The sleeping arrangements at the Choctaw camp was little more than a bed of furs under the stars, but Violet found that she slept better than she had in a bed for nearly two months. She didn’t even remember falling asleep; one minute, she was nestled into a cocoon of animal skin, and the next, the sun was up and she was being roused for breakfast. Her stomach was eager for a hot meal, and she retrieved her plate without delay. Linus had taken the horses to the stream one last time before traveling, and Sitting Bear spoke to Chief Blue Hawk alone. Rory was gifted more handmade toys and beads than he could possibly imagine. Only Mei seemed eager to leave the camp.
“Are we gonna pass through here again?” Violet asked Mei.
“Perhaps,” she said. “Though after we get our wire down in Mexico, we head out west. Hopefully we get to Nevada before the end of summer. Though I’m not lookin’ forward to that heat.”
“Why are we goin’ west? Got yourself another target or somethin’?”
Mei nodded, lacing up her boots. “A pretty big one at that. Been tracking him for years, this one.”
“Years?” For some reason, the idea of a long term mark seemed odd for the Railwalkers. “What’s he done?”
“He’s a railroad mogul.” Mei stood up straight and dusted off her pants. “Got rich when the Continental got built, mainly because he underpaid and overworked his labor. Men died making his fortune. Hundreds of them.”
“Lord…” Violet tried to imagine a hundred bodies piled up on the side of the railroad tracks. It was nearly impossible. “And he’s in California?”
“He is. At least, last I heard he is.” Mei put her hands on her hips and stared into the distance. “He moves far too often for my tastes. After he made his money in steamers, he began dancing around the country, living a life of leisure. Of course, ain’t no one tried to make him answer for his crimes.”
“And that’s where we come in?”
Mei suddenly smirked. “‘We’?” she clarified. “You plannin’ on riding with us to take him down?”
Violet realized the implication, and considered correcting herself, but refrained. She huffed. “I’m with you, ain’t I? I’m getting better at fighting—hell, I was in a fire fight with y’all!”
“So you fancy yourself a Railwalker then?”
“That’s not what I—!” Violet stumbled on her words. “Now you’re just makin’ fun.”
“I’m not,” said Mei innocently. “In fact, part of me is a bit proud to hear you say that. Feels like you’re one of the family these days anyhow.”
Family…Violet hadn’t framed it quite like that before, but now that Mei mentioned it, Violet could see what she meant. Rory was loved and cared for like a proper child. Linus and Sitting Bear made the meals and kept an eye out for danger. And Mei? A funny thought crossed Violet’s mind and she snickered.
“What’s so funny?”
“Well I mean…if we’re all family, I’d say you’re the father around here.”
Mei snorted. “Am I now? Silly girl.”
But Violet couldn’t help herself; she only laughed louder. “Papa Mei! That’s what you are!”
Mei’s smile widened. “Then who’d my mama be? You?” She seemed to derive great pleasure from Violet’s red cheeks, but didn’t tease any further. “Let’s hit the road. Daylight’s burning.”
With the horses packed, the Railwalkers said their final goodbyes. From the crowd, Nakishwana approached Violet to give her a great big hug around her shoulders. Violet squeezed the girl with all her might, making the hug last for as long as she was able. Those terrible worries from the night before returned to her. She could only pray that those lawmen had lost their trail by now. Violet made a promise to herself to return to the camp one day. When they at last departed, Violet kept glancing behind her, watching the camp sink further and further into the distance until it blinked out of sight.
So began their trek deeper into Indian Territory. The foliage became less lush and more widespread, with overgrown wild grass prickling at their pant legs. Well-trodden dirt pathways twisted this way and that along the flat horizon. Tiny streams trickled alongside them, only to be muddied by dark red clay riverbanks. There was a dryness to the air Violet was not used to, and by mid-day, her lips were chapped painfully. She drank from her canteen until it was bone dry. It was an hour before sundown when they stopped to make camp. A flat ridge provided a perfect spot for the evening, and they went to work before losing too much light.
As Violet prepped her sleeping roll, she glanced up, and caught a curious sight. Their ridge was a good twenty feet up from the rest of the ground, hidden by thin trees. However, there was a clear line of sight from where they were setting up, and where a small Indian village sat peacefully miles off. This was not the collection of tents that she had seen with the Chocktaws, but rounded homes and huts made of all kinds of material. The details were too far for Violet to make out, but she could detect mounting stacks of smoke, and the faintest image of moving people.
“Think we’ll be safe?” she asked.
Mei crouched down next to her and peered out. She nodded. “I think them might be the Chickasaw. Bear?” Sitting Bear nodded. “I think it’s best if we stay out of sight for now. Keep to the river down yonder, keep to the bushes, and get to Texas as fast as we can.” Violet wouldn’t argue with that.
The night transpired as any other would. They ate, they chatted lightly, and they went to bed. Violet had had a rather rough night of sleep; probably the worst since hitting the road after Little Rock. She woke in a cold sweat an hour before sunup. The sky was pale, the light just barely fogging the horizon. There was a damp chill in the air, which did no favors to her already slick skin. Violet was considering getting up to relieve herself when a shuffling drew her attention. Squinting, Violet lifted her head.
An unknown figure was searching through their supply bags.
Violet’s first instinct was to act quickly, but she knew it’d be better if she did so in silence. Carefully as she could, she rolled onto one knee, her hand diving for the gun beneath her coat. The stranger was brown skinned, but unlike the Choctaw, wore no civilized clothes at all. His back was turned to Violet, but the only thing he wore was a swath of hide tethered to his narrow waist. He was indeed rather thin, with wispy hair mangled along his bony back. His movements were quick, and barely made any sound at all, leaving the other Railwalkers to sleep in peace.
Steadily as she could manage, Violet rose, her pistol aimed. She cocked back the hammer, the click making the stranger freeze, hand halfway down one of their kitchen bags. “You best turn around and drop everything,” Violet breathed. She had a feeling that the man could not understand English, but the sound of a gun overcame all language barriers. The man glanced behind his shoulder. His eyes were wide, and sunken above dark bags in his skin. Yet he didn’t seem much older than Violet herself, perhaps even younger. Seeing the barrel of the gun, the man dropped the bag and turned to face Violet. She felt a ping of realization.
“You…you was the one who’s following us, ain’tchya?” The man gave no response, keeping his hands waist height. Violet edged closer. Now in the dim morning light, she could see muddied marks on his face and arms. It looked like residual red paint that had been mostly washed away by the elements. Violet flicked the gun to the side. “Stand over there. Go on. Move.” After goading a couple more moments, the man seemed to understand and followed her instruction. He stepped away from the camp. Keeping him in her sights, Violet nudged Mei’s shoulder.
“Mhuah…” Mei blinked awake, drowsily. “Wha? Violet? Somethin’ wrong?”
“We got us a vulture,” she said. Mei stood and looked the man over. “I told you we was bein’ followed. He’s probably been pickin’ off our food while we’re sleepin’. Night after night.”
Mei scanned him. “Can’t say I blame him much. Good wind could knock him over.” That was true, he certainly looked hungry. Mei went to Sitting Bear and roused him. When she explained the situation, Sitting Bear stood and observed their intruder. He said a few words. The stranger did not respond. “Well?” said Mei.
“I do not think he is Choctaw,” he said. “Or Chickasaw or Caddo. He does not understand me.”
“What’s that mean?” Violet asked. “Ain’t y’all share the same language? Like your own English or summit?”
“There are some that are similar,” Sitting Bear explained. “And there are some that are not. I learned to speak Choctaw and Chickasaw, as they were our neighbors.” He shook his head. “From what I can tell, this boy is Apache.” The stranger’s head perked at the final word. It was all Violet needed as evidence.
“Apache?” she repeated. Mrs. Donovan never liked Violet listening to sensationalist stories, but a few managed to slip through the cracks in Violet’s childhood. The word “apache” was one she definitely remembered. She took a half step back without realizing it, her hand tighter on the butt of her pistol. “Ain’t they…y’know…” She cast frightened eyes onto the boy, who probably weighed at least ten pounds lighter than she did. Still, that brand alone was enough to shake her. “I heard stories that they cut off your head. Or well…” She tapped her crown. “Your scalp. Don’t they?”
Mei snorted. She thumbed to their stranger. “Does that boy look like he’s about to scalp you?”
“Well…no…”
“Some Apache are fearsome warriors,” said Sitting Bear. “As are some Choctaw. And some Caddo. And yes, some took scalps in their battles.”
“Then he’s dangerous! What are we gonna do? We can’t have him here! What if he tries something?!”
“Oh relax, child.” Mei approached the Apache fearlessly. Standing side by side, she rose above him by a head and a half. “Look here.” She took him by the arm and held it out. It was as slender as a tree branch. “I doubt he could whittle wood much less scalp a fella. Put your gun down, Violet.” She certainly had reservations, but obliged. “Wake Linus up now, wouldya?” Violet uncocked her pistol and shook Linus awake. Groggy, he put on his glasses. “We still got enough flour for hotcakes, Linus?”
“Hotcakes?” Linus yawned. Halfway through, he noticed their guest. “Oh.” He turned to Sitting Bear. “Friend of yours?”
That morning, Linus cooked up a thick stack of pancakes, shared among the six of them. Once the Apache realized that he was safe from danger, he took a seat by the fire and warmed his bare hands and feet. Calluses layered his palms like sediment, and his feet were black from dirt. A nagging voice told Violet she shouldn’t have been suspicious after the debacle with Sitting Bear, but damn it, there was a real reason this time! What kind of person wasn’t suspicious of some stranger riffling through their gear? The thought swirled in Violet’s mind until bringing her to a rather sour mood, and she ate her breakfast in silence. After food, Sitting Bear did his best to try and ask where he was from. The Apache was unsure of the questions, but seemed to get the gist. He pointed south west from their camp, far beyond the Chickasaw grounds. He was a ways from home.
“I think he is trying to get back,” Sitting Bear summarized. “He must have been all the way up in Cherokee territory. Quite far.”
“Mm.” Linus licked his fingers. “Ain’t Apache country on our way? Maybe he can tag along with us?”
Violet’s mood worsened at the suggestion. “So we just wander on into Apache land like it’s safe?” she scoffed. “This one might not be ready to take our scalps, but who’s to say his brothers ain’t?”
“That’s enough outta you,” Mei scolded. “No one’s gonna scalp no one. You white folk get so nervous ‘round anything brown.”
Violet flared. “This ain’t about him bein’ brown!” she snapped. “Y’all might be fine and dandy ‘bout trouncin’ off into unknown territory, but I sure as hell ain’t! You said it yourselves, there’s real danger out here! Not to mention that Bear here can’t speak a lick of Apache, so how do y’all know that they’ll be so grateful to see this one again? What if they chased him out, and here we is, bringin’ him back? Why they’ll spear us before we get a chance to try and explain by shaking our damned be-hinds!”
The camp was silent. The boys’ eyes bounced between Violet and Mei, as though they were handling a great hive of bees, and all were waiting to see who got stung first. After a few tense moments, Mei let out a deep sigh; the kind that signaled her surrender. “You got a point,” she said, eyes troubled.
A wave of relief washed over Violet. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I know y’all like to help people, but it could be real trouble for us if it goes badly.”
Mei nodded in agreement.
“Tell you what.” Mei took a sip of her bitter coffee. “There’s a river along our way that splits off into Apache territory. We take him that far, and then we part ways. Does that sound better?”
Violet nodded. “Much,” she said.
And so their day began. The Apache understood that he was to come with, and kept politely out of the way as they packed. While the Railwalkers rode, the Apache walked. He didn’t act like he minded. As they rode west, they passed by the Chickasaw encampment, and Violet chanced a glance one last time. On the hill, just close enough to see detail, Violet saw a great woman standing in furs and feathers, watching the sun rise.
* * * *
The Apache gave them no trouble for the next two days. In fact, he even proved to be a help. He gathered kindling for fires, found berries and small game to eat, and even kept watch during their meals. Their first night together, Rory had taken to calling him “Tiger,” because of the stripes of his paint. “I saw a tiger once,” Rory boasted that night. “We was down south, and there was this travelin’ row of carts come through town. I’ll never forget it! This big ol’ cat, with all these black stripes, like scars. It was so big, it probably coulda gobbled me up in one bite!” Other than the stripes, Violet thought that Tiger didn’t entirely fit the description, but the nickname stuck.
They approached the river sooner than Violet thought they would. It’d grown warmer in their travels, so the stream air was a welcomed change. It was flatter here, with trees occasionally breaking up the skyline, but not as often as before. Flat land rolled on into the distance, just barely touching a mountain range miles away. The six of them stopped for food and water. Tiger looked around, seeming to gather his bearings. Sitting Bear approached, and after a series of gestures between them, he managed to get the point across. They would be parting ways here. The Railwalkers would go west, and Tiger would go south. Sitting Bear gave him a small package of food for his travels, and an old spare coat he had tucked away in his saddle bag. Tiger nodded in thanks, clutching the supplies to his chest. He and Violet shared a momentary glance, before he spun about and started on his way.
“Tiger,” Violet called. Tiger knew enough by now to react to his nickname, and turned to Violet. She hesitated before approaching. “I know you probably don’t hear a word of this, but…I hope you make it home. I really do.” She smiled. “It’s a precious thing, goin’ home. So I wish you luck.” Of course, Tiger gave no response, but he seemed to understand the sentiment. He mimicked Violet’s smile and nodded. With that last little exchange, Tiger headed south.
The Railwalkers watered their horses and set off west from there. The foliage of the land dwindled into dried shrubs and prairie grass the longer they walked it. The horizon sloped from rolling flora to a flat swath of land that stretched into eternity. As the sun rose higher and hotter, Violet found herself swatting more flies than she ever had before. The air was rife with them, so much so that she wondered if God had laid plague to the place. The rising stench of cow pastures came to greet them by mid-afternoon as they passed acres and acres of steed. The sweat from Violet’s skin stuck to her clothes, even after she removed her jacket and unbuttoned her shirt to alleviate the heat. They must have been dipping into summer by now, though Violet couldn’t remember the last time she saw a calendar. The nights were the only reprieve from the beating sun, and the early mornings woke Violet with cold shivers.
After four days of flat land and the occasional cattle ranch, they came upon a most beautiful sight. A train in the distance had chugged into a stop, just a mile or so off from where they were. The station itself was little more than a small office and a water tower. In fact, upon further inspection, the train had no cars for passengers. Edging closer as the train idled for fresh water, the Railwalkers were quick to realize that the train’s cargo was nothing but heads of cattle and bales of hay.
“It’s headin’ south,” Mei said. Her eyes scanned the sixteen cars attached to the locomotive. “That one there.” She nodded at a car near the back. Bits of hay were slipping from the sliding doors. “We hop on there and we get to Mexico in no time at all.” Violet craned her neck, but thankfully, the conductor was clear on the other side of the train, keeping them out of his field of view.
Moving quickly, they made for the hay car, slid the door open, and led their horses inside. It was cramped, certainly, and they had to rearrange a few large stacks to accommodate everyone, but eventually, all nine bodies were situated just as the train jerked itself to life. They kept the door open to encourage the breeze, put their feet up, and enjoyed their new luxury.
There was no means to start a fire on the train—obviously—so they ate up the rest of their dry and canned goods. Even with the plethora of supplies gained over their travels, they were running low. No doubt the run-in with Tiger did not help that fact. Still, Violet found no grudge in her heart for the Apache. She meant what she said; if only she could go home as easily as Tiger.
After eating the last of their tack and cornbread, Violet settled near the open train door, watching the landscape pass. The sky was growing steadily pinker, and the air sighed with relief at the cooler earth. Relaxed and satisfied, Violet let one boot dangle off the edge of the car, swaying with the gentle rock and clatter of the tracks. Linus had taken up his harmonica, and Rory decided to try his luck braiding some of the loose strands of hay laying around. Sitting Bear dozed off early, and Mei, cigarette in hand, made her seat opposite of Violet. “Sure is pretty, huh?” She cupped her lighter with her hand, holding the flame to the end of her rolled paper. The ember grew bright as the sunset itself before she brought the flame away. She took a deep, relaxed drag, head leaning against a hay bale behind her. Her long, inky hair danced in the wind, like thousands of black spider webs. Lighter than air. “We sure as hell got a lucky break, I’ll tell you that. This cuts down travel time by about a week.”
“Small miracles,” Violet chimed in.
“Big ones, more like.” Mei took another drag of her cigarette. They sat in silent content for some time, Violet watching the sun dip lower in the sky before vanishing all together behind the wide, flat horizon. Violet chuckled. Mei looked at her, curiously. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“Just…a train.” Violet tapped her knuckles on the hardwood below her. “A bit poetic, ain’t it? It’s how we met for the first time.”
It took Mei a moment before recollecting. “Oh yeah.” She itched the side of her face. “The train you saw us on. What was it now? Six years ago?”
“Ten.”
Mei let out a low whistle. “Mighty long time to keep that memory. Though I guess it’s not every day you witness somethin’ like that.”
“It’s not,” Violet admitted.
“Still. I wouldn’t say we ‘met’ that day,” Mei continued. “Hell, I don’t even remember it myself. Though I suppose that’s fair, all things considered.”
Violet smiled. “Oh, we met,” she said. “I remember it, clear as day. Y’all were stalking down the aisle, guns raised, and you paused. You stopped right at my seat and saw me. I was so fascinated, I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. I never saw what was under your handkerchief, but I remember those eyes. Black as night, bright as day. And just as y’all were ready to abscond with your target, you turned to me one last time, and you smiled.” Violet nodded, recalling the image herself. “Yes ma’am. You smiled right at me. I’d say that’s as good as a ‘how do you do’.”
Mei gazed into the distance, her solid brows knit in thought. Then, after a moment of pondering, her face cracked with remembrance, almost surprise, and she rounded back to Violet. “I do, I do remember you!” she exclaimed. “Yes, that little frilly girl who was starin’ me down! That was you?” She bellowed with laughter, hand on her stomach. “Oh Lord! What a strange world we live in.” They laughed together in good spirits. Without noticing it, Violet had let her upper leg stretch out comfortably. The ankle of her boot was soon nestled just under Mei’s bent knee. Before long, their legs were comfortably intertwined like knitting yarn.
The night went on. The train swayed, gently lulling the others to sleep. Violet and Mei remained awake, indulging in small chatter that never seemed to end. Mei indulged Violet with her past adventures, and Violet rambled on about her life at home. They spoke frankly with one another, laughing, sighing, smiling, frowning in all the right places. It was well into the evening before Violet felt even the slightest bit tired. The chill caught up to her first, and she wrapped her jacket around her tightly.
“Think we should close the door?” she asked.
Mei shook her head. “Better to leave ‘em open in case we need a quick exit.” She stood and stretched her arms, yawning widely. It was about that time. Mei gestured to a small nook in some of the hay bales. “There we go. Come on.” She held out her hand for Violet to take, and brought her to her feet.
The crevice was just big enough for the pair of them to fit. It was a good thing too; there was barely any room anywhere else in the car. Mei laid down her bedroll and a blanket, and let Violet get cozy first. She kicked off her boots and shuffled into the nook of hay, pounding the lumpy feed to try and find a more comfortable position. When she had settled, Mei did the same, and took the space on Violet’s left. They shifted awkwardly for a time, but eventually found comfort with Mei’s arm around Violet’s shoulders. Violet laid her head against Mei’s collarbone, listening to the gentle beating of Mei’s heart. Her hand naturally conformed to Mei’s stomach beneath the blanket. Their breathing matched soon enough, and between the gentle embrace and the rocking of the train, Violet fell to sleep almost instantly.
They stayed on the train car for a little over a day and a half after that. If they’d taken any more time, they wouldn’t have the food to support themselves. They passed stations and tiny towns along the way, occasionally catching glimpses of stage coaches and busy roads. Fortune seemed to smile on them when the train they settled on turned out to be one for cargo and livestock. Had they found a passenger locomotive, they probably would have had to make more than a few unwanted stops. After the snafu in Van Buren, all agreed it would behoove them to keep their tourism to a minimum. The train was well into west Texas by the time it stopped for another watering. Keeping quiet, the Railwalkers made a smooth exit, and continued south.
Texas was dustier than any land Violet had stepped foot on. It was flat, like Indian Territory, but with nothing but bramble to dot its landscape. The hot moisture was replaced by an unrelenting, dry heat. Water, Violet realized, was scarce there, and the Railwalkers took to conserving as much as they could. On their second day of Texas travel, they came upon a strange crop of plant and took pause. It had like gigantic, green leaves, perforated with thousands of long needles. On the crown of some of the taller spines were bushels of bright red fruit.
“Prickly pear cactus,” Linus announced, dismounting Ginger. He took out a long pocket knife and began to saw a few fruits from their perches. “A rare blessing in a place like this.” Holding it by his fingertips, he skillfully skinned the pear, and the needles along with it. “Let’s get to it.”
The rest of their afternoon was spent harvesting the red fruits. Violet tried to be as careful as she could, but found herself poked and prodded on more than one occasion. The meat, Violet found, reminded her of warm watermelon, but sweeter. It was juicer than she expected, especially given its origin, and eased her chapped lips instantly. They harvested what they could, and made their camp just as the sun went down. Their rattler strings were doubled these nights, as an extra precaution. Between the threat of snakes and the distant howl of coyotes, Violet got very little sleep out on the Texas plains.
“Tell me about where we’re goin’,” she asked that night.
Mei, who was idly carving a dethorned chunk of cactus, was the one to answer. “It’s called the Casa de Huesos. Means ‘the house of bones.’ It’s nicer than it sounds, I promise.”
“And we won’t find no trouble there?”
“At Bone House?” Linus chimed in. “Hell no. It’s one of the few places we know we’re safe as can be. Mostly due to Madam Hen.” He stirred their stew pot, which was currently boiling chunks of cactus and pear.
“Who’s she?” Violet pried.
“The woman who runs the place,” Linus answered. “We’ve been welcome there for years due to her. She’s a little…much to most folk, I’d say, but kinder than the bunch. She’s been a damn miracle to us on occasion.”
“Usually when the law gets a little too close to our tail feathers,” Mei added.
“How much further?” Violet asked.
“Oh, I’d say…” Mei held up her thumb to the stars and closed an eye. “Hm…Another day or two? Maybe less, weather permitting.”
Violet laid along the ground, trying to imagine who this Madam Hen might be. She wondered if she was anything like the slippery Ruby, who was so keen on Mei’s arrival. The memory brought a sour taste to Violet’s mouth and she frowned. The image of Mei and Ruby, straddled and half nude together, twisted Violet’s stomach in an unusual heat. She tried to rationalize the sensation. Why would she feel so strongly to such a sight?
Well, she thought, it’s downright embarrassing is what it is. Walking in on two people so indecent like…Yet the longer she lingered on the image, the more her frustration fell with Ruby. Why not Mei? Mei’s a friend, she argued with herself. Her business is her business and all that. But that Ruby is just a lecherous snake! Just wants Mei for her money, and nothing else. Mei deserves a better woman than that, no doubt! So then what if this Madam Hen was the better woman? She can’t be! No way, no how. How could she be any better than that Ruby tramp if Mei only ever sees her once every so often? No, sir. Mei needs a good woman. A good, firm, loyal woman, and nothing less.
So who fits that bill?
Me?
Violet was not prepared for such a thought. She rolled her back to the fire to hide her stricken expression. No, no, certainly not! I’m not…Her thoughts trailed away, and she very gingerly cast her gaze over her shoulder. Mei was engrossed within her work carving the cactus. The firelight danced along her sharp features, twinkling against those deep, night sky eyes. Violet turned back around before Mei caught sight of her.
No, she concluded firmly. I don’t think anything less of Mei for sure, but I’m not…like that. Violet spent the rest of her night convincing herself of this. As she fell asleep, she could not decide if she had succeeded.
* * * *
“Bone House,” Violet soon came to realize, was very aptly named. It also wasn’t so much a house as it was a small compound enveloped by flimsy fences to keep the tumbleweeds out. The Bone House itself was a center structure, made of hard clay, surrounded by smaller, lopsided shanties and shacks. It was decked out with clay sculptures of skulls and skeletons, some painted in bright, beautiful colors the likes of which Violet had never seen. Along the premises, brown men and women loitered with cows, chickens, pigs, and a few shaggy dogs, gnawing on scraps of meat.
Dismounting their horses, they walked them to the stables. The locals smiled and waved at the Railwalkers, some greeting the troop in bits of Spanish. Surprisingly, Linus answered back in kind. A young, nubile woman was the first to approach. She was willowy and tender, with wispy hair and painterly features. She addressed Mei directly.
“Holá, señora. Been traveling long?” Even her voice was like a melody.
Mei removed her hat and dusted it. “Long as ever,” she said. “Hopin’ we could stay a spill.”
The gentle girl grinned and nodded emphatically. Violet felt a ping of ripe jealousy. Was this delicate creature Madam Hen? Violet’s eyes bounced between her and Mei, wondering if she should intervene, or even if she could. Mei seemed to sense her unease, because she rounded to Violet and presented her to the girl. “Lupita,” she said, “this here’s Violet. Newcomer on our travels. Violet, this is Guadalupe, the milk maid around here.”
The milk maid! Violet was flushed with relief, and took Lupita’s hand. Despite her gentle nature, Violet could sense the skin of a hard worker on her fingers. Violet smiled, feeling all the more friendly.
“How do you do, miss? Pleasure to be here. Heard nice things…” Violet cleared her throat, hoping that her brief spit of green was unnoticed by the others. “So uh…Where is—?”
“¡MIJA!”
Violet turned to a booming voice and saw, on the steps of the main house, the biggest woman Violet had ever laid eyes on. She was about as tall as Sitting Bear, with open arms that could squeeze a tree trunk in half. She wore a flowery, colorful cotton dress, swooped over her rounded shoulders. Bangles and beads hung from every inch of her neck and wrists, including two giant, golden earrings beneath wafts of thick, curly black hair. She left the steps, barefoot, and approached the Railwalkers in glee. She and Mei embraced, and how Mei was able to stay in one piece was a mystery to Violet all together.
“¡Mija cariñosa! ¿Donde tú has estabas todo este tiempo?”
Mei smiled. “English, Henny.”
Linus leaned forward, grinning from ear to ear. “She says, ‘how come you ain’t been by recently’?”
“Ah!” The woman rounded to Linus and kissed both of his black cheeks. “Mi amor, I am so glad to see you! Why didn’t you say you’d be coming? I would have made myself decent!” She fanned her face, which was painted with numerous, vibrant colors, much like the Bone House itself. Her eyes cast onto Sitting Bear, and she fluttered them enchantingly. “And here is my Oso Rojo.” She held out her hand, and Sitting Bear kissed her knuckles.
“Henny!” Rory bounded up from where he’d been hiding, and the woman pulled him into her arms and settled him on her hip.
“¡Mira que has crecido Rory! Que grande y fuerte tu eres.” She kissed Rory’s cheek. Then, finally, her gaze fell to Violet. “And who might this be?”
“Violet,” Mei stepped forward, “this is Madam Hen. The Bone House is her establishment, and we are her guests.” There was a meaningful intention in her eye. “More’n that, she’s our dear friend. So I want you to treat her with the utmost, you hear me?”
Violet nodded, though she hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away from Madam Hen since her entrance. She was the exact opposite of the gentle-faced Lupita Violet met moments ago. Her jaw was sharp and square. Her neck was thick as a log, and decorated with lace and ribbon to match her multicolored dress, which was dominated by greens and blues. Her arms were rife with thick, smooth hair, and there seemed to be short whiskers budding on her jawline. To be totally honest, Violet wasn’t sure what to make of her.
No doubt Madam Hen took notice, for her smile curled in a peculiar way. But rather than take offense to Violet’s stare, she reached out and took her hand kindly. “Come, child. Mí casa es su casa. Let me get you something to eat.” A little winded, Violet walked into the Bone House, escorted by Madam Hen (still cradling Rory), with the Railwalkers trailing behind them.
Walking in, Violet was immediately taken by how much was in front of her. The Bone House’s interior was no bigger or smaller than most buildings, but it was flooded from floorboard to ceiling with color. Flags and cotton drapery made out of scrapped clothing. Candles siting on mountains and mountains of rainbow wax. Statues and carvings and paintings on the walls. The chimneys of the oil lamps were caked with black smoke, as was the wide mouthed fireplace. There was an uneven bar by the back, with two old bayonets crisscrossed against a dingy mirror. The shelves were stocked with all sorts of dusty bottles, most of which had no labels. A portly man with a finely waxed mustache was wiping the lip of a crusty glass when Madam Hen led the Railwalkers to the bar. The man smiled as she approached.
“Cinco platos, Hernando. Huevos, carne, tortillas. Y leche para Rorito.”
“Claro Doña Gallina.”
With that exchange, the mustached man (Hernando, Violet guessed) left the bar and vanished through a pair of swinging saloon doors into a back room. Madam Hen set Rory down on one of the bar stools and addressed the party. “So,” she cooed, “to what do I owe this visit?”
“To be honest, we weren’t planning on stopping in,” Mei answered. “Finished a job, but no means of collecting. Things got a little hot in the last town we was in. Figured we could use your wire to get our pay.”
“¡Ay! You never come to see me anymore, mija. What’s an old woman to do when she isn’t wanted?” Dramatically, she leaned against the bar and put a hand to her breast, letting her head roll back for added effect. She reminded Violet of an old-fashioned painting. “I suppose I shall just waste away to nothingness…¡Visitame a mi tumba mija!”
Mei snorted, hands on her hips. “Knock it off, Henny. We’re happy to see you, as always.”
Madam Hen straightened and fixed her bodice. “Of course you are. Who isn’t?” She flicked her hand towards a table, and they all sat themselves. Rory, whose head barely broke the surface, switched to his knees, and balanced himself as such. “You’ve come at a good time, at any rate.” She pursed her lips in a playful way, one finger to the corner of her mouth. “Tomorrow night, we celebrate the most holy of festivals! Dancing, singing, music, food, everyone is already on their way!”
“Festival?” Violet’s curiosity piqued and she leaned in slightly. “Celebratin’ what?”
Madam Hen chuckled and threw her shoulders back. “Me.” Violet blinked, unsure of what to make of such an answer. Thankfully, Madam Hen elaborated. “It’s my birthday tomorrow. I have friends coming in from all over to help me celebrate.”
“Oh. How old are ya?”
Madam Hen answered Violet’s question with a string of Spanish that sounded like a hissing cat. Violet jumped in her seat, and desperately looked to Linus for translation. Linus chuckled, chin in hand. “You don’t ask a lady how old she is.”
“Bien. Gracías, mi amor.”
Hernando returned carrying a wooden platter with plates of food. Violet’s nose tingled with spices that she had never smelled before. On her tin plate were three hot pieces of flat, round bread, a small pile of shredded meat dipped in sauce, and eggs in the same. In the center was a heaping helping of stove cooked beans and brown rice, all mixed together. Her mouth watered just looking at it all, but before digging in, she picked up one of the bread circles and examined it. It looked like a hotcake that hadn’t been fully cooked.
“Tortilla,” Madam Hen answered before Violet could ask. “You eat it like so.” With the tortilla between her fingers, she scooped up a bit of meat and settled it before taking a massive bite. Rory was ten steps ahead, his cheeks bursting with pork. “Try.”
Violet mimicked Madam Hen as best she could, though found the tortilla slipping in some places. Finally, she got a good grip and scooped up a mountain of pork, beans, and rice, and shoved it in her mouth. Juices dribbled down her chin, and she tried saving herself before she made too much of a mess at the table. Her mouth and hands full, Violet chanced a look at Mei, who sat beside her. Mei smirked, handling her own food with grace. Violet swallowed quickly and wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. Once she had managed to get a handle on things, Violet focused on enjoying her meal. It reminded her of some of the dishes Sitting Bear would make on the trail, but nothing was as flavorful or as rich as this. Violet wasn’t aware just how hungry she was until she paused for breath and saw that her plate was licked clean.
When the meal was over with, Madam Hen personally escorted them to their own bungalow that they could stay in for their visit. The bungalow had three rooms. There was a main room with a used fire pit and dinner table, and a few pots and pans hanging over a potbelly stove. On both the right and left corners sat doorways, with creaky, lopsided doors with wooden latches. The rooms were identical, with a bed each. The boys, naturally, would sleep in one room, while Violet and Mei would share the second.
“I’ll leave y’all to unpack,” Mei announced, dropping her personal satchel on the table. “Madam Hen, if you don’t mind, I’d like to use your wire. Maybe catch up on a few things while we’re at it.”
“Certainly,” said Madam Hen. She wished the others a restful stay, and she and Mei left the bungalow to return to the main house. Violet, removing her hat, took a seat at the head of the table and looked around. The bungalow was small, certainly. Poor Sitting Bear had to tilt his head a bit just to walk around. And the walls were a smooth, strange clay that stayed hard as rock to the touch.
“So…” Violet stared out the window, which was a square shaped hole in the wall with wooden shutters. “That was…”
“Yes, it was,” said Linus casually. He was already bringing in a bag of their kitchen supplies and setting them by the stove. “We’ve known Madam Hen since before we was us. Before we were Railwalkers, I mean.”
Violet continued to stare. There was a canted view of the Bone House’s front porch from the window, and Violet watched folks walk in and out at their leisure. Words were failing her as she tried to voice her questions. “Is she…I mean…What…?”
“She is of two spirits,” said Sitting Bear, carrying their sleeping rolls into the boy’s room.
“Two…?”
“Mexicans call it muxe,” Linus filled in. “She mighta been born a bit different, but she’s about as woman as you get. ‘Course, people got their opinions.” After wiping off their skillet, Linus hung it on a free hook behind the pipe of the stove. “Most folk are afraid of what they don’t understand. Same with Mei. Or me, or Bear here.”
“What about me?” Rory piped up from the table.
Linus chuckled and ruffled Rory’s hair. “Hell, you ain’t no mystery. Give you a sarsaparilla and some biscuits and you’re the happiest bull in the yard.” Rory smiled. Clearly, he couldn’t deny it.
“Huh.” Violet propped her chin in her hand. “I s’pose…it’s one thing when you’ve got yourself a colored man or an Injun…Hell, even Mei ain’t so strange when you think about it. But this…”
Linus pulled out the last of their whiskey and poured Violet a shot. He gently pushed it towards her. “It ain’t the strangest thing in the west. You take that from me.” He held the bottle, as if to toast, and Violet held her shot glass likewise. They both drank, and after, Violet figured it’d be easier to let sleeping dogs lie. After all, what business was it of hers?
Violet helped with the rest of their affects, mostly keeping Mei’s personal items to one side. After settling in, Violet watered and brushed the horses, checked their shoes, and finally gave them proper feed. The men working Madam Hen’s stables didn’t mind sharing, and their nags ate deep. Once the work was done with, Violet wandered into the Bone House to let Mei know they’d finished the job. Upon stepping inside, she saw only Hernando at the bar, cleaning his glasses.
Violet was about to ask when she noticed a door cracked open at the end of a narrow hallway. There was movement, and a laugh Violet distinguished as Madam Hen’s cackle. It was very difficult to mishear. Feeling a need to keep quiet, Violet slunk her way down the hall with silent steps, eventually pressing herself against the wall to listen in.
“…It should reach Van Buren with no trouble,” Madam Hen said. “Why I worry is just who will find it.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Mei responded. “Even with them lawmen, we still have allies in some places.” There was a clink of ice in a glass of liquor. Mei drank deeply and sighed in satisfaction. The heavy glass clunked as it settled on a table. “Now that that’s done with, have there been any updates on Abernathy?”
“There have.” Madam Hen’s voice grew serious, and a chair creaked, as though she was leaning in. “I was hoping I’d see you soon, mija. I didn’t know how long this information would be good.”
“Well?”
“He’s out of California. Apparently some of the money’s run dry. Last I heard, he was headed to Dakota. Might be getting in good with some oil men.”
“Oil men? I thought they moved to Colorado?”
“They did, most of them, anyway. Some headed up north to buy property, I heard. That means money.”
“Hm.” There was a pause in the conversation. “And the railroads?”
“Paused for now, but…still in operation.”
Violet heard a frustrated sigh, followed by a deep drink from the glass. “Thank you, Henny.”
“Of course.” Another lull. “Mija…Should we invite our company inside or just let her stand there?”
“Company?”
Violet jumped, and turned to try and scurry away, but Madam Hen was at the door before she could escape. She looked up, caught red handed. Madam Hen smiled. “Why don’t you have a seat, child? It’s probably more comfortable.”
Sheepishly, Violet shuffled inside. She glanced up at Mei, who was already rolling up a fresh cigarette. Opening her silver lighter, Mei lit her cigarette and took a deep, thoughtful drag. “Something the matter?” she asked politely.
“Um…” Violet shifted. “We’re all settled in the cabin. I tended to the horses, made sure they were in good shape. So…”
“Hm.” Mei cocked a thin brow and smiled against her paper. “Praise the Lord. We’re all settled in.” The comment was less biting, and more of a slap on the wrist for Violet’s silliness. Mei stood from her seat, bending her back in a deep stretch. “Well Henny, I think my crew’s gonna take it easy for the rest of the night. Call us when supper’s on.”
“Of course, mija. Rest well.”
Mei escorted Violet down the hall and out towards their bungalow. Already the sun was starting to crest the dusty horizon. Some of Madam Hen’s men were starting to light oil lamps around the property. Halfway to their cabin, Violet stopped them and addressed Mei directly.
“I didn’t mean to listen in,” she admitted.
“I believe you,” said Mei. There was a curious look in her eye as she finished her cigarette. “I’m not angry, if that’s your next question.”
Violet bit her lip, and as Mei snubbed out her cherry beneath her boot, she asked, “Who’s Abernathy?”
“My target,” said Mei. “The target.”
“The one who lets men die? Men who work for him?”
“That’s right.”
“We ain’t headed to California now, are we?”
“No ma’am,” said Mei. “Once we get our money, we head up north to Dakota. Possibly catch him before winter hits.”
“Does it take that long to get to Dakota from here?”
Mei shook her head. “No,” she said, “but one never knows what the morning will bring. Few years ago, we almost had the bastard in our sights. You know what happened?” Violet shook her head. “A goddamn lightning storm. In the middle of our kill. By the time we came out for cover, he was long gone. Didn’t even notice we were tracking him.”
“God…” Violet stared out into the distance, trying to imagine the Railwalkers chased by divine cracks of lightning. “How long have you been tracking him anyhow?”
Mei hesitated. “Long enough.” She reached out and put her arm around Violet’s shoulders. “But that’s enough business for one night. What do you say we put our boots up and crack open a tequila?”
Violet blinked. “What’s a tequila?”
Mei’s eyes lit like summer fireflies. “Oh,” she cooed, “this will be one hell of a night.”
* * * *
Tequila, Violet discovered, was a vicious, gruesome assailant that robbed Violet of any and all sense by midnight. One minute, she was sitting at the supper table, and the next, she was dancing on it. At least, Violet thought she danced on the table. To be totally honest, the night was a blur past a certain point. And Violet had all morning to ponder her recent memories as she sat over a clay pot, retching up last night’s bad decisions. Violet hadn’t felt this sick since she once caught a terrible fever as a little girl, and this felt somehow worse.
Knock knock. The door behind Violet creaked open just as more bile splattered into Violet’s pot. Behind her, she heard Mei stifle her laughter. “Poor lamb.” Mei knelt down beside Violet with a tray in her hands. There was a bowl of hot broth, bread, an orange, a pitcher of water, and a damp cloth folded neatly at one corner. Mei set the tray aside and first took the cloth. “Hold it in for just a moment.” Gingerly, Violet lifted her face, and Mei cleaned off the sweat and unmentionables with a smile. “Think you could stomach some breakfast?”
Violet shook her head weakly. She didn’t even want to think about food, let alone force any down. Mei took the pitcher of water and poured some into a clay cup. “Take a sip at least,” she urged. Violet did so, the cool water washing away the sick aftertaste easily. Violet drank the whole cup down and set it aside. “Sit up a bit straighter for me.”
“Why?” Violet croaked.
“Please.”
Bones aching, Violet pushed herself to her knees and straightened her posture. Mei stood and sat herself on a stool behind her. It wasn’t until Violet felt the gentle scrape of Mei’s ivory brush that she realized what Mei was doing.
“You don’t gotta…” Violet protested.
“I don’t,” Mei agreed. “Then again, you didn’t have to clean up after me, either. Consider it tit for tat.” After brushing out Violet’s tangles, Mei began to swiftly braid her hair. Keeping her head steady, Violet caught sight of her reflection in the washbowl next to her. Her skin was waxy pale, and her eyes were nothing but deep gopher holes. Violet touched her face, almost in disbelief.
“I ain’t never drinking tequila again,” Violet swore.
Mei chuckled. “Or at least, nothing more than a few shots. And certainly not half the damn bottle.”
“I did what—?” Violet turned quickly, which was a massive mistake. Her stomach heaved, and Violet was back over her clay pot. At least by now, there wasn’t much left. Mei waited patiently for Violet to sit back up to finish her braiding job. After tying off the knot, Mei laid the damp cloth on Violet’s head, soothing her spinning mind.
“Why don’t we get you back into bed? You can sleep this off.” Mei helped Violet to her feet and towards the mattress. Laying her there, Mei pulled a fresh chamber pot from beneath the bed and set it on the small table next to her. “Just in case,” she said. Mei set the tray of food down, pouring Violet another glass of water. Violet drank it just as desperately. With a great sigh, she laid flat, and closed her itching eyes. Her body felt like it was rocking on a riverboat, which was both awful and pleasant at once. “Let’s see if you can stomach this…” Mei, a small knife in hand, plucked the orange from the tray and peeled it with expediency. The fresh, citrus smell filled the room, and Violet took a deep nose-full. Pulling a slice from the orange, she handed it to Violet. “Try. For me.”
Violet forced the orange into her mouth and bit down. The juices were soothing, even though her gut growled with dissatisfaction. At least she didn’t feel the need to vomit anymore. Nodding, Violet took the rest of the orange and made slow work of it. Mei stayed at her side, as if to make sure Violet finished it. When Violet was done, she wiped off her hands and sticky fingers with the damp cloth on her forehead.
“Thank you,” said Violet.
Mei smiled. There was a hint of tease behind her bright, coal eyes, but Violet supposed it was deserved at this point. Mei had the courtesy not to voice it. “Better?”
“Much.” Violet laid her head down along the pillows, the rocking still ever present. “I ain’t never felt so sick in all my life…”
“It’ll do that to ya.” Mei stood and headed to the door. “You get as much rest as you can. Henny’ll have a cow if you miss tonight.”
Violet moaned. “I ain’t drinkin’ tequila,” she repeated.
“Of course,” said Mei. She unlatched the crooked door and made to step out, when she paused. “How much do you remember anyhow?”
“From last night?” Violet shook her head. “Not much.”
Mei hesitated. There was something on the tip of her tongue, but ultimately, she thought better of it and left. Violet was far too tired to press the issue, and as she rolled over to get more comfortable, forgot it all together.
Violet slept until well into the afternoon. Her stomach growled painfully at the delicious smell of cooking pork, and Violet cracked open her crusty eyes. Although the shutters of her window were mostly closed, Violet could tell from the voices outside that there were far more people at the Bone House than there was when they arrived. She heard laughter and arriving horses, singing and clapping and men struggling with large and heavy things. It took Violet a few moments to figure out that the compound was no doubt preparing for Madam Hen’s birthday party.
Violet sat up, her bones cracking loudly. She’d waken up in better straights, for sure, but considering her morning, Violet felt repaired. She slipped out of bed and washed her sweating face and neck. Gushes of hot air were already slipping through the crack of her bedroom door. Keeping her sleeves rolled up and her hair braided, Violet entered the main room to see Linus cooking for the rest of them.
“Well well!” he sang with a glitter in his eye. “Our sleeping beauty awakes from the castle. How’re you feeling?”
“All right.” Violet sat at the table, next to where Rory was sloppily pounding biscuit dough into shape. Without asking, Violet tore a chunk for herself, spread some flour, and kneaded it alongside him. Rory grinned at the help. “I can walk a straight line now, that’s for sure.”
“I don’t think walkin’ was your problem last night,” Linus teased.
Violet’s face grew hot. “Was I really such a—?”
“We’ve seen worse,” Mei said immediately. She had her feet up, reading a wire she no doubt received that day. “Though nothing beats out the night you drenched that Johnny back in Malvern. Boy howdy, that was a sight, I tell you what.”
“Oh Lord…” Violet rubbed her forehead. “I forgot all about that…” As the others chuckled, Violet’s eyes fixated on the paper in Mei’s hand. “Wire from Van Buren?”
Mei’s eyes darkened. “Yes,” she said, putting it aside. “They can’t send a Wells Fargo down here, or they risk marshals tracking us down. Looks like we gotta make us a detour up at Carson.” With a frustrated sigh, Mei rubbed her eyes. “Just one thing after another with this…”
“Hot days are ahead,” said Sitting Bear as he peeled potatoes. “We should stay until the rains come, and then leave.”
“Sound advice,” Linus agreed. “Besides, ain’t no way they’d get to Nevada before we do, is there?”
“I guess…” Mei’s brow tightened and she stared out the open door, which was open to try and catch a cool breeze, if any. So far, no luck; between the potbelly stove and the summer sun, the bungalow was sweltering. Violet kept her hands busy with the dough, but her eyes lingered on Mei’s expression. If Violet had to guess, Mei was bothered that they couldn’t simply take off to Dakota the moment they could.
Violet wondered who this Abernathy was, what kind of character he had. Obviously, no good man allowed his workers to die needlessly, but Violet was curious. Was he like Mr. Munts, who so successfully played the part of an honorable gentleman? Or was he like the boy from the train? Sniveling, cowardly, weak. Or, perhaps, he was beyond either of them. Perhaps he was a devil, taken human flesh. No doubt he should be, or else why would Mei chase him so vehemently? Earning Mei’s wrath of justice to such an extent was no small feat. He must have been Lucifer himself. What else could explain it?
Mei spotted Violet’s stare. Violet started, a thrill shooting down her arms. “Somethin’ on your mind?” Violet shook her head and went back to the biscuit dough. Violet could swear she felt Mei’s eyes on her the entire time.
Once Violet’s work was done, she decided to walk the grounds of the Bone House and observe the preparations. She was right in guessing that scores of new faces had arrived that morning. Men with instruments and food; women with silken scarves and paper lanterns; children who ran barefoot, chased by the ribbons on their wrists and ankles. Violet had never seen such a vibrant surge of people before, full of color and laughter and eagerness for the sun to set. Violet dipped into the main house and looked about. The narrow walls were full up even more with people, who were hanging bright papers and fresh candles on the walls and ceilings.
Violet stood in the corner, out of the way, and stared at the place in awe. Even with the overwhelming pallet of color it usually had, the Bone House was looking swiftly like a different place. A place with room for dancing, drinking, and making merry.
“¡Ten cuidado con eso! No te rompas la pierna.” Violet turned at the voice of Madam Hen, who directed her decorators with all the importance of a military general. She spotted Violet and grinned. “¡Niña! So good to see you up and about.” She turned to her bar, hands on her hips. “What do you think?” She began to gesture at the walls. “We will have papel picado all along this back wall, and up the stairwell there, plenty of hot food—of course, Hernando will be dusting those bottles. Lástima de ese hombre. He should know better than to let the bar get dusty.” That’s when Madam Hen turned, a paper fan clutched in her thick fingers. “Niña, is that what you’ll be wearing?”
Violet looked down at her “trail” clothes, as she’d come to call them. Her jeans had a fine layer of dirt on the hems, and her boots were caked with mud. Stains were eternally under her armpits, and she noticed at one of the inseams was the beginning of a hole. Violet hadn’t bothered to note the state of her appearance until now. “I mean…I guess? I don’t got nothin’ else.”
With a sharp flick of her wrist, Madam Hen snapped open her fan and clicked her tongue in disapproval. “No. Eso no va a servir. Come, we’ll see if Madam Hen has something for you.” Before Violet could say otherwise, Madam Hen took her hand and dragged her up the stairs to the rooms above.
There were a few bedrooms, much like the whore house in Malvern, with a large bedroom at the end of the hall; no doubt Madam Hen’s own. Inside, it was strikingly similar to the main floor of Bone House. On the walls hung drapes and carvings and masks and dresses. In the corner sat a large bed on an old, iron frame. Two French window doors led to an outer balcony, looking over the central area of the compound. To the balcony’s left was a folded screen, painted with ink, in front of an ornate wardrobe. A full length mirror sat next to it.
“Now let me see…I was once your size long ago. I should have something…” Madam Hen bumbled to her wardrobe and began tossing fabric here and there. Violet wasn’t sure if she should help, so she remained where she was, awkwardly watching Madam Hen’s clothes fly.
A color caught her eye. A vibrant, beautiful purple, like a bushel of blooming lavender. It landed at her feet, and Violet picked it from the ground in curiosity. She had noticed, of course, that the Mexican women didn’t exactly wear cotton prairie skirts and button-up blouses, but Violet hadn’t taken much time to admire the dresses until now. It was light to the touch, trimmed with white and blue laces, and fanning out in endless waves of fabric. In the cotton were embroidered flowers, hand sewn with excruciating detail. Violet ran her fingers over the green silk thread. The hours someone must have devoted to such work…
“Oh?” Madam Hen, her hands clutching a hideous yellow piece, noticed Violet’s find. “That old thing? Do you like it?”
“Do I?” Violet smiled widely, spreading the skirt to see it in better detail. “Why…I’ve had my fair share of dresses, ma’am, but ain’t none of them look as pretty as this.” She traced her eyes along the scooped neckline and giggled. “I dare say Mama would have a fit if she saw me in it. She always dressed me up in thick, heavy things, even on the hottest days. Truth be told, I hated them dresses. But…” She threaded her fingers through the laced tassels. “I guess I wouldn’t mind this one so much…”
Madam Hen, flushed with joy, held her fan to her heart and swooned. “Then, Niña, it is yours. Go on, try it!” From then on, Madam Hen futzed about Violet as though it were her birthday, rather than the landlady’s own. She braided Violet’s hair in intricate knots, leaving curls of brown to flow free against Violet’s cheeks. She wove fresh flowers into the crown of Violet’s hair, matching her gown, and tied off Violet’s waist with a blue swath of silk.
“What about my shoes?” Violet asked, lifting up the hem of her skirt. She stared at her muddy boots. “They don’t exactly…erm…fit with it, do they?”
“The sun is gone,” said Madam Hen. “The sand is cool. Why not let your feet feel the earth, child?”
“Barefoot?” Violet grinned; she didn’t need convincing. Without ceremony, she kicked off her shoes and peeled away her socks, tossing them into the pile of her trail clothes. Madam Hen then led her to the mirror and stood back. Violet took in her reflection.
She barely recognized herself. This was not the form of a young girl, pinned up with buttons and lace. Nor was it a rough visage caked with dirt and sweat of the road. This was a woman, full and blossoming and mature. Her smooth shapes fit into the purple dress as though they were made for it. Her hair, curling in a way that was new, yet natural, bounced with fresh life against her rosy cheeks.
“Lord…” she breathed. “I never thought I could ever look so pretty. Oh.” She touched her lips, realizing her slight. “Shoot, I shouldn’t get so big about it, should I?”
“Why not?” Madam Hen replied, smiling. “You, my darling, are a picture of youth and excellence.” She tilted Violet’s chin just slightly, admiring her like a proud mother. “It is my birthday, so I want a gift from you, Niña. Get big about it.” Madam Hen snapped straight, hand to her cheek. “¡Dios mio! It is already so dark!” She clapped her hands and ushered Violet out. “Shoo, shoo! I must prepare!” With a loving shove, Madam Hen pushed her out and shut the door promptly behind her.
Outside, Violet could hear the musicians begin to strum, and the singers begin to sing. Passing a window, Violet glanced into the compound. Already a great bonfire was starting in the center, and Hernando was carving up a suckling pig on a pyre. Giddy, Violet sprinted down the steps, skipping two at a time, and stepped out into the night.
First, Violet headed over to Hernando, where she received a plate of fresh, seasoned pork with a few corn tortillas. Among the other pots and pans of food, Violet spotted Linus’s stew and biscuits from earlier that day. No one would go hungry tonight, not even the dogs.
“Is that Violet?!”
Violet turned to see Linus smiling as wide as he’d ever smiled. He was in his usual hat and trousers, but wearing a borrowed, tasseled jacket, similar to some of the other musicians. His harmonica was in one hand, a large drink in the other. He removed his hat and held it to his breast politely, the eyes behind his glasses glittering. He whistled lowly. “Well, ain’t you a picture of loveliness? That dress is mighty smart on you, Violet. Mighty smart indeed.”
Violet beamed, fighting off the shyness that Madam Hen so graciously condemned moments ago. “Ain’t it something?” Violet twirled, and her skirts leapt from her ankles into a massive circle. “Madam Hen said I could have it. Bit of a waste, though. Hell, I dunno where I’d wear it ‘cept here.”
“Heh. That sure as hell ain’t no waste by my count.” He cocked his head and elbowed Mei, who was in deep conversation with someone else, her back turned. “Hey Mei! Why don’t you take a look at our little Violet?”
“Hm?” Mei turned to him, oblivious. “At what? Our little—?” Mei rounded to Violet and froze. Violet grew hot. There was a drawn-out silence, and Violet’s ears pained at the pressure of her heartbeat. Since they’d come to know each other, Mei had always had a soul-piercing gaze that Violet could never shake. She’d looked upon Violet with distrust, with anger, with amusement and surprise. But never like this. Violet was unsure if it was good or bad or somewhere in between. Mei cleared her throat, breaking the spell. “You look…awfully nice, Violet.” Mei’s eyes shifted away, and Violet felt strangely as though she was embarrassed to look any longer.
Violet smiled gently. “Thank you,” he said. She observed Mei’s own clothes; she hadn’t changed from that morning. “I woulda loved to see you in something just as nice, Mei. I think you’d be downright gorgeous.”
Mei was stiff. Though her expression hadn’t changed, her shoulders were squared, and her back hunched like a terrified dog. Violet worried that perhaps she’d said something wrong, but before she could ask, Mei muttered something about getting a drink and strut into the crowd. Linus snickered.
“How about that…” he mused.
“How about what?”
“Oh nothin’.” Linus set his drink aside, pocketed his harmonica, and held out his hand. “May I have this dance?” Happily, Violet obliged, and took his hand. They twirled out into the dirt, kicking up a cloud at their feet. Linus was a delightful dancer, and led Violet with ease and grace. About halfway through their dance, Rory interrupted and asked Violet for one himself. He wore a multicolored wool blanket with a hole for his head (a poncho, if Violet remembered correctly) and a hat so big it could have hidden him like a turtle shell. Linus let Rory cut in, and he took Violet’s hands, spinning them both in endless circles around the bonfire.
The night was a dream made real. Music laced through the air like a summer breeze. The food was rich and plentiful, and no matter how much anyone ate, there was always room for more. Women, dressed in ribbon and cotton scarves, danced while clacking strange, hallow instruments in their hands. Violet tried one herself, but she was hardly any good. When Madam Hen made her appearance, she did so in a dramatic flair that was true to her character. Poised at her balcony, Madam Hen extended her arms and welcomed her birthday guests. She was draped from head to toe in gold and jewels, her face painted like the Egyptians of old. A great cheer rose from the crowd to greet her, and after a brief speech, Madam Hen descended the stairs and joined the party.
Hours passed, though Violet took no notice. Time had slipped away from her, as though the minutes were the grains of sand squishing between her toes. Only when she saw Rory, curled up in Sitting Bear’s lap fast asleep, did she guess that it must have been quite late. Still, the fiesta flourished, and Violet herself did not feel the slightest bit tired. The band began a slower, more intimate song. Lupita the milk maid, her hair pinned in massive white flowers, sang beautifully. Violet took the pause in atmosphere to sit on a bale of hay and rest her feet; she’d only just noticed how sore they were.
“Having a nice time?” Mei’s voice brought her back to the world, and she looked up. She was smiling, and back to her old self. Violet returned the gesture.
“Oh yes!” she exclaimed. “I ain’t never been to a shindig so fun. That Madam Hen sure knows how to have a birthday, I tell ya.” Mei took a seat next to Violet. The hay bale was small, and so the two sat close together, shoulder to shoulder. Violet looked out into the compound. “Boy howdy, if you told me a year ago I’d be dancin’ barefoot with a buncha Mexicans and a handful of outlaws, I’d’a told you you was crazy.”
Mei shrugged. “Crazier things have happened.” They sat quietly, watching couples dancing slowly. Some women were nestled up to the bosom of their chosen gaucho. Off in the corner, Linus was treating Madam Hen to a waltz, leading the massive woman with impeccable ease. “Say…how about a dance?”
Violet blinked and turned to her. “What?”
Mei stood. She held out her hand for Violet to take. “How about a dance?” she repeated. Her dark eyes twinkled. “I ain’t as good as Linus, but I’m decent.”
Violet bubbled with joy, and stood quickly. Her aching feet were of no consequence. She took Mei’s hands with her own, feeling the hairs on her arms prickle with pleasure. They swerved gently against one another, Mei taking care not to step on Violet’s toes with her steel boots. The party around them faded away into the night. All that was left was the heat of the bonfire, and the gentle sway of their bodies. She had been dancing all night with no problems, but now, these few simple steps with Mei made her legs tremble.
“How am I doin’?” Mei asked.
“Fine…” Violet breathed. “Just…just fine.”
Mei paused, a look of concern in her eye. “Violet…? You all right? You ain’t uncomfortable now, are you?”
Uncomfortable? Am I? Violet considered the question, but quickly shook her head. Her heart was pounding, and her body quivered, but it didn’t feel entirely like a bad thing. She inched closer, lacing their fingers together. “It’s…nice.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah.”
Mei’s smile returned, and she edged closer as well. They were swinging widely now, their eyes not daring to stray from the other. The music began to pick up, and soon, they were dancing wildly, laughing and spinning and sweating with glee.
Violet didn’t know how long they danced. It felt like an eternity, yet it was over too fast. When they finished, they were both breathless, and flopped together back on their hay bale. Now Violet’s feet were really hurting. “It’s gettin’ late,” said Mei. She pointed to the sky above them. The moon was well past midnight, and was now dipping below the flat desert horizon. “What’s say we turn in?”
Violet nodded in agreement and they headed away from the party towards their bungalow. As they walked, Violet noticed that they were nearly shoulder to shoulder. Their hands occasionally brushed, and Violet felt a sudden urge to reach out and take it. Either too shy or too embarrassed, Violet restrained herself. They closed the latch on their crooked door, Mei discarding her coat. She let it topple to the ground carelessly. From their cracked window, the bonfire still shuddered. A slim light danced on Mei’s sharp cheek.
“You tired?” she asked. Her voice was hushed. Violet shook her head. Her own voice was temporarily silenced. Instead of speaking, she hung on Mei’s every word. She watched Mei’s movements; the gentle sway from one foot to another. The frantic blinking of her long lashes. The way her fingers twitched, as if missing her gun, and finally clenched to keep themselves from searching for it. Mei took a careful step forward. Violet’s heart skipped in her chest. Neither woman dared break their gaze from each other. With a gentle hand, Mei tucked a loose strand of hair behind Violet’s ear.
“You sure are wonderful, Violet.” Her voice was like honey. Her obsidian eyes sparkled as precious stones would. Violet drew closer to Mei, like a moth to flame, until there was barely an inch between them. Before Violet knew it, Mei’s hands settled on her hips. She could feel the texture of Mei’s calluses through the thin fabric of her dress.
Mei leaned forward, and they kissed.
Violet was startled at first. Her body felt a sort of shock, and it took a moment for her to relax. Her eyes closed, and she fell naturally into Mei’s comforting arms. Her fingers threaded through Mei’s silk hair. Squished up against one another, Violet felt Mei’s thudding heart through her blouse. They entangled deeper in each other. Their kiss grew feverish, and suddenly Violet felt intoxicated. Somehow, Mei managed to drag them to the bed, and with a sharp tilt of the Earth, she and Mei collapsed into the nest of bedsheets, laughing and kissing and touching in the sliver of moonlight.