Train From Marietta (4 page)

As soon as the train came to a halt, he swung down onto the platform. The sun was high overhead. The temperature in June often got above one hundred degrees, and this day didn’t appear to be an exception. Tate pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his brow.

Suddenly he heard a shout. “Señor Castle! Señor Castle!”

A short Mexican man with a large-brimmed hat and a wide grin came hurrying from the back of the depot. The foreman’s clothes were dust-covered.

“Jorge! Am I glad to see you. I was afraid you hadn’t received my message.” Tate picked up his satchel and the sack and went toward him, holding out his hand. The two men shook vigorously.

“Señor, is good that you’re back. Little one, she miss you.”

“I missed her too. It’s been almost three weeks.”

As they talked, the two men moved through the station. Up ahead of them, a man knelt to embrace two small children who were peppering his cheeks with kisses. Their mother stood nearby smiling. The reunion made Tate even more eager to get home.

“You make the sale, señor?” Jorge asked.

“I made the sale. We couldn’t have asked for a much better deal. The problem was that the commander of the fort was away, and I had to wait a week for him to return. That’s why it took me so long.”

“Still … it is all very good.” The foreman’s grin grew even wider. “When they want them?”

“We’ve got to have them ready by the first of the month. The commander’s sending a detail down to drive them back to the fort. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

“That we can do, señor.”

They walked outside the station and stopped in front of a battered old pickup truck. Tate set the large sack and his satchel in the back and climbed into the cab. Jorge slid behind the wheel. When he started the motor, it backfired, sounding like a pistol shot. The engine sputtered once, twice, and then came to life. Jorge put the truck into gear, and they started to move.

“We’re going to have to work on this old thing,” Tate said.

“She noisy, but she run once she started. She get us where we go.”

“We’ve got to make her last for a while yet. After we get the money from the fort for the horses, we’ll trade her in on something better.”

The truck bumped down the road that led out of town. The houses they passed were set farther and farther apart, and soon nothing lay ahead of them but the Texas prairie land. Tate tilted his head toward the open window and breathed in the fresh scent of prairie grass.

The two men were silent, comfortable with each other. They had been friends for many years. Jorge and his wife, Yelena, were with Tate before Emily’s birth. Looking back on all that had happened, he didn’t know how he would have managed without them.

“Did the fetlock on that old Hammerhead heal up?” Tate asked.

“It heal, but he run into a fence and got a big scratch down his side. I cover it with pine tar. He look a mess, but he always rarin’ to go.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have called him Hammerhead; he’s living up to his name.” After a few moments, Tate continued. “Have you seen that spotted stallion lately?”

Catching the spotted stallion had been a desire of Tate’s since the moment he first saw him five years ago. What a beautiful, proud animal! He wanted to catch him to breed his mares, but, more important, he didn’t want any harm to befall him.

“Sí, I have seen him,” Jorge said. But I’m not the only one. Señor Wilbur from over east came by the other day.”

“What did he want?”

“He want to know if I seen the wild herd that is led by the stallion. I say no.” Jorge laughed. “I see him, but I don’t tell.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Tate said with a tight face. “Wilbur wants the stallion. But I don’t like the way he plans to go about getting him. I don’t believe in creasing a horse to stun him. Not many men are that accurate, and most of ’em either kill the animal or miss, scattering the
manadas.”

“Señor Wilbur is stubborn man. He not going to worry about killing or scattering the mares.”

“He’s a dang fool if he thinks he’s a good enough shot,” Tate said through gritted teeth. His fist was curled into a tight ball. “Another thing, where do you aim? A place close to the withers? A foot behind the ears? A vertebra a little forward of the hips? No, I won’t have Wilbur trying to catch that horse by creasing him. He has a herd of nice mares and produces good foals. I wonder why he doesn’t go after the loose stallions. There are ten or twelve of them following his mares. They’re the ones the spotted stallion has run off.”

“Yelena and little one baked a cake for your return,” Jorge said, turning the talk from the stallion.

“I bet Emily liked that.”

Jorge smiled. “She sat on table and stir.”

Tate knew Jorge and his wife were very fond of his little six-year-old. They didn’t have any children of their own and had taken to Emily from the day she was born.

As Jorge turned the truck down the road toward the ranch, Tate feasted his eyes on his home; the sturdy frame house looked as if it had been there forever. A stone chimney rose up from each end, and a long porch spanned the front. The homestead was set amid a grove of mesquite trees, with the occasional yucca scattered amongst them. In the network of corrals behind the house, horses grazed. He and Jorge had worked most of the winter with the horses, breaking them to halter. Home. He loved it and never wanted to live any place else. However, as much as he loved this place, he’d move to a city quicker than scat for Emily to receive the care she needed. He’d do it without a backward glance.

As soon as Tate stepped out of the truck, Old Bob, his eight-year-old dog, came to meet him, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. Tate reached down and scratched the mutt’s shaggy head. “Hey there, Bob. Have you been looking after things while I was away?” Yelena stood on the porch holding Emily. Dressed in a blue, light cotton dress, the child was all smiles and waved both hands. Her curly dark head bobbed with excitement. Tate hurried onto the porch, dropped his bag and paper sack, and reached for her.

“Hello, little sweetheart.”

“Daddy, Daddy!” Emily fell into her father’s grasp and wrapped her arms around his neck, then patted his right cheek with one small hand and bestowed wet kisses on the other. “Daddy, I’m glad you’re back! Did you bring me a present?”

Tate kissed her forehead.
Has it been only three weeks?
It seemed like forever since he last held his little girl. “I’ve missed you, Emily. Have you been good for Yelena?”

Emily hesitated before answering, “Sometimes.”

“Now, what does that mean?” Tate chuckled.

“I hit Yelena.”

Tate pulled his daughter away from him and looked down into her blue eyes. “Why did you do a naughty thing like that?”

“She said that I couldn’t wear my pretty dress with the pink ribbon.”

“Your Sunday dress? Were you going somewhere?”

“No. I wanted to play outside in the sand, and she wouldn’t let me.”

“Yelena was right to say no.”

“I don’t like her.”

“Now, I don’t want to hear you saying things like that. Yelena cares a great deal for you. If she tells you not to wear your nice dress, you do what she says.”

“Are you mad at me, Daddy?”

“Of course not, sweetheart, but I want you to be a nice girl. I think you should tell her you’re sorry.”

Emily turned in her father’s arms. A look of rebellion came over the child’s face and then her eyes went down to the paper sack lying on the porch. “Sorry, Yelena,” she murmured. “Now can I have my present?”

Tate sighed. “You can have it, but I don’t want to learn that you hit Yelena again. Promise me.” Emily quickly nodded her head, her eyes never leaving the paper sack. Tate leaned down and picked up the bag.

“What is it?” Emily asked excitedly.

“Let’s go in the house and find out.”

Tate carried his daughter into the kitchen and set her on the edge of the table. Her thin legs hung down limply. She walked, but her uneven gait made her hips so tired she could only go short distances. Damn Hazel, the girl’s mother, for going off and leaving her!

The shoe had slipped off the foot of Emily’s shorter leg. Tate reached for the shoe and lifted his daughter’s short leg up onto his knee. He cradled her tiny foot in his hand.

“I got on my new shoes, Daddy.”

He had bought the shoes the last time he went to Alpine. Emily had loved the bright red color at first sight. “I see you have, little sugar bun.”

“I can walk in them when Jorge holds me.”

“You can?” He slipped the shoe gently back on Emily’s foot and buttoned the strap. “You’ll have to show me after you open your present.” Emily reached her hand into the sack. “What is it?” she said again.

“Pull it out and see.”

Emily pulled out a doll that he had bought in Alpine. It had a baby face, blue eyes, a pink mouth, and long brown hair. Its dress was pink with a matching pink satin sash. “Oh, Daddy, Daddy! She’s got a dress just like mine!”

“Do you like her, sweetheart?” Emily’s smile was all the answer he needed.

Emily hugged the doll close to her. “Does she cry?”

“Bend her over and you’ll find out.”

Emily bent the doll back and forth. Her smile widened when she heard the doll coo, “Ma … ma.”

“Lay her down,” Tate said. “Her eyes will close.”

Emily laughed with delight. “What’s her name?”

“The lady at the store said that she didn’t have one,” Tate said. “You’ll have to give her a name.”

Emily thought about it for a while, her little nose crinkling up from the effort. Finally she said, “I think I’ll call her Sarsaparilla.”

“That’s a pretty long name for a baby.”

“I like it,” the girl said defiantly.

“Maybe you should shorten it up a little.”

“Well… then I’ll call her ‘Sassy’”

“That sounds great, honey.”

“Are you hungry, señor?” Yelena asked as she set plates on the table.

“My belly’s so empty it thinks I’ve forgotten about it.” Tate laughed as he lifted Emily up and sat down with her in a chair. Emily snatched her doll from the table and started bouncing it on her knee.

“Jorge coming,” Yelena said.

“Great. I’ve not had a good meal since the day I left.”

By the time Tate finished eating, Emily had nodded off to sleep. One arm hung down toward the floor, but the other held her new doll tightly to her chest. The excitement of her father coming home, and the doll, had been too much for the child.

Tate carried her to the small room off the kitchen and laid her down on her bed. She woke and smiled up at him. He pulled the curtains shut on the purple-and-yellow-streaked evening sky, sending the room into near darkness. He kissed her forehead.

“Can you tell me a story, Daddy?” Emily asked sleepily as Tate changed her clothes and tucked the doll into the crook of her arm.

“Not tonight, honey.”

“Please?”

“Daddy’s got to talk to Jorge. Yelena will.”

“I’ve heard her stories,” Emily complained.

Tate pulled a thin blanket up to his daughter’s waist, then leaned down to give her one more kiss good night. She put her arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly.

“Daddy, you smell funny,” the little girl said.

“I do?”

“You smell like flowers.”

Tate grinned.

Tate went out onto the porch, where Jorge sat in an old bentwood chair. The vivid colors of the sky had darkened as the sun started its disappearing act over the western horizon. Stars had begun to spring to life above them, twinkling in the early evening sky. It had been a hot day, but the air had already started to cool down. A light breeze carried the scent of sage.

Tate lit a cigarette and sat down on the edge of the porch. Old Bob trotted from the yard in back of the house and sat at his master’s feet. The dog gave a contented sigh before settling down.

“I got a good price for the horses, Jorge. I’ll be able to pay you now.”

“You owe me nothing, señor.”

“I said I’d pay you for helping me break those horses, and I will.”

“You give me and my
esposa
a home. We feel you family, you and the little
niña.
That’s all the payment we need.”

“You’re our family, both of you. I couldn’t have managed all these years without your help. My sale to the fort should put us in pretty good shape.”

“What put you in pretty good shape would be if you get the spotted stallion.”

“You know how hard I’ve been tryin’, Jorge. But he’s man-shy I’ve had him boxed up a couple times, and he always manages to get out. One time he almost ran me down. He was mad as hell. It’ll be hard to get near him again.”

They sat in near silence for a couple of minutes, the only sound that reached their ears coming from a lone coyote calling his mate. Tate took a couple of drags on his cigarette before saying, “There’s only one thing we haven’t tried.”

“What’s that?”

“We could drive his mares in. If we did that, he’d follow them. But he might kick down the fences.”

“We can try, señor. That one smart mustang. Maybe he smarter than us,” Jorge said with a chuckle.

“After we deliver the horses to the fort, we’ll have some time to try an’ catch him. We’ll just have to be careful and not lead Wilbur to him.”

Yelena came out and sat down beside Tate on the porch. “The little one happy with the doll,” she said as she pulled a shawl around her shoulders. The night air had become cooler with each passing minute.

“She asleep?”

“Sí, señor. She only hear start of story.” Yelena smiled.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to use a firmer hand with her. She’s startin’ to act up. I don’t want her to be a spoiled brat.”

“She have good days, and she have bad days. She not run and play like other children, and she get tired being in house.”

“Is she still crawlin’ on the floor?”

“Sometimes she crawl. She don’t like to walk. I help her. Jorge help her.”

“I don’t want you running to her every time she calls. She’s got to learn to do a few things for herself.”

“Sí, señor.”

“It not as bad as that, señor,” Jorge said. “She try to do the best she can. She want to walk. Oh, how she laugh when I held her up and she walk next to me. But she cry sometimes when she fall down.”