Old Fort Sumner
Pretty as one of them peaches. Billy watched the girl stretch to reach the ripe fruit. Bright sun filtered through the trees catching the lights in her dark chestnut hair. She dropped one peach after another into her apron until she deemed the makeshift handbasket full. She emptied the apron into a basket at her feet and reached to pick more. He eased the roan into the orchard.
She looked up at the sound of a horse approaching, her dark eyes wide, instinctively wary. He smiled his crooked boyish grin to reassure her.
“Mind if I help?”
She looked uncertain.
He stood in his stirrups and plucked a ripe peach well beyond her reach. He bent down and handed it to her. She smiled, reassured. Her delicate fingers felt soft and light to the touch. A little something kind of prickly passed between them. She wore a long full skirt and white cotton blouse gathered at her shoulders. Her dark skin looked as though she might be Mexican.
“My name’s Billy, Billy Bonney.”
“I’m Paulita, Paulita Maxwell.”
The name registered. “You Pete’s girl?”
“Sister. Do you know my brother?”
“I’ve seen him around. Cain’t say we’ve been formally introduced. Hold the basket and I’ll give you a hand with some more of these.”
He filled the basket and stepped down, looping his reins around the saddle horn. She was no bigger than a minute except for those big eyes and handsome swells where a girl was supposed to have them. Standing beside her his breath caught in his throat. She had a pleasant scent too, like good earth in the spring.
“Here, that looks heavy. Let me carry it for you.”
“What about your horse?”
“Ol’ Red? He’ll follow along.” And he did, just like a dog, padding at his master’s heels.
She started back toward town.
“These peaches sure smell good. Sweet too I’ll bet.”
“Take one if you like,” she said.
“I surely will, once my hands ain’t so full.”
They walked down Roswell Road into town from the orchard. The Maxwell house was the former officer’s quarters, a large rambling one-story affair with a covered porch across the front that wrapped around the north side.
“Where can I put these for you?”
“I’ll show you.” She started up the porch steps. “Say, he won’t follow you inside will he?” She tossed her head at the horse.
He laughed and shook his head. “Not Red, he’ll mind his manners.”
She led the way inside. The dark wood interior gave off a warm golden glow. He followed the sway of her hips down a long hall dimly lit by a large sunlit kitchen at the back of the house. A young Indian girl, somewhat older than Paulita, glanced over her shoulder from the batch of bread dough she was kneading and smiled.
“You can put ’em on the counter,” Paulita said.
Billy set the peach basket on the counter and tipped his hat to the smiling girl. “Ma’am.”
“Deluvina, this is Mr. Bonney. He helped me pick peaches.”
She smiled again, showing even white teeth. She had wide-set black eyes. The chiseled copper features of her Navajo people composed a plain appearance she carried on a sturdy frame.
“My friends call me Billy.”
She nodded. Said nothing and went back to her dough.
Paulita selected a juicy ripe peach and handed it to Billy.
“You fixin’ to can these for the winter?”
“Mostly, but I’ll make up a pie with some.”
“Peach pie, that sounds mighty good.”
“You’ve been such a help, Mr. Bonney, I expect you’ve earned yourself a piece of pie. Come by after supper and I’ll have one for you.”
“Why that’s most kind of you, Miss Maxwell. Please, call me Billy.”
“Very well, Billy. Then you must call me Paulita.”
“‘Til this evenin’ then.” He smiled his crooked smile and took a bite of his peach. A dribble of juice trickled down his chin. He wiped it away with a finger and a sheepish grin. He doffed his hat, made a silly little bow and went back outside to his horse.
Paulita watched him go with a half smile.
“He very nice boy,” Deluvina said as she turned her dough.
“He is, but don’t you think he’s a bit more grown than a boy?”
Deluvina turned to the girl who might be her pretty younger sister. “You think so, little Paulita?”
“Yes, I do. And I’m not little anymore.” She stomped a foot to her point.
Deluvina suppressed a giggle at the girl’s determination.
“I do think he’s nice.” Something about him disturbed her in a curiously pleasant sort of way.
Sumner Saloon
The Kid strolled up to the bar just before sunset. Garrett greeted him with a smile.
“What’ll it be, Billy?”
“That help you promised me.”
“What help was that?”
He slid a folded sheet of paper across the bar. “A letter to the governor. You said you’d help me with it.”
The barkeep picked it up.
“I’ll take a whiskey while you look it over.”
He poured the Kid a drink and opened the letter.
Dear Governor Lew Wallace,
I read in the papers you plan to grant pardon to those involved in the Lincoln County War. I hope you will consider my case for pardon. I fought with the Tunstall Regulators after the Dolan men murdered Mr. Tunstall. We was duly swored deputy US marshals with legal warrants on the men we pursued. Those warrants included Deputy Sheriff Billy Mathews.
When we Regulators sought to arrest Mathews he was in the company of Sheriff William Brady and Deputy George Hindmann.
Sheriff Brady drew his gun to resist our arrest order and was killt in the gunfight that followed as was Deputy Hindmann. This was done in self-defense as I am sure you will agree by your pardon of amnesty.
With grateful appreciation for your hearing of this matte
I remain,
Your faithful servant,
William Bonney
PS Them stories about me killing the Indian agent and steeling them horses up to Blazer’s Mill ain’t true. A bunch of Mexicans led by Antanacio Martinez done that. They was already dead when we got there. WB
Garrett slid the letter back across the bar.
“Well?”
“Not bad. You need to address him as Honorable.” He fingered the paper.
“What?”
“The Honorable Lew Wallace, Governor, Dear Governor.”
“Oh.”
“You believe you were duly sworn deputies, not swored.”
“We did too swore, I mean swear.”
“I know, but once you did you were sworn.”
“If you say so.”
“And it’s killed, not killt.”
“What the hell, he’s dead either way.”
“You asked me to help.”
He nodded. “I did. And I appreciate it, Pat. If Honorable Ole Lew gives me animosity, I’ll have you to thank.”
Pete greeted the knock at the door. The only thing more unexpected than an evening caller was this particular caller.
“What do you want?”
“Evenin’ Mr. Maxwell. We ain’t met yet. My name’s William Bonney. Paulita invited me to come by for a piece of peach pie.”
“I invited him, Pete.” Paulita appeared in the hallway behind her brother. “Billy helped me pick peaches this afternoon and was kind enough to carry them home for me. I thought such kindness at least deserved a slice of pie.”
Maxwell scowled at his sister.
“Come along, Billy. Pie’s in the kitchen.”
Maxwell let him pass. Billy could feel her older brother’s eyes burn his back as he followed her down the hall to the kitchen.
She cut two pieces of pie, arranged them on plates and handed one to Billy with a fork. “Let’s go out to the porch. It’s cooler out there.” She led the way back down the hall. The rough cut planks of the top step made as good a place to sit as there was. The roan stood in the yard splashed in moonlight, watching them with one shiny dark eye.
Billy took a forkful of pie. “Mmm, this is good. You always make pie this good?”
Her cheeks blushed hot in the dark. “Hard not to with good peaches.”
“Well I declare these is the best I ever tasted.”
She blushed again.
The pie got the better of conversation, leaving the evening to night sounds. Crickets chirped. Somewhere down the street toward town a dog yapped. A lonely owl called to its mate. Billy cleaned the last of the pie from his plate with his fork. He felt her eyes and met them in his.
“Your brother don’t like me.”
“Pete? He doesn’t like any man that pays attention to his little sister.”
“Cain’t blame him for that, I reckon. He must go around not likin’ a lot of men.”
Her cheeks burned in the moonlight. She liked the notion he might think it. “Not so many.”
“I don’t believe that.”
She pursed her lips in mock surprise. “Who’d ever figure Billy Bonney for a sweet talker?”
“Me? I ain’t no sweet talker. It must be the company.”
“Mind now I don’t believe a word, but I do like the sound of it. Care for more pie?”
“If I don’t eat it all, maybe you’ll invite me back another time.”
Her eyes caught the moon, white light reflected in black pools. “I’d like that.”
Her voice sounded like music. “Well I guess I best be on my way whilst I’m still in your brother’s good graces.”
“Don’t pay no mind to Pete. You come back soon. Please?”
“I’d like that.” He rose.
She stood on the porch. Moonlight frosted the bow of her lips. He felt a powerful urge to kiss her. Too soon he thought and smiled his crooked smile. He stepped away to collect the roan.
She picked up the plates and took them back to the kitchen. Pete followed her down the hall.
“Paulita, do you know who that is?”
She sighed. “A boy named Billy who was real nice to me.”
“Nice boy.” Pete folded his arms across his chest. “That there’s Billy the Kid. Hired his gun out to Tunstall in the war down in Lincoln he did. He’s got blood on his hands and lots of it. His kind ain’t nothin’ but trouble. You stay away from him, you hear me?”
“I’m a grown woman, Pete. I’ll see who I want, when I want.”
“Grown woman! Paulita, you’re fifteen. You ain’t growed up by a long sight. You best listen to your elders before you get hurt.”
“Sure Pete, I’ll listen.”
He turned on his heel and trudged down the hall toward his room near the front door.
Deluvina appeared in the pantry doorway. “You know Señor Pedro speaks only for your good, muchacha.”
“I don’t need Pete to think for me and I am not a little girl anymore.”
The serving girl’s bare feet padded across the plank floor.
She placed her hands on Paulita’s shoulders and turned her around. She stroked the girl’s hair with a half smile and a twinkle in her eye. “He is muy guapo.”
Paulita matched her smile and shook her head. “No, he’s not cute. He is . . .” She groped for the words. “He makes me feel . . .” She looked down, inspecting the budding young woman she’d nearly become.
“Ah, muchacha, the boy makes you feel a woman. This is good. It happens sometimes before you have the summers to know what it means. Be patient. Summer will come.” She put her arms around the girl and hugged her.
Lincoln
October 1878
Sharp northwest wind howled out of the mountains under a rumpled blanket of low running cloud. Lincoln sprawled along a ridge on the south bank of the Rio Bonito surrounded by tree-covered hills. Adobe and frame buildings lined a single shaded street. The west end of town was dominated by a large two-story clapboard building that housed the Murphy & Dolan mercantile known as the House. It stood across the street from the Wortley Hotel, a symbol of Dolan’s power and a stark reminder of the war that followed from it. The House was being converted into a county courthouse. J. J. Dolan sold it to the county in exchange for cash and the former Tunstall bank and mercantile down the street. Dolan’s repairs to the damage done the Tunstall store in the battle for Lincoln were nearing completion. At a distance it all looked familiar to Lucy.
They had the South Spring house down the hill from Johnny and Dawn’s under roof. Under roof didn’t mean finished, but as far as she and Ty were concerned it was finished enough. The prospect of living through winter under the bunkhouse arrangement persuaded them they could put up with some inconvenience while they lived through finishing the work inside.
They decided to keep the wedding small. Johnny rode into town with them. He’d stand as witness for Ty. Lucy planned to ask Susan McSween to stand for her. They’d arranged to meet the circuit judge at the Wortley. They planned a simple ceremony, supper in the dining room and a wedding night in the hotel. What they hadn’t planned was the strange brew of emotion each felt riding through town.
The war was over. The shooting had stopped. Still the scars lay bare for all to see. Dolan’s repairs on the Tunstall bank and store remained incomplete. The front windows were boarded and the storefront pockmarked and bullet riddled. The burned out McSween house remained a charred cinder beside the store. Memories of the dead lurked in the devastation. The names rang hollow in the soft clop of the horses’ hooves: John Tunstall, Alex McSween, Dolan men, William Brady, George Hindmann. Flawed men, some right, some wrong, all rendered equal in death.
They drew rein at the Wortley hitch rack and stepped down. No one spoke for a time. Roth collected the reins.
“I’ll put up the horses.”
“I’ll get us rooms,” Ty said.
“I’m going over to Mrs. O’Hara’s and talk to Susan,” Lucy said. She crossed the street away from the battleground, squared her shoulders and headed back down the street to the widow’s house. Wind whipped her riding dress and stung her eyes as she passed the burnt out ruins of the McSween house. Poor Susan, she thought. It must be terrible living with these constant reminders of her home and the place where her husband died.
The familiar creak of Mrs. O’Hara’s gate brought her back home. She’d taken a room with the widow after arriving in Lincoln. It seemed a long time ago now. In truth it was not much more than a year. Was that possible? She’d followed Ty to New Mexico, hoping he might turn to her after the loss of his wife. When that hadn’t happened she’d allowed herself to be wooed by John Tunstall. Her heart had never really been in it. John offered a safe haven away from her old life. Lord knows what might have become of her after he was killed if it hadn’t been for Ty. He’d come back to her after all. And now they were to marry. Maybe fairy tales did come true. She climbed the front step and rapped on the familiar green door.
A stout woman with strands of gray hair strayed from a severe bun opened the door and blinked behind her spectacles. “Lucy, dear, come in, come in. What a pleasant surprise.”
The welcome warmed her. The house smelled of furniture polish and fresh baked bread. It came with a big affectionate hug.
“What brings you back to Lincoln?”
“Ty and I’ve come back to get married.”
“I’m so pleased for you, dear. He’s such a handsome catch.”
“I guess I best get him quick before you lure him away.”
She laughed.
“I was hoping Susan might be here.”
“Of course, my dear.” She inclined her head to the stairway. “Susan! Look who’s here to see you.”
Susan McSween appeared at the top of the stairs. She smiled weakly. “Lucy, it’s so nice to see you.” She descended the stairs slowly. “Ranch life must agree with you. You look positively radiant.”
“Blushing bride,” Mrs. O’Hara said.
“Of course, I’m so pleased. Congratulations.” She hugged Lucy.
Lucy couldn’t help but notice how thin she’d become, positively skin and bone. The luster seemed to have gone out of her green eyes along with the dampened fire in her hair. Lucy could only imagine the loss of a husband under such tragic circumstances. She banished the chill feeling.
“Go along now you two. No need to stand here in the hall.” Mrs. O’Hara sent them off to the parlor. “I’ll put on a pot of tea,” trailed over her shoulder as she headed down the hall to the kitchen.
Susan led the way to the settee. She looked pale and wan in the parlor lamplight. Strains of the summer’s ordeal had plainly taken a toll.
“How have you been, Susan?”
She resigned a smile. “Well enough all things considered.”
Lucy patted her hand. “I know it must be difficult for you.”
A tear welled in her eye. She shook it aside. “I’m leaving Lincoln, Lucy. There is nothing to hold me here. I can’t even walk up town without being reminded of those terrible days.”
“Where will you go?”
“North, Las Vegas I think. I have to settle the estate. It’s all tangled up with Tunstall’s holdings and Dick Brewer’s too. I don’t have to be here to do that. But enough of such dreary reflection, tell me about your new life.”
“Ty spent the last couple of months building us a house. It’s not quite done but with winter comin’ on we figure it’s done enough. We came to town to catch Judge Bristol tomorrow and get married.”
“What a lovely beginning.”
“I was wonderin’ if you could stop by the Wortley tomorrow and stand up for the wedding?”
“Oh, Lucy, I’d be honored.”
“It’ll be small, you and Johnny, Mrs. O’Hara if she can come. We’ll have some supper in the dining room afterward.”
“We’ll be there.” Mrs. O’Hara smiled and set down the tea service. “Wild horses couldn’t keep us away.”