door. “He’s very knowledgeable about the ways of the wilderness, but—”

“I suspect that you may have learned all he can teach you,” Peabody says drily.

Suzanna comes back into the room. “I wish he wouldn’t drink so,” she says. She moves restlessly to the dimly lit window. “Why must men throw themselves away on whisky?”

 “Not all men do so, my dear,” her father says mildly.

“They have nothing else to give their lives meaning,” Gerald says.

She glances around and his eyes meet hers. Her cheeks flush scarlet and she turns back to the window. “I suppose you’ll be leaving with one of the fur brigades soon?” she asks. She moves back across the room, and seats herself beside the tea table. “With Mr. Williams, I presume?”

“Ewing Young has suggested that I join the group he and William Wolfskill are organizing for the southern mountains and the Gila River,” Gerald says. “I believe he has the appropriate permissions.” He turns to her father. “Young will be leading it and some of the men going with him will be free trappers, but he’s offered me a contract. I’d earn a wage instead of taking the risk of bringing back enough furs to make it worth my while.”

“Leaving the risk of a good take to Young is a fine strategy,” Jeremiah Peabody says. “You may not make as much as you would if you were free and your catch was good, but you don’t risk losing all of it, either. And Young and Wolfskill are two men with a fine reputation for good sense.” He accepts a fresh cup of tea from Suzanna, then adds, “I’m glad you aren’t thinking about going out with the party that Michel Robidoux is putting together for the Gila. He doesn’t seem seasoned enough to be heading up such a venture.”

Gerald nods absently and glances at Suzanna. “I hope to add a decent amount to what I’ve already earned,” he says. “Though I’m reluctant to take with me the funds I already have. I understand some men put theirs in trust with a merchant here or in Santa Fe.”

“Either way is a risk,” Peabody says.

“I wondered if you would be so good as to keep my small earnings for me.” Gerald hesitates. “Though, if you don’t wish to carry the burden—.”

“I would be delighted to take on that responsibility for you,” Jeremiah Peabody says with a smile. He glances toward Suzanna. “You honor me with the request to entrust your resources to my care. And I’m sure you’ll come back from this venture with more to add to it. A group led by Young has every chance of doing well.”

But Gerald barely hears this last sentence. He has turned toward Suzanna and is too busy looking into her smiling eyes.

Copyright © 2018 Loretta Miles Tollefson

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