Jacob entered the hacienda by the rear patio along the wide, cool passageway. He glanced into the sala, full of shadows in the corners, and kept going to the rear of the house, searching for Petra.
In the kitchen two sons of one of the vaqueros, tardy in returning from play, were eating a hardy meal of tortillas, mutton fried with onions, and boiled milk seasoned with nutmeg. The boys stopped devouring the food and looked up when Jacob came into the room.
Quietly the youngsters sat holding their spoons and watching the gringo who had married Señorita Petra. They had heard the men say the gringo was a great knife fighter. The boys hoped someday to see him kill many bad Apache.
“Have you seen Petra?” Jacob asked.
The older boy replied, “She is usually off in that part of the hacienda with las viejas.” He pointed in the direction of the main patio.
“Thanks,” said Jacob. “That food smells good. Save some for me.”
The boys laughed and again fell to wolfing down their food.
The patio had been enlarged by an adobe wall thirty feet in length. Two doorways stood open in the new structure. Each opening was flanked by a pair of small, single-paned windows. Tamarron smelled the damp clay odor of fresh adobe as he passed into the nearest room.
One of las viejas was stamping the earthen floor with the blunt end of a branch of cottonwood with short limbs left on as handles. As she worked forward the floor behind her was hard and flat.
She found a low spot. With an old hand, thin and blue-veined, she took damp soil from a pan and filled the depression. Then, with exquisite care, she leveled the place and pounded it solid.
Every wall was straight and plumb and recently plastered with mud. In the corners the plaster was still dark with moisture. Overhead, new cloth hung below the ceiling to keep the fine particles of the roof soil from falling into the room and onto the occupants.
“Do you know where Petra is?” Jacob asked the old woman.
She jerked, startled by Jacob’s unexpected voice. She completed her downward stroke with a thump and turned.
“The Señora is in the next room,” the woman replied in a hesitant tone, as if reluctant to answer.
“Thank you, Mother,” Jacob said.
Petra heard Jacob and the woman talking, and she straightened up from unrolling a wool carpet on the floor. She turned to the doorway as Jacob entered.
He said nothing, silently swinging his view over the wide room, the deep fireplace with the iron cooking hooks, the red-and-gray carpet on the floor, and the whitewashed walls. Petra had built an apartment, again expanding the size of the huge hacienda, making ample space for another family.
“Whose rooms are these, Petra?” Jacob questioned. He had seen the four panes of glass in the outside walls and believed he already knew the answer. He recalled that for many days he’d seen blocks being molded and surmised that some form of building was in progress. Busy working long days with the men, he had given the construction little thought.
“For us, Jacob. For you and me,” Petra responded in an uneasy voice.
“I had planned to build us a hacienda on our own land,” Jacob said in a nettled tone. “Probably to the south on vacant land near the Rio Pecos.”
“I know that. But I thought once you saw how nice a home we could have here, you’d be willing to stay on El Vado.”
Petra took a trembling breath. Jacob saw her hands shaking. She clasped them together to keep them still. She may have made a terrible mistake in venturing off on her own plan without discussing it with him.
“There is more to this than that,” Jacob said.
“Yes. There is more. I have an interest in El Vado to attend to. I own one fourth of all the land and livestock on El Vado. In truth, you and I are one fourth owners of all the land and livestock.”
Tamarron backed up a step, dumbfounded at the abrupt news.
“I earned all of it,” Petra cried out. “For more than twenty years I worked as hard as any man. It was not merely given to me. I truly paid for every acre and animal.”
Petra saw the expression of deep thought come upon Jacob’s face, that look she had come to expect when he was weighing an important decision. Her fear at his reaction almost overwhelmed her. “Remember, Jacob, that day when you offered me all that you possessed? Well, now I offer you all I possess.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about your ownership in El Vado?”
“Because I was afraid you wouldn’t marry me if you knew I had so much property.”
Jacob’s eyes were riveted on Petra. “You’re right. I couldn’t marry you knowing that.”
“And now, Jacob? And now?” Petra’s pensive, questioning face was pale and taut. Her hands were gripped so tightly, they seemed to be breaking each other. She thought of the past weeks with Jacob. Not to be his wife would mean a terrible and lonely life.
Jacob’s countenance softened. “You’ve captured me completely. It will be much safer for you on El Vado when I’m gone. So we’ll live here. I never want you hurt. But we will buy a large piece of land along the Rio Pecos and expand our herd of livestock there.”
Petra went swiftly into his arms. “It will also be safer here for our children,” she said. “Within the walls where I grew up.”
Tamarron hugged Petra. He had accepted this little universe of people as his family. It did not feel bad. He smiled. There was a soft, warm glow deep down where his real being lived.
* * *
Tamarron and Tomas spurred their mounts across the plain and struck the ford of the Pecos at a full run. The horses slowed at the last instant and took the shallow, rock-bottomed crossing in long, lunging strides, flinging water from the body of the river in sharp, glistening spears.
The horses reached the bank, and the men raked them again with their spurs, gouging them up the sloping, gravelly bank.
Tomas had found Jacob after two days of searching, far to the southeast at the base of Taiban Mesa. He informed Jacob that Emmanuel Solis had been found very ill near the corrals. The elder Solis appeared to be dying. A rider had been sent to Las Vegas for the priest and resador, men who attended the dying. Emmanuel had asked that a rider be sent quickly to find Jacob.
The horsemen dismounted at the entrance to the hacienda and hastened inside, directly to the Solis quarters. Jacob pushed through the women of the vaqueros and peons, grouped in crouched positions near the door of the bedroom.
The old man lay pale and motionless on the bed. Señora Solis, Petra, and Conrado sat beside him. The priest and the resador waited expectantly on the opposite side. Emmanuel’s hand clutched an adobe block. The last rites had been given, and the dying man was touching the earth.
Petra leaned over the still form of her father. “Jacob is here,” she said.
Emmanuel stirred and opened his eyes. His mouth worked, but no sound would come. He raised a limp hand, fingers spread. He looked at Jacob, then Conrado, and brought his index finger against the adjoining one. The hand dropped. The eyes closed. The chest rose, then sank with a shudder.
The resador was an expert at knowing the last moment of death. His sight was locked upon the old man’s face. He saw the first veil of final mystery come. He cried out loudly. “Go with Jesus! Go with Jesus! Go with Jesus!” The soul must take flight to its savior’s name at the precise time of death. Its destination must be certain. He thought he had made the call at exactly the right moment.
As the priest reached out and closed the staring eyes of the dead man, las viejas and the other women came streaming into the room. They began to scream in grief. They threw themselves from side to side and wailed formless words. They paused and gazed at the dead man while their shrieks fell to whimpers, like lost children staring. Then, shaking their heads, they redoubled their lamentations.
Conrado stood up and, taking Jacob by the arm, pushed from the room. His voice was crusty as he spoke. “The women will wash and prepare father for burial. You and I must talk.”
They walked beyond the walls and stood looking out over the Rio Pecos and the limitless, grassy reaches of the Llano Estacado. Far up above the river, a bald eagle hung motionless, its telescopic eyes boring downward, seeking fish in the wet depths of the stream.
“Perhaps an omen,” said Jacob, pointing up at the great bird riding effortlessly on the wind.
“Father probably would have said the same thing,” replied Conrado. “Did you understand his last gesture?”
“He wanted you and me to work together to see that Rancho El Vado survives, and that the people living here are cared for and protected.”
“You are exactly right. We talked before you came. He also said you should take thirty thousand sheep to Austin or Houston and sell them. Here in the valley, one sheep is worth less than two dollars. In Texas a sheep would be worth nearly twice as much, for there’s a ready market to build the herds of the new Americans settling there. You, being an American, could make the sale. I can’t do it, for the Texans hate Mexicans and would steal our herd.”
“I’ll do that in the fall after the first heavy rain. Then there will be water on the plains for the animals.”
“Good,” said Conrado.
They stood together for a very long time and said not a word.
Jacob and Conrado built a coffin in the carpentry shop. Emmanuel’s body was placed within it and carried to the sala. Candles were lit at the head and feet. Then Jacob sat with the others in an all-night wake. Now and again someone would say a prayer or start a hymn, and the rest of the mourners would join in.
At midnight a light supper was served in the kitchen. As Jacob ate silently with Petra and several others of the household, he heard the shovels of the peons digging in the family cemetery north of the wall.
When the sun rose to lie yellow and round on the eastern horizon, the body of Emmanuel was carried to the chapel. The priest spoke a short sermon and led all the people of Rancho El Vado in prayer.
There was no ceremony at the grave site. The coffin was placed on ropes held by four men and lowered into the ground. Petra and Conrado led the sobbing Señora Solis away.
Tamarron remained by the grave as, without a word, the peons and vaqueros began to fill it in. He noted that several of the man had tears in their eyes. These men held their heads down, trying to prevent the others from seeing their expressions of sorrow.
Jacob raised his view from the raw dirt of the grave and looked at the more than a score and a half tombstones marking other burials. Emmanuel, you had a worthy life and a good death, Jacob thought. Your funeral was held by your family and friends, and your grave is in the soil at El Vado. You were a most fortunate man.