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 16
“I met William Wolfskill in the plaza this afternoon, on my way back from Padre Martinez’s house,” Jeremiah Peabody says as he helps himself to more mutton stew.
Suzanna’s head jerks up involuntarily. “They’re back?” Then she stops herself. There’s absolutely no reason to sound so delighted.
Her father smiles at the tortilla he’s tearing in two. “Just Wolfskill and a few of his men. Not Mr. Locke, I’m sorry to say.” He glances at his daughter, who’s examining her bowl of stew, and forces the amusement from his voice. “I would have enjoyed hearing his reaction to a prolonged expedition with a large group of men. I expect the experience will be quite different from what he experienced with Old Bill.”
“I expect so.” Suzanna’s voice is carefully neutral. She will not ask whether Gerald Locke has sent a message. She has no right to expect such a thing. And he’s too much of a gentleman to presume to do so. She forces herself to eat another spoonful of stew. “Chonita has done an excellent job of flavoring this stew.” She grins at her father. “Did you notice that it includes Irish potatoes?”
“I did!” he says. “Are these from your harvest?”
She nods, forcing her thoughts away from the memory of Gerald Locke helping her plant the seed for the potatoes, walking beside her along the acequia ditches toward home. To her home, that is. Not his. She looks up at her father. “They’ve stored nicely,” she says. “And the straw Ramón brought me to cover them was extremely clean, so Encarnación found no bad spots when she prepared them.”
Her father nods, knowing a change of subject when he hears one. “They’re quite tasty,” he says.
Suzanna watches him. She wants badly to ask if he’s invited William Wolfskill to tea, but this once quite ordinary question now feels somehow dangerous. “And did Padre Martinez have any news of interest from Santa Fe?” she asks.
Copyright © 2018 Loretta Miles Tollefson
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Fiction and Fact From Old New Mexico 