NOT JUST ANY MAN – CHAPTER 28

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 28

Young leads his men north through the sage and juniper-spotted hills west of Santa Fe, well beyond the plaza and the Mexican customs officer. His plan is to report his arrival and pay his fees in Taos, where he has friends among the local officials.

Halfway through the morning, Ignacio leaves the group to head into the city to make amends with his father. “Better sooner than later,” Young says. “Come on up to Taos when you’re ready for your pay.”

Ignacio nods respectfully, but there’s a determined look in his face when he pauses beside Gerald to say goodbye.

“Vaya con diós,” Gerald tells him. “Is that how you say it? Go with God?”

The younger man smiles somberly. “That is most correct,” he says. “And you also.” He glances toward Young, at the head of the line of men and pack mules. “And with great carefulness.”

Gerald frowns. “Are you expecting that we’ll have an problem?”

Ignacio shrugs. “Are there not always problems?” Then he turns and moves on, only pausing for a moment to speak to Gregorio before he heads across the dusty hills toward Santa Fe.

Gerald shakes his head. Great carefulness? Always problems? Ignacio is merely anxious about meeting his father and confessing where he’s been, Gerald tells himself. That’s what’s making him so pessimistic. But the look on the younger man’s face lingers in his mind as he moves north along with the rest of Young’s trappers and mules.

The rocky soil on the road is still dusty underfoot, but Gerald catches glimpses of the cultivated fields below. The ones nearest the river are an emerald green. In spite of Ignacio’s elliptical warning and his own anxiety about meeting the Peabody’s again, Gerald’s spirits lift as the trappers move north toward Taos and its broad plains.

When they top the hill that overlooks the valley, his breath catches. The fields are dotted with men and women bending over the tilled soil. Children drive cattle out of pastures destined for another round of barley or oats. It seems as if every valley inhabitant, except for the trappers and the taberna people who serve them, is in the fields. The acequia ditches brim with water and the bushes along the paths beside them shimmer with fresh green leaves.

Gerald buys a wash tub on credit from Ceran St. Vrain’s shop and carries it back to the trappers’ camp site, once again in a field controlled by Ewing Young. First a bath, then clean clothes. He can’t stand the smell of himself another moment.

He places the tub in the middle of a small cottonwood grove, requisitions a pot to haul water from the acequia, then uses it to heat water over the fire. There’s a sense of release in the preparations for being clean. A kind of promise. As if the process will also wash away the smell of other men’s dirt and attitudes. Even Enoch Jones.

He turns his thoughts firmly away from Jones and kneels in the spring grass beside the metal tub. Dry leaves from the previous fall crinkle under his knees. He pulls off his shirt and drops it on the grass beside him, then leans over the tub, dips the pot into the water, and douses his head. The tub erupts in dirty brown swirls. Gerald grimaces. How many times will he need to do this before he’s truly clean? And that’s just his hair. What about his clothes?

He glances at the shirt on the grass. It was once the pale tan of unbleached muslin, now it’s a sort of grayish brown. Is it even possible to get it back to its original state? He wonders how much credit St. Vrain would give him for new clothes and when Young will be back in Taos and able to pay him off.

Behind him, feet crunch on broken leaves. Gerald turns.

Gregorio Garcia is standing at the edge of the trees, looking sheepish, a pile of clothing in his arms. “Hola,” he says. “You are well?”

“Well enough.” Gerald gestures to the wash tub. “I’m just trying to get clean again.” He shakes his head ruefully. “It may take a while. And you? You are well?”

The boy grins. “I was not allowed into the house until I bathed and replaced my clothes.” He shakes his head. “My mother refused to touch me, so much did I stink.” He chuckles. “I did my best in the wilderness to stay clean. I thought I had done well. But a man does not know how he smells until a woman tells him.”

Gerald chuckles and nods toward the brown water in the tub. “I tried to wash my hair.”

Gregorio holds out the clothing in his arms. “Mi mamá sent these to you,” he says. “I am to bring the old ones to her to be laundered.”

Gerald frowns. “I have no money just yet,” he says. “As you know, we haven’t been paid yet.” He begins running his hands through his hair, trying to squeeze out the dirt along with the remaining water.

“It is a loan.” The boy moves forward to put the clothes on a section of clean grass. “It is to say gracias for your friendship to me.”

Gerald’s hands freeze. “You told her what happened?”

“No. Only that you were a friend to me.”

“Anyone would have done the same.”

The boy gives him a pitying look. “I wish that is true, but I am only a mexicano.”

Gerald shakes his head, but Gregorio continues. “In any case, she sent the clothes.” He turns back toward the campsite. “I will be by the fire heating more water.” He looks back at Gerald and grins. “I think you will be needing more!”

Gerald laughs and looks down at the wash tub. He might as well dump this and start again. It won’t do any good to continue with sandy water. He shakes his head. This is going to take a while. He grabs the nearest handle and begins pulling the tub toward the stream.

As much as he wants to see Suzanna Peabody, Gerald waits until Gregorio returns to the campsite with his newly-cleaned clothes before he ventures into the village. He wants to present himself in his own things, not something borrowed.

The laundered clothes and a barber visit for a haircut and shave help to restore him to something like his former self, but he still feels uneasy. His breath tightens as he moves through the streets toward the Peabody casa. He shakes his head at his own anxiety. He’s crossed a mountain range with men he barely knows, battled Papagos and Mojaves, killed a man— His thoughts veer off.

Battled Mojaves, survived the great canyon, and the lands on its precarious brim, he tells himself firmly. He’s faced all of that and earned the respect of his fellow trappers in the process. Survived hunger and thirst beyond most men’s experience.

Yet his stomach clenches with anxiety at the thought of seeing Suzanna Peabody again. Will she greet him with gladness or indifference? There’s been time enough while he’s cleaned himself up for Young or one of the other men to visit the Peabody casa and tell the story of Enoch Jones and his flight into the wilderness.

Gerald’s jaw clenches. He’s a damn fool for waiting so long to go to her. Will she be repelled by what he’s done? Will she even want to speak to him again? And if she does, will she talk of some other man who arrived while he was away, who’s wormed himself into her heart? Or someone who’s been here all along, who she neglected to mention during their conversations last fall? After all, Gerald isn’t necessarily important enough to her to need to be warned off.

He has no right to hope. Of all men, he has the least right to hope. After all, there’s much about him that he hasn’t told her and he has little to offer. Yet he has to admit that he does hope and that very hope makes him reluctant to face her. Afraid he’ll discover he truly doesn’t have a right or reason for his dreams.

When he turns the final corner to the house, his feet slow even further. The big wooden gate in the adobe wall is shut tight.

Who does he think he is, after all? And then there’s the issue of his race. He clenches his fist at himself. He thinks he’s so brave. Yet he didn’t have the courage last fall to tell her the truth and he still cringes at what she will say if—no, when—he does. What if she’s learned while he was gone that he’s not as white as she thinks?

Gerald stares at the wooden gate. It’s not the color of his skin. After all, she seems to hold the brown-skinned Encarnación in high regard. Certainly, Suzanna treats the Peabody cook more as a friend than a servant. The problem is that he’s entered the Peabody casa under false premises and now he doesn’t know how to correct those false impressions. Bringing the subject up now would imply that he has a right to her heart, that he believes she would be interested to know about his ancestry.

Perhaps he should just slip away. Disappear into the mountains as his father did. After all, other men come and go in Taos without making a point of visiting the Peabody parlor. And his funds are safe with Jeremiah Peabody until he calls for them. For that matter, he could send someone else for them. Gerald half-turns, back toward the corner and safety.

“Why, Mr. Locke!” a glad voice says behind him. He wheels to see Suzanna’s face beaming at him from the half-open gate. She comes toward him with her hands out, then glances down self-consciously and lets them fall to her sides. She stops, leaning imperceptibly toward him, then her back straightens. “You’ve returned safely,” she says, her head slightly turned. It’s almost as if she’s afraid to look him in the eyes.

 “Yes.” He stands looking at her, her straight black brows above dark eyes that still don’t meet his, the black hair coiled neatly on top of her head, her slim frame brimming with suppressed energy under the old-fashioned dress. He fights the urge to touch her, to turn her face toward his own. His throat feels unaccountably dry. He swallows and forces his lips to move. “And you?” he asks.

She shrugs and moves slightly back. “I am the same.” She turns toward the gate and glances back at him. “Will you come in? My father will be glad to see you.”

“And you?” he asks impulsively. His breath catches at his audacity, but he forces his eyes to stay on her face.

She turns back to him, tilting her head, smiling into his face now, a hint of mischief in her eyes. Gladness sweeps over him.

She glances away, then meets his gaze. “Yes,” she says honestly. “I am very glad to see you.”

His hand lifts toward her, but she turns again toward the gate. “Come inside,” she says abruptly.

Gerald’s forehead wrinkles at the change in tone, but he follows obediently.

By the time they reach the parlor and her father, Suzanna has returned to her open-faced self. “Here’s Mr. Gerald Locke Jr. returned from the mountains,” she says gaily as they enter.

Jeremiah Peabody is alone in the parlor. He puts his book aside, rises, and comes across the room to take Gerald’s hat and shake his hand. “It’s good to see you again, my boy!” he says. “Was your venture successful? We’ve seen no one from your party yet, although we knew you had returned. Come! Tell us where you went and all that occurred!”

Encarnación enters the room, a tray of tea things and sliced white bread in her hands, and beams at him. “He knew you were back because Antonia told Ramón that Gregorio had returned, and Ramón brought us the news,” she says. She glances down at the tray. “I thought you might like some civilized food.”

Gerald smiles at her, a wordless gladness washing over him. He isn’t sure who this Ramón is, but the cook’s assumption that Gerald knows him fills Gerald with a sense of belonging. For a welcome like this, he’d almost be willing to go out to the mountains again.

“Come! Sit down!” Jeremiah Peabody urges him. “Suzanna, are you going to make tea, or just stand there and look at the man?”

Copyright © 2018 Loretta Miles Tollefson

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