Along The Fortune Trail (18 page)

O
utside in the street, Sammy could see Claire was shaken at the news of her home. “We'll get this straightened out about your house, Claire. We'll go first thing in the morn-in’. But for now, let's check into this hotel, get cleaned up, and see about Blaine.”

“They can't do that—just move into my house!” Claire said, her confusion suddenly turning to anger.

“They sure as hell can't!” Margaret followed. “That's just not right!”

“We bought that land, and Robert built that house! It's ours! It's mine!”

“Yes it is,” Sammy said, gently putting his hands on Claire's shoulders to calm her. He looked in her eyes. “I'm telling you not to worry. You understand? It's going to be all right. Now here, you take this. And Margaret, you take this.” Sammy gave them each a pouch of gold coins. “I'll give you the rest later. Keep it where you know it's safe. Don't tell me you don't want it. You're takin’ it, and I don't wanna hear anymore about it. Now go and check in and have a bath and something to eat. And go buy whatever you need. I'm taking the horses to the livery and I need to do a few things. I'll catch up with you later. If you go out, stay together.”

“All right,” Claire said, feeling more composed.

Sammy walked the horses down to the livery stable and then found his way to the post office. He wrote two letters, one to Homer and Reuben, and the other to Jenny. He wrote about what had happened and that he wasn't sure how long he'd be delayed, but he'd get word to them of his progress. Then he went back to the doctor's office.

The two old women were gone, replaced by a young mother and her child in the waiting room. The doctor's assistant, Alice, was not at the reception desk. Sammy knocked at the door and a moment later Alice opened it. “Can I come in and see my friend?”

“Just a moment.” The door opened a few seconds later. “You can go in,” she said as she returned to the reception desk.

“Thank you, ma'am.”

Blaine was laid out on the table in his shirt and skivvies asleep. Doctor O'Malley was finishing bandaging Blaine's leg. “How's he doin’?” Sammy asked.

“Time will tell. The front wound is infected, but the poultice helped keep it from spreading … for now. Did you do that?”

“No, the young girl did.”

“She did a good job. It was effective. There were a few bullet fragments left in the front side, but I think I've removed all of them.”

“Damn. I should have looked better in the first place. It was a ricocheted bullet.”

“You did remarkably well. The spot where you cut in appears to be doing all right, so I'm quite sure you got all that was there. Now we wait. If the infection worsens, he could develop gangrene—then he'll lose that leg. Or, it could kill him. I had to take some tissue out of that front wound, so there was no sewing it up. I've packed it. He has to stay in bed and keep completely off of it for several weeks at the least. We'll know which way this is headed in the next day or two. Help me carry him to the bed in the next room.”

“Sure doctor. By the way, I'm Sammy Winds and your patient is Blaine Corker.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm Dorian O'Malley.”

The two men shook hands and then carried Blaine to a bed. Sammy saw the bedpan on the floor and was reminded of his own feeble condition just six months earlier. He wanted to change his thinking quickly.

“Have you ever met Homer or Reuben Taylor? They own the Twin T. Ranch west of here. Irish brothers … came to America when they were boys.”

“No, I've not had the pleasure. But I believe I've heard of the Twin T. Are you acquainted?

“I work for them. So does Blaine … or he did.”

“How is it you came to the aid of Missus Studdard and the other girl? Did Indians take them?”

Sammy paused for a moment. “Well, Doctor, no offense, but I'll let Missus Studdard tell that story if she cares to.”

The doctor tipped his head down just a bit and looked at Sammy over the top of his spectacles, appreciative of the young man's discretion. “Of course. Forgive the question.”

Sammy looked down at Blaine who was out like a light. “He's sleepin’ like a log.”

“It's the laudanum. It kills the pain and will make him sleep, which he needs.”

“I'm glad of it. What about at night?”

“Missus Martinez lives in the back. She'll be looking in on him.”

“Much obliged.” Sammy dug out some money and held out ten dollars to Dorian. “Will this cover for now?”

“Yes, that's more than enough.”

“I'll settle up with you when this is played out, if that's all right.”

“That will be fine.”

“Can you tell me where Claire's house is?”

“Oh, why yes. It's certainly distinct compared to the adobe houses. It's just out the north trail. You follow this avenue east and turn at Rosario's Wagon and Repair, then on out of town about a mile. It's the white house with green trim to the east of the trail. It's a beautiful place. Robert was a carpenter.”

“Thanks, Doc. Say, do you happen to know a man named Willis Burk?”

“I don't know him, but I know of him.”

“Do you know if he's still around?”

“As far as I know.”

It was late afternoon when Sammy rode out the north trail to Claire's house. After a visit to the courthouse, he was certain of the law on claiming abandoned property. No one had filed a petition to claim the house as an abandoned property, and no one could without evidence that it had been abandoned for at least six months. There was a recorded deed for the land with no liens or mortgages. Sammy figured it was probably somebody from the area trying to be opportunistic.

It sat back off the trail about a quarter mile, facing southwest on good grassy ground. It was frame construction with lap siding and a steep roof with two dormer windows, indicating an attic or loft or second story. The house was nicely painted and had a covered porch that ran the width of the front, providing shade for two large front windows. Tall ponderosa pine and blue spruce grew to the sides and rear of the house at a distance that provided an acre of open yard. A two-story barn and other outbuildings had the same lap siding with white and green paint. The whole spread gave the appearance of a small estate. There was neither visible livestock nor horses, but smoke trailed from the red brick chimney that stretched skyward on one end of the house.

Sammy reined up in front and dismounted, tying Dobe to a hitching post in the yard. He wore his gun-belt with both pistols.

“Hellooooo the house,” he yelled, loud enough to be heard without sounding as if he were shouting orders. All was still. He remained in the yard, looking at the front windows for any sign of movement within. There was nothing. “Hellooooo the house,” he yelled again, this time a little louder. Again, there was no response. He waited another half minute, then walked up on the porch and rapped on the door. “Helloooo,” he yelled as loud as he could, not caring what he sounded like now. Sammy heard movement inside and several voices, but he could not tell what was being said. He rapped once again, and finally heard boots on a hardwood floor approaching the front.

The door opened. A white man about forty years old, with thinning hair and bad teeth, looked at Sammy as though he'd been rudely disturbed from some favorite pastime.

“Yeah, what do you want?” It was more of an accusation than a question.

Sammy could see from the man's expression and tone that he was probably going to be a hard case about it. He decided any politeness would be a waste of time. “Since you put it that way, mister, I want you and whoever else is in this house out of here in the morning. And you'll be takin’ only what you came with.” Sammy had his right hand resting on the butt of his gun and casually eyed both windows. A woman and three boys and two girls were peering out at him.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

“I represent the owner of this property, who is presently in town and will be here in the morning to take possession of her home. Look mister, you and I both know this isn't your place and you don't belong here.”

The man looked unsure. He rubbed the stubble on his chin as if it were helping him to see the clarity of the issue. “We came by here a while back … on the way to California. My wagon broke an axle and I got no more money. We was campin’ nearby. There wasn't nobody here in over a week, so we was looking after it. We been in here over a month and nobody's come yet.”

“Well that's right neighborly of you to look after it, but now the owner is back. Did you get your wagon fixed?”

“Yeah, finally. It took all the money we earned locally.”

“I'll tell you what. Seeing as how you're hard pressed for money, I'll give you fifty dollars for your trouble to pack up right now and leave.”

“Fifty dollars? Right now?”

“Yep, right now.”

The man rubbed his chin some more then scratched his head. “It could be you're just tryin’ to get me outta here so you can claim it for yourself.”

“Yeah that could be, but it ain't the case. If you want, I'll leave right now and come back in the mornin’ with the sheriff and the owner with her deed. But you won't get a penny then. And if there's anything missing that should be here, you'll be accountable for it whether you're still here or not. And if you're not, we'll be comin’ after you.”

The man suddenly looked mad, but even more worried. “Hell, it could be somebody took somethin’ before we ever got here!”

“Yeah, that could be. But it won't matter in the eyes of the law. You'll have been the last party in this house.”

The man ran his fingers through his hair several times. “If we go right now and something is missin’ from before we got here, what's to keep you from pinnin’ it on me anyhow?”

“Well, I'm gonna stand right here and watch you pack up and go. So I'll know what you took … or more to the point, what you didn't take.”

The man paused for a minute without rubbing his chin or running his fingers through his hair. He stood there slowly realizing that Sammy was on the level, and that his best chance for profit was to pack it up and get. Sammy knew he was close, so he got out fifty dollars of his own money and held it out to the man. The man looked Sammy in the eye and held his gaze for several seconds, then took the money. He turned his head in toward the house. “Amylou, start gettin’ packed. We're leavin’ … now. You boys go hitch the team up and bring the wagon ‘round front. You girls help your mother.”

C
laire and Margaret checked in to separate rooms at the Exchange Hotel and immediately availed themselves of the bathing facilities. The Exchange was the only hotel in Santa Fe that had such facilities as part of its offering. The rooms were the best in town, so most of the stagecoach traffic and other travelers stayed there. After they bathed, both the women slept for a while and then Claire collected Margaret and they went to the lobby, checking with the clerk to see if Sammy had arrived. When they found out he hadn't, Claire suggested they get something to eat in the hotel. “Don't you want to go out?” Margaret asked.

“No, not really. Not yet. Do you mind? It's just that I feel out of place. It's all so strange. I don't care to see anyone I know yet. They'll ask what happened. I don't want to talk about it right now … or ever, really.” Claire's eyes suddenly misted up. She took Margaret's hand and squeezed it gently. “I miss Emily already.”

“I know, I do too,” Margaret said, suddenly relating to all that Claire had just expressed and realizing how difficult it would be when she returned home and saw people that she knew. What would they think? What would they say about her in the whispers and the gossip? What boy would be interested in her, knowing what the Indians had done to her? “That's fine that we stay here,” she agreed.

They found a table next to a window looking out at the courtyard. Several men pitched coins against the wall as the shadows of late afternoon stretched across the open ground. A waiter came and they ordered their meals. Claire also picked a bottle of wine. “Will you have some with me?” she asked Margaret.

“I've only ever tasted some once. Yes, I'd like to have a little.”

“Good.” Claire gazed thoughtfully out the window. “You know, Robert and I lived here nearly three years and I've never been in this hotel.” Then she quickly changed the subject. “I wonder where Sammy is? It's getting late. We should go see Blaine after we eat. I hope he's back before we go.”

“Do you think Blaine will be all right?” Margaret asked.

“Oh, I pray so. They're such good men.”

“I think you were right when you said that God sent them.”

“Now we'll pray that God heals Blaine.”

The waiter brought the wine, and Claire and Margaret drank and talked as they waited for their meals. Margaret had been thinking about it, but was unsure of asking. With the sedation of the wine, she was a little more confident and went right to the heart of it. “Claire, could I stay with you for a while? I'll help out and work hard.”

Claire had a slight look of surprise that quickly melted to a warm smile. “Of course you can. You can stay with me as long as you like. I'd be so pleased not to be alone right now. But what about your family, your mother and brothers?”

“I'll write a letter to my mother and let her know what happened and that I'm all safe. But I'm not ready to go back yet. Kind of like you not wanting to go out here and feeling strange. I feel like I need some time to settle. Besides, my mother and I are not that close. I love her, but … and my brothers are in their own worlds. I'll see them. I love them, but I don't know if I'll ever move home again now. I'll be seventeen next month.”

They smiled at each other. Claire reached across the table and took her hand. “We'll make the best of it, together. You can go when you want, or stay as long as you want.” Claire took a deep breath. “You know I'm pregnant, don't you?”

“Yes, Emily told me she thought you were. She said you'd tell me if you wanted to. I'm glad you wanted to.”

“Well, it won't stay a secret much longer anyway.”

“You're barely showing. I mean I can see a little difference, but that's because we've been together for so long. What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to give this baby a home. I think it may be Robert's. I pray it is. The timing seems about right. We were trying just before I was taken. I had morning sickness the day they murdered him. I'll just have to wait till it's born.”

“Oh Claire, I'll pray hard for you … and I'll help do whatever you want me to.”

“Thank you, Margaret. That means so much to me.”

Sammy walked up to the table. “Mind if I sit down with the two best looking gals in the place?” Margaret smiled as if she'd just won a beauty contest. Claire scanned the room.

“We're the only two gals
in
the place.”

“That'd make you the best looking gals then. But I was referring to all of Santa Fe.”

“Nice to see you so chipper, Mister Winds,” Claire said.

“I prefer it that way. I also prefer to eat when I'm starvin’. Did you eat already?”

“No, our food should be here any time now,” Margaret answered.

Sammy saw the waiter walking by. “Would you bring me whatever they're havin’ … twice.”

The waiter raised an eyebrow. “They ordered different meals, sir.”

“Then bring me one of each, and some water too, please.”

“Yes sir. Right away.”

“Polite hombre,” Sammy mused. “Everybody I've met in this town has been polite. You can move back into your house anytime you want, Claire.”

Claire's eyes met Sammy's directly, looking for confirmation of what she thought she just heard. “What do you mean? What about what Doctor O'Malley said about somebody living there?”

“They're gone now,” Sammy said casually as he reached for a piece of bread from the basket.

“When did they leave?” Claire asked with a tone of wonderment.

“Not long after I asked them to.”

“You were there?”

“Yep. Was a man and his family livin’ there … ‘bout a month. They were passin’ through and broke an axle on their wagon. Also, I happened upon a neighbor. Pablo Hernandez I believe it was. He said that some other folks out that way, name of Grimes—they have your cow, some livestock, and a buckboard.”

Claire'e eyes brightened. “Yes, I know Mister Hernandez, and the Grimes’ are close friends. We were on our way to their place when we were attacked. Oh my. Thank you, Sammy, for taking care of that. It's such a burden off my mind. Thank you!”

“You're welcome, Claire. I'm just glad it smoothed out without a fight.”

The waiter came with Claire and Margaret's meals. “Yours will be out in just a minute, sir.”

“I'll be here,” Sammy said, and stuffed another piece of bread in his mouth.

“We're planning to go see Blaine after we finish here if it's not too late,” said Margaret.

Sammy finished chewing and took a drink of water to wash it down. “I saw Blaine earlier. Doctor O'Malley said it's wait and see. I won't lie to you. He said if the infection spreads he could lose his leg—or maybe his life.”

“Oh no, no!” Margaret exclaimed.

Sammy shook his head. “Hold on. It hasn't spread yet. It seems to me there's a good chance it won't now. The doctor took out some bullet fragments and said the infection was still local, which I figure is a good sign, being that's its been four days now. He's young and strong. Now he's sleepin’ hard and gettin’ good rest and care.”

“Can we look in on him yet tonight?” Claire asked.

“I think so. The doc's assistant lives in the back—that side door off the courtyard over there.”

Blaine did not wake up while Sammy, Claire, and Margaret stood around his bed in the room's dim light, talking about him in whispers. He woke up later after a dream about busting broncs caused him to move his injured leg suddenly when he was thrown from the horse. The pain was not severe, but it was enough to bring him to a groggy state of consciousness after having been asleep for nine hours.

The room was unfamiliar and nobody occupied the three other beds. He could hear the sound of people and activity coming through a small transom window high on the opposite wall. It was tilted open, but cast no light. Night, he thought, feeling as if still in a dream. He called out, “Hello.”

A moment later the door opened and a middle-aged woman in a floor-length scarlet robe entered and made her way to his bedside. Her long hair was dark and streaked with gray and braided so it looked like heavy rope hanging to the middle of her back. “Good evening, señor,” she said with perfect enunciation in a thick, Spanish accent.

Blaine stared up at her.

“Good evening to you.”

“You have slept a long time. I will bring you food if you are hungry.”

“No, but I am thirsty.”

“I will bring you water. You must not get up.” She took the bedpan from the table next to the bed and put it beside him. “Use this when you have to go. There is paper here,” she said, pointing to the sheets on the table. “Do not get up. I will help you if you need.”

“Thank you, ma'am. I'll manage that part myself … I hope.”

“It is all right. I have helped many people. Your friends were here earlier tonight. You were sleeping. They will be back in the morning. They are staying next door at the hotel.”

Blaine lifted his head and propped himself a little higher. “They were here, huh? They got a bar in that hotel? ‘Cause I'd be in it if I wasn't here.” He lifted the sheet and looked at his heavily bandaged thigh. “I don't remember the doctor workin’ on me, but it looks like he did.”

“Yes … you were sleeping then too.”

“I been sleepin’ a lot.”

“It is the medicine. It is for the pain, and it will help you sleep.”

“Well how ‘bout some more of that medicine, ‘cause now that I'm awake the pain is back.”

“I will bring some with the water,” she said, and disappeared through the door.

Blaine lay there listening intently as he looked up at the window. He could hear the Mariachis, who had started up with guitars and singing, followed by several whoops from the audience. It was a lively piece they were playing, painting a picture in his mind of the festive time somebody was having. “Sounds like where I'd like to be,” he said to himself. Blaine's eyes slipped to half-mast as he floated in the spirit of the song and momentarily put the ache of his leg to the back of his mind.

The woman was back at his bedside without him realizing how she got there. She handed him a large clay cup and put the pottery pitcher on the table next to a washbowl. Blaine slugged at the water for several seconds, half emptying the vessel and then taking a deep breath. “Much obliged,” he said as he placed the cup on the table. “We ain't been properly introduced. I'm Blaine Corker.”

The woman pulled the small dark bottle and a spoon from the pocket of her robe as she spoke. “I am Alice Martinez, the doctor's assistant.” She removed the cap and carefully poured the chocolate brown liquid onto the spoon. “Take this,” she said as she held the spoon to his mouth, “and hold it under your tongue for a minute before you swallow.” Blaine took the medicine. It had an alcohol base and tasted like extra strong moonshine to him. He held it under his tongue for the better part of a minute and then swallowed.

“Can I have a smoke to go with it? The makins is in my shirt pocket there.”

“It is not good for you with a fever. But if you want …” She retrieved his tobacco pouch and papers and then wet a washcloth while he rolled a smoke. She put the cool compress on his forehead and pulled the wooden chair from the table. She sat down. “I will sit with you while you smoke. I do not want you to go to sleep and burn us down. The medicine is strong.”

“Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate the company.”

Blaine smoked and told her about when he'd been in Santa Fe several years earlier. By the end of his cigarette, he felt light-headed and wasn't sure if it was the medicine kicking in quickly on an empty stomach, or just the tobacco. He snuffed out his smoke and laid his head back on the pillow as Alice talked of things that had happened or changed in Santa Fe in the years since Blaine had last been there. Then he knew it was the medicine taking over as the pain began to subside and a blanket of warmth flowed over him. Alice's voice became a faint echo that slipped away as he began to dream of boarding a stagecoach pulled by golden horses.