Wraiths of the Broken Land (2 page)

Chapter II
A Quiet Squabble

Nathaniel Stromler strode from the stable toward the Footmans’ house, ruminating upon squabbles, which were his least favorite form of communication. His mother and father had bickered throughout his childhood back in Michigan, especially during wintertime (when the heat of their verbal battles often superseded the blazing emanations of the hearth), and by the time he was ten, he had decided that such dialogues only occurred when people were unable to think clearly, speak precisely and remain rational when confronted by opposing viewpoints.

Kathleen O’Corley, Nathaniel’s fiancé, had a different opinion about squabbles. She believed that such interactions were normal and cleansing, and that they proved a person was an impassioned individual. (He had courteously disagreed with her surmise.)

Nathaniel walked along the pebble pathway, toward the black square that was the house within which he and his fiancé lived, and the chill night winds of the New Mexico Territory tingled his skin. He feared that the folded advert he carried within his vest would incite Kathleen to argumentatively demonstrate her love for him, and for this reason, he had shrewdly awaited the hour when all of the Footmans were indoors and able to hear raised voices.

“Evenin’ Mister Stromler,” said the white-haired negro named Sir, amicably waving his four-fingered right hand.

Nathaniel absently reciprocated the gesture, but his mind was so busy arranging words for his coming discussion that he forgot to proffer any in reply.

Upon the façade, the dark living room curtains informed him that the little ones had already eaten and been sent to bed. Kathleen would not be able to raise her voice.

Nathaniel ascended two steps and landed upon the unpainted wooden porch that circumscribed the edifice’s south and west sides.

The front door disappeared, and the screen swung out. From the home’s amber interior strode its owner, a squat cattle rancher, clothed in workpants and a red union suit. “You missed dinner,” Ezekiel Footman stated with mild concern. The forty-nine-year-old man put an ancient pipe into his mouth and tamped down the bowl’s hirsute contents with a splayed thumb. “Harriet saved you some,” he added as he disappeared onto the western landing, where two benches depended from sturdy iron chains so that five or six people could comfortably rock to and fro while watching the sun sink below the distant mountains.

“Thank you,” said Nathaniel.

“Mmhm.”

Around the corner, a match hissed and flashed, dazzling a moth that had previously fluttered unnoticed just beside Nathaniel’s left ear. The opalescent creature was the size of a small bat. He puffed air at the phantom insect and sent it gently toward the stars.

Nathaniel walked through the screen door and across a checkered rug that dirt and abrasions would only improve and stopped before a substantial looking glass, which was tastefully decorated with a vine motif and golden filigree. This mirror was precisely the type of accoutrement that he had hoped to hang within each deluxe suite of Stromler’s Very High Quality Hotel.

Staring back at him from the reflective glass was a tall, blonde, fully-mustachioed man of twenty-six, who was fairly handsome, but aged prematurely by his large nose, receding hairline (which had yielded an inch of territory during the last two years) and haunted blue eyes.

Nathaniel Stromler had not slept well or felt hopeful or eaten lustily since the day the storm blew down the eastern wall of his half-built hotel and killed a laborer, a young Comanche, who had fallen asleep in the adjacent alley after a long day of construction work. After the event, all of the native employees had refused to work on the edifice (they felt that the death was portentous) and all of the available Mexicans had raised their fees. Nathaniel had all but exhausted his savings to build what stood and the loss was too great to overcome with his remaining funds. Construction halted.

The gentleman and would-be hotelier from Michigan wiped dust from his lapels, put a dab of oil in his palms and slicked back his lank hair. He checked his teeth for corn skins (two salty ears were all that he had eaten that day), saw with irritation how many lines a simple grin etched into his face and returned his lips to horizontal ambivalence.

Nathaniel turned away from himself and strode up the stairwell, across an ugly spotted rug and to the enclosure that he and his fiancé had shared like prisoners for sixteen months, since the day that the winds of catastrophe had blown. Because the furthest any tenant of ‘the baby’s room’ could be from the door was less than four yards, he rapped very gently upon the wood.

“Is that you Nathan?”

“It is I. Are you clothed?”

“I have on my nightgown.”

Nathaniel thought of Orton, the eldest Footman boy, who had more than once inappropriately eyeballed Kathleen (but was good-natured whenever the dog of puberty was not barking in his groin), and he looked over his shoulder. A sparkling white eye peered out of the thirteen-year-old’s darkened bedroom.

“Orton Footman,” said Nathaniel.

The door closed, slowly and quietly, as if a sudden movement or telltale creak would confirm that he was indeed trying to steal a glimpse of Kathleen.

Nathaniel turned back to the baby’s room, put his key into the lock, twisted it around and pressed his free palm into the wood. Seated upon the raised bed that filled most of the enclosure and dressed in a rose nightgown was Kathleen O’Corley, a tall twenty-four-year-old woman with delicate features, reluctant freckles, emerald eyes and loose black hair.

The gentleman withdrew his key from the outside lock, entered the room and shut the door.

They kissed. Kathleen tasted like Harriet Footman’s apple cobbler (which was good, but contained far too much nutmeg). Nathaniel withdrew from his betrothed and readied himself for the unpleasant conversation that was a necessity.

Illuminated by the lamp that hung upon the opposite wall, the woman’s eyes and teeth glowed, as did the stack of handwritten papers that rested upon her lap.

“A letter from your uncle arrived today,” announced Kathleen.

Nathaniel’s pulse raced—perhaps the folded advert that laid within his vest pocket could be discarded without any discussion or squabble. “Did he locate any investors?” The thought of returning to their abandoned child, the half-built hotel, caused the gentleman’s blood to quicken.

“Quite possibly. He sent us the names of three men who might be interested in investing, but are currently undecided. Your uncle has recommended for us to send out letters of solicitation in order to sway them.” Kathleen raised the stack of papers from her lap. “I’ve written the missives already—all that each requires is your signature.”
She became perplexed. “Aren’t you pleased?”

“Certainly.”

“Your face has a peculiar way of conveying that sentiment.”

“I am pleased—truly, I am—but when you mentioned a letter from my uncle, I had hoped for something more substantial…more…more immediate.” Nathaniel thought for a moment. “Where are these investors located?”

“Two are in Connecticut. One is in New York.”

Within the gentleman’s chest, the risen hopes sank. “Then it will take days—possibly weeks—to get responses from them.”

“We’ve been lodgers for over a year.” A small amount of irritation sharpened Kathleen’s voice. “This is the best opportunity we’ve had in some time.”

“It is. Indeed.” Nathaniel squeezed his fiancé’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. “I appreciate you taking the initiative and writing out those solicitations.”

“Peruse them so that we may send them off anon.”

Nathaniel nodded, sat upon the footstool, read the first letter (the solicitation was flawless), said “Perfect” and signed its nether region with the gold fountain pen that he had intended to set upon the lobby desk of Stromler’s Very High Quality Hotel for guests to use in the registrar. He scribbled his name upon the other two immaculate documents, set them upon the floor to dry and turned to face his fiancé.

“I found a job.”

“You have a job.” Kathleen’s voice was flat.

“I found a different job. One that offers far better wages than does a cobbler’s assistant.” The verbal articulation of this lowly profession brought a shameful flush to the gentleman’s face, but the point had to be made.

“What is this new job of which you speak with so much hesitancy and circumlocution?”

Nathaniel withdrew a folded advert from his vest, and Kathleen snatched it from his hands.

“I would prefer to read it to you.”

“I am a quite capable reader.”

Nathaniel did not disagree with his fiancé’s statement.

Kathleen unfolded the document and read it three times. She did not look up from the paper when she asked with a dry, quiet voice, “Who are these men?”

“I do not know.” Fabrications often precipitated squabbles, and Nathaniel was an uncomfortable liar whenever he spoke to somebody for whom he cared.

“For what purpose do they require the services of a ‘a gentleman with fancy dress who can ride long days and is fluent in Spanish?’”

“I do not know.”

“How did this very wonderful opportunity come to your attention?” Kathleen’s sarcasm was poisonous.

“Miss Barlone was operating the telegraph and—”

“She is meddlesome.”

“Miss Barlone is aware of our predicament, and last month I fixed her son’s shoes for free when her purse was light. She showed me the advert before she posted it, so that I might claim the opportunity.” Nathaniel paused for a moment. “She has already wired my acceptance.”

“You’ve already accepted?” Disbelief flashed across Kathleen’s green eyes and was summarily replaced by something hotter. “You’ve agreed to work for men, about whom you know nothing, way out in some far-off place?”

“You are getting loud. And neither you nor I know whether the job is in a far-off location.”

“The advert stipulates that the gentleman with fancy dress must able to ‘ride long days.’ What do you suppose that means? Ride around in great big circles!?!” Kathleen’s voice would be audible to any person awake on the second floor.

After his heart had pulsed ten times, Nathaniel calmly replied, “The long ride could be out to a far-off location, as you have suggested, or away to a nearer one and then back by sunset each night.”

“It seems far more likely that you’ll be required to ride into Mexico, since they’ve stipulated that the gentleman rider must be ‘fluent in Spanish.’”

“That is a realistic possibility,” admitted Nathaniel. “I do not know.”

“But you intend to leave me here and ride off with strangers to wherever they might lead you.”

“I intend to earn four hundred and fifty dollars in one week.”

Kathleen pursed her lips as if she were about to spit venom into her fiancé’s eyes. “The proffered wages are substantial enough to call into question the safety of this job…and its legality.”

“Unless I am required to do something unlawful or immoral, I will do what is required of me.”

Incredulous, Kathleen shook her head back and forth. “And I shall have no influence upon this decision?”

“You have spoken your mind.”

“At a time when you were deaf to contrary opinions—you had decided the matter long before our discussion.”

“I had,” agreed Nathaniel. “This is something that I must do.”

The woman snorted through her nostrils. “What if I told you that I would leave the New Mexico Territory and go back east to my family if you took this job?”

“I love you deeply, but if you are no longer certain that I can be a proper husband—if you no longer believe that my actions will advance us toward a greater happiness—you are encouraged to seek out a better life with someone else. We are not yet married.”

Kathleen was stunned.

Nathaniel’s stomach shifted, anxiously. He did not think that Kathleen would abandon him, but the possibility existed—she was a smart, educated and attractive woman, and she had not taken a locomotive to the frontier so that she could work as a maid for the Footman family while her fiancé cobbled shoes. Like every couple, they were two separate individuals tied together by a rope with an indeterminate snapping point, and this conversation certainly strained their line. Distant animal noises and more immediate house creaks intruded upon the heavy silence.

Unable to breathe the thickening air, the gentleman said, “It would take five months to earn that much money at the shop.”

“Four months.” The woman’s voice was sharp.

“Kathleen. If the job is hazardous or illicit, I will not go.” Looking into his fiancé’s doubtful face, the gentleman added, “This is a very significant sum.”

“It is.” The woman’s voice was gentler.

Weight came off of Nathaniel’s shoulders—the squabble had ended. “And,” the gentleman added, “the possibility exists that these employers are simply wealthy men to whom four hundred and fifty dollars means very little.”

“The diction employed in the advert doesn’t intimate good breeding,” the woman replied, “but I suppose it’s possible.”

Nathaniel traversed the room with a small step, sat upon the mattress and kissed Kathleen. She admitted him for a moment and withdrew, hastily, as if they were courting teenagers and the condemning head of a parent had just materialized in a window.

“Don’t look so distraught.”

“You closed the door on me,” stated Nathaniel, who was very rarely shut out. He reapplied his lips to those of his fiancé, but she kept her mouth closed in firm denial. As he withdrew, the gentleman remarked, “I did better the first time.”

“Not tonight,” stated the woman. “My mind is too full of concerns to be present with you in a romantic way.”

Nathaniel placed his right hand upon the canvas of bare skin that was framed by lace décolletage and pressed forward, gently urging Kathleen to lie down.

The woman resisted. “I’m too preoccupied by your departure.”

Through a smile, the gentleman said, “Please lie down.”

“Nathan. I am not of a mind to—”

“I understand. And I promise that I shall remain fully clothed.” Nathaniel looked into Kathleen’s emerald eyes and felt her heart beat significantly beneath the palm of his right hand. “This is wholly for your benefit.”

The woman’s cheeks admitted several clandestine freckles, and she nodded.

“Lie down.”

Kathleen laid into the locks of her long black hair and the iridescent fabric of her rose nightgown, and was gently received by the hay-packed mattress. Nathaniel touched his lips to the soft skin just above her bare left knee and landed a second kiss beneath her nightgown, exactly where the leg joined her pelvis. He exhaled warm air upon the woman’s nexus, and her entire body shuddered.

Running his fingertips along his fiancé’s inner thigh, the gentleman asked, “Will you allow me to alter your humors?”

Kathleen made an allowance.

The would-be hotelier and soon-to-be traveling bilingual gentleman looked over his fiancé’s recumbent body and through the window, at the effulgent gray sky, upon which neither sun nor moon trespassed. During the interstices of his three-and-a-half hours of fractured sleep, Nathaniel had pondered the east coast investors, the new job and the progress that he could make on his sundered hotel with four hundred and fifty dollars (plus the six hundred and twenty-four bills that he had saved during these last thirteen months) and was anxious. Although he was still tired, he knew that he would not again fall asleep and so decided to begin his day.