NOT JUST ANY MAN – CHAPTER 32

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 32

Ewing Young disposes of his furs, damaged as they are, and Gerald receives his pay—a little over $300. It’s now mid-August and the fur brigades for the coming season are starting to form, but Gerald’s aversion to the entire process hasn’t receded. Or maybe it’s just Ewing Young who no longer feels honest to him.

Not that Young has asked Gerald to participate in another hunt. The older man is staying in Taos this winter. He claims to be recuperating from his Santa Fe imprisonment, but Jeremiah Peabody seems to think Young is simply lying low.

Gerald has to admit that there are some things he does like about trapping. The wilderness has a definite appeal, and he enjoyed his time with Old Bill Williams, even if the man did have an opinion about just about everything. There are men like Ewing Young in any walk of life. Certainly, there are bound to be men like Enoch Jones in any given group of Americans. Staying away from trapping is no guarantee that he won’t meet someone else with Jones’ attitudes. But Gerald’s mind veers away from that topic, which still hasn’t come up in the Peabody parlor.

His discomfort with trapping really began with the ugliness that erupted on the Gila and again outside the Mojave villages. The killing there, and then the unremitting butchering when beaver was plentiful. There was just so much blood. He grimaces. And then the blood from Enoch Jones’ chest. His hands twitch, remembering the feel of the blade, the way is sank so easily—

He pushes the thought away and focuses on the recent events in Santa Fe. That whole episode was also slippery and uncomfortable. The kind of transaction that seem to be central to the life Ewing Young and the other trappers seem to glory in.

Is he being too squeamish? He doesn’t think so. But he needs to do something. As he walks the dusty Taos streets, Gerald ponders his options. There are other trapping groups forming, in spite of the government prohibition against American trappers. Word has filtered north from the copper mines that James Pattie and his father are recruiting men for another trip into the Gila. Rumor has it that they plan to push west from there, into California.

Here in Taos, Sylvester Pratte is putting together a group of thirty men for a venture north into the Rockies. Old Bill has signed up with them. Gerald chuckles. Williams working with a large group of trappers. Given the man’s strong opinions and his antipathy toward trapping with others, that should be interesting for all involved.

Gerald stops in mid-stride. Pratte’s group is heading to North Park and the Platte River. Which means Old Bill will be far north of the mountains east of Taos, the long valley and the streams that flow from it and the peaks around it—Red River, the Cimarron, Coyote Creek. Is there enough beaver there to justify a trapping excursion of his own? Would such a venture net enough that he could return to Taos with enough funds for land and a cabin?

Suzanna Peabody’s dark eyes flash into his mind. Gerald forces the thought to one side. Land and a cabin are enough to hope for. He shouldn’t set his sights too high. She may very well prefer to set up housekeeping with someone else.

And she doesn’t know what he’s done. What he’s capable of doing. Who he really is, on several levels. His courage shrinks when he thinks about telling her. Yet how can he not? He who disdains the dishonesty, the slipperiness of others, still hasn’t been forthcoming about his own failures. Regardless of how she might feel about his ancestry, there’s always the death of Enoch Jones.

 He wants to forget it all, to push Jones and the events in the Gila wilderness into a dark hole in his memory. But the man haunts him even when he doesn’t haunt him. The dreams are mostly gone now, but still there’s the constant dread that someone will tell the Peabody’s about what happened. Suzanna will be puzzled and hurt that he hasn’t told her, and yet he somehow can’t find the right time or the words.

But the story of Jones’ death is a small thing compared to the issue of his own heritage, of who his father is. He’s going to have to tell her. But here too, Gerald finds himself putting it off. She has a right to know. At least, he hopes that she has a right to know. Yet his stomach twists when he considers how she may react. Will she despise him for something he can’t help but be? Or will she feel only contempt for a man who hasn’t been truthful with her from the beginning? Or will she not care, because she doesn’t really care about him, one way or another? He can’t bear to think about how she might react, yet he knows delay is only going to make the discussion more difficult when—if—it comes.

He turns his thoughts to the streams that surround the long valley to the east. It’s dangerous to venture into the mountains alone, yet the beaver would be all his, the rewards higher. Gerald grimaces. And then there’s the moral dilemma. Americans are forbidden to trap in nuevomexico. All of Mexico, for that matter. But there’s little else he can do to earn money, unless he hires on with one of the outgoing Santa Fe trains and returns to Missouri.

But there’s nothing for him in Missouri but repression and insults. Besides, Suzanna Peabody—although so far out of reach to him—is here in nuevomexico. He can’t bring himself to truly consider leaving.

He sets himself to considering his options, instead. If the beaver have returned to the Red River, the Cimarron, and Coyote Creek, the trapping is simple enough. Smuggling the plews into Taos that will be the problem.

Not that it would be very difficult. It’s just that it’s against the law. Is he really willing to take part in the subterfuge men like Young engage in? Yet it might be necessary to accomplish his goal. He’s mentioned the idea to Suzanna, the idea of going east into the Sangres to trap. She seemed less than enthusiastic. The illegality of it seemed to concern her.

There’s another option. A citizen can trap legally, no matter where he’s originally from. Some of the American and French-Canadian trappers are turning Catholic and becoming Mexican citizens in order to have free access to Mexico’s hunting grounds.

But even if he was willing to become Mexican, there isn’t time to complete the naturalization process before the season begins. It takes a good year or more. And, given Governor Armijo’s attitude toward Americans, he’s unlikely to support an application for citizenship that isn’t accompanied by considerable financial incentives. Gerald suspects that even all he has wouldn’t be enough.

He’s still frowning over his lack of options when he turns into the Peabody gate. Suzanna is bending over her pepper plants, which are planted along the courtyard’s south wall. She’s pouring water from a small wooden bucket into the ground at their roots. A short wiry Mexican man who looks vaguely familiar is at the well on the other end of the courtyard, transferring water into a larger bucket.

Suzanna looks up as Gerald comes through the gateway. “Hola!” she says cheerfully. She turns to the Mexican man with a smile. “Ramón, this is the gentleman we were speaking of earlier.” She nods to Gerald. “This is Ramón Chavez, a cousin—” She looks at Ramón, who grins at her. Suzanna chuckles. “A relation,” she corrects herself. “A relation of both our Chonita and her cousin Antonia.”

Gerald and the shorter man nod politely at each other. Ramón hefts the bucket toward Suzanna and gives her a questioning look. “Oh, yes!” she says. She puts her container on the ground and the Mexican man crosses the courtyard and begins filling it from the larger one.

Suzanna looks at Gerald. “Ramón has been helping me water the plants and giving me advice on the best way to keep everything from wilting in this heat.” She glances at the sky. “The monsoon rains should have started by now, but they haven’t been cooperating.”

Ramón chuckles. “They are testing your faith, señorita,” he says.

“My faith in the monsoons, at any rate!” she laughs. She turns, empties the small bucket around the pepper plants, sets it down, and turns to Gerald. “Will you come in? My father will be pleased to see you.”

It’s her standard formula, which usually fills him with pleasure, but there’s something about the way she says it today, a kind of tentativeness to her look, that sends a unexpected chill down his spine. Will only her father be pleased to see him? What about herself? Has someone told her about Jones? His race?

But he can’t bring himself to ask any of these questions, especially in front of a stranger. Especially one who looks at Suzanna as this Ramón Chavez does. There’s no deference in the man. The affection in his glance says he’s confident of the girl’s good opinion. Almost as if there’s an understanding between them. Gerald follows Suzanna numbly into the house.

“Ah, just the man I wanted to see!” Jeremiah Peabody says as they enter the parlor. He stands and crosses the room, reaching for Gerald’s hand. “I have a proposition for you that might benefit us both.”

“Papa, you’re beginning to sound as hasty as you claim that I am,” Suzanna says with amusement. “At the very least, let Mr. Locke take off his hat and sit down.”

Peabody laughs and gestures to a chair. “That was rather precipitous of me!” he says ruefully. “Please forgive me. How are you today, Mr. Locke? Have you decided what you will do with your time, this coming season?”

Gerald shakes his head, his fear lifting as he takes his seat. “I’m still undecided,” he says. “Somehow another expedition like last fall’s doesn’t appeal to me.”

“I’m going to see about the tea things,” Suzanna says. She crosses the room and goes out.

The men watch her go, Gerald trying not to let his eyes linger.

“Was Ramón Chavez still here when you arrived?” her father asks.

Gerald’s chest tightens. He forces himself to nod calmly.

“I’ve known Ramón many years,” Peabody says. “He and I trapped together my first season here.” He smiles ruefully. “He trapped, at any rate. I discovered that such a life is not truly my calling.” He smiles a little. “As I think you have also.” He pauses, and Gerald gives him a rueful smile. Peabody nods. “Ramón’s a good man, and a valuable one,” he says. “He seems to know or be related to everyone in nuevomexico, which is a valuable thing in an associate here.”

Suzanna returns, carrying the tea tray, and Gerald leaps to take it from her and place it on the table. As she begins to pour the tea, she glances at her father. “Have you told him about Ramón?”

Gerald’s chest tightens again at the tone in her voice. He looks at her father.

“I was just about to explain his relationship to us,” Peabody answers. “It might be easier if you did so.”

Suzanna chuckles and hands Gerald his cup. She tilts her head. “Let’s see. Ramón Chavez is the brother-in-law of Chonita’s sister’s husband and the son of Antonia Garcia’s uncle by his second wife.”

She frowns. “I think that’s correct.” She frowns, considering. “I’m not sure what that makes Ramón and Chonita to each other.” She shrugs. “At any rate, he’s also a dear friend of my father’s and is my godfather, although I wasn’t technically baptized, since we aren’t Catholic.” She glances at her father. “Although Ramón was hardly more than a child himself when I was born, he agreed to provide for me if something should happen to papá before I was of age, God forbid.”

Gerald feels the clutch of discomfort in his stomach easing. “He seems a nice man,” he concedes.

“Ramón has been in and out of Taos the past eighteen months, and his presence never seems to have coincided with your own,” Jeremiah says. “That’s why you haven’t met him.” He shifts in his chair. “But now he’s decided that he’d like to find a way to make a substantial sum and is searching for a way to do that.” He gives Gerald a small nod. “He feels as you do about the trapping business, especially about how the American trappers manipulate the government officials to achieve their ends.”

Gerald looks at him, wondering where this is going. Jeremiah turns to Suzanna. “Could I trouble you for another cup of tea, my dear?”

Suzanna nods and crosses the room to take his empty cup. Gerald feels his eyes following her, then wrenches them back to her father.

“It seems to me that you might do worse,” he is saying.

“Worse?” Gerald asks.

“I think that Ramón might be of assistance to you,” Jeremiah Peabody says, apparently repeating something he’s already said. “It’s never wise for a man to go alone into the mountains, but he has a particular desire to trap this next season. Regardless of the business’s less savory aspects, it still has the potential to bring a high return. If the two of you partner as free trappers, there would be a mutual benefit. Also, since he is Mexican, the legality of your activity would not be questioned.”

“And Ramón is an excellent and enthusiastic cook,” Suzanna says. “I suspect he’d be more than happy to take on that responsibility.”

Jeremiah Peabody flashes a smile. “That would certainly be a consideration if you were going with them,” he teases. “Given your lack of enthusiasm for cookery.”

She chuckles. “And lack of skill,” she says ruefully. She turns to Gerald. “I hope you’ll consider partnering with him,” she says. “You mentioned going back into the Sangres. It would be a comfort—” She stops, her face flushing. She looks down and smooths the fabric of her dress across her lap. “That is, I would be glad to know he had someone with him in the wilderness. The mountains are not safe for a man alone.”

So it’s Chavez’s safety she’s concerned about. Gerald turns to Jeremiah Peabody. “I would need to speak with him,” he says stiffly.

Peabody’s eyes drift from his daughter’s face to Gerald’s. A smile twitches his lips. “Let me see if he is still in the house,” he says as he rises. “I suspect he will be in the kitchen with Encarnación.”

As he leaves the room, Suzanna lifts her gaze from her skirts. She gives Gerald a conspiratorial smile. “When he’s in Taos, Ramón spends as much time as he can in Chonita’s kitchen,” she says. “Since he can cook and bake as well as she can, we believe that the attraction is not truly the food.”

Gerald raises an eyebrow, trying to keep the hope from his face.

“He doesn’t quite have the financial resources he believes he needs in order to offer her a home.” Suzanna turns her dark eyes on him, the pleading plain. “He is very dear to us, and it would be a gift to my father and to me if you would agree to partner with him.” She smiles mischievously. “And to Chonita, as well.”

The knot in Gerald’s chest smooths itself out. “It seems a good plan,” he says. “But of course I’ll need to talk with him myself. He may not be agreeable to the idea.”

She gives him a glowing smile as her father ushers Ramón Chavez into the room.

Copyright © 2018 Loretta Miles Tollefson

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