NOT JUST ANY MAN – CHAPTER 21

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 21

 “My cousin Antonia told me a story yesterday that I think you will find of great interest,” Encarnación says as she stirs the mixture of milk and sugar in the pot on the wood stove. Spring sunlight pours through the window, whose wooden shutters are thrown back to allow air into the room. The wooden grate in the window opening casts a shadowy grid on the opposite wall.

“What story is that?” Suzanna asks absently. She shakes the container of black tea leaves, then pries off the lid and peers inside. There’s less here than she’d thought. Prices are so high right now. Perhaps she should switch to strawberry leaf or rosehip tea.

She looks up at the cook. Encarnación has set the hot pan on the wooden tabletop to cool and is separating the yolks and whites of six brown-speckled eggs. “What did Antonia tell you?” Suzanna asks.

Encarnación twists her face in disgust. “That man, that Jones.” She moves to the stove. “Here, can you add the yolks to the milk and stir it? Slowly now, and steadily.”

Suzanna places the canister on the table and moves to the stove as Encarnación begins beating egg whites as if they were Jones himself. “Ugh. I can hardly speak of it,” she says.

“Now you must tell me!” Suzanna says. “What happened?”

Encarnación’s hands slow a little. “You know how it is with Antonia’s casa, how it’s out of sight of all of the others.” She shakes her head and peers at the egg whites, which are frothing nicely. “That man came to her house in the spring, while Gregorio was at the market, and he tried to attack her.” Her head jerks up. “Do you still have that knife I gave you?”

Involuntarily, Suzanna glances at the door to check for her father, then nods. “He attacked Antonia Garcia?” she asks. “And she said nothing?”

Encarnación sets the bowl of egg whites down, moves to the stove, and takes the spoon from Suzanna. She moves it carefully through the custard, scraping along the edge of the pan. “He tried to attack her,” she says grimly. Then she grins and glances slyly at Suzanna. “He was unable to accomplish his task.”

Suzanna steps away from the stove. “He was unable?”

“That’s what she told me.” Encarnación chortles. “It would seem that el amador potente is not all its owner would prefer.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Suzanna moves to the table. Her hand drops to the tea canister. “So perhaps he’s not as dangerous as we think.”

Encarnación frowns. “Perhaps.” She leans toward the pan, studying the thickening mixture, then moves to the table for the egg whites. “Or perhaps el amador springs to attention only for others of his kind.” She shakes her head and glances at the girl. “Certainly, I would continue to carry el cuchilitto. And ask Ramón to accompany you on your errands.”

Footsteps scuff the hard-packed clay floor at the other end of the hall and the two women exchange a mute nod.

“That Jones!” Encarnación says, a little more loudly than necessary. “But if I think of him further, I will curdle les natillas.”

“Oh, Chonita!” Suzanna laughs and turns to place the tea canister back on its shelf. “That would be a shame!” She grins mischievously. “You should think of Ramón Chavez instead!”

The cook gives her a half-amused look as she moves the pan to the side of the stove.

Jeremiah Peabody appears in the doorway and Suzanna abruptly changes her tone. “Where did you store the dried strawberry leaves?” she asks. “I think I’m going to start drinking that for tea, instead of the black. This February cold has begun to make my chest feel a little constricted.”

Encarnación begins to spoon the frothy egg whites into the hot pan. She nods toward the wall by the window. “It’s in the alacena.”

Suzanna moves to the wooden cupboard set into the adobe wall as her father moves across the room toward Encarnación. “Custard?” he asks with a pleased look.

“The hens have begun laying again,” Encarnación tells him. “It’s a way to use the extra eggs.”

“It is also a most excellent way to welcome the spring,” he says. He turns to Suzanna. “Are you ready for your Latin lesson, my dear?” He frowns. “Unless you are tired? Did you say your chest is constricted?” He glances at the open shutters. “Is that window too drafty?” He turns to Encarnación. “Perhaps we should install mica in this one as well.”

Encarnación scowls and Suzanna chuckles. Her father and the cook have this discussion every few months. She knows Encarnación’s opinion. “Oh, it’s not truly uncomfortable, papá,” the girl says easily. “The strawberry is merely a preventative. It will make a nice change.”

He peers into her face, humphs, and leaves the room. The two women smile at each other companionably. Encarnación turns back to her natillas as Suzanna locates the dried strawberry leaf among the other herbs in the wall cupboard.

Copyright © 2018 Loretta Miles Tollefson

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