Backlands (25 page)

A
t home, Matt parked the Studebaker in front of the house, put Patches in his stall with fresh water, and went inside to clean up and change for dinner. He'd been to Augustus and Consuelo Merton's hacienda once before to attend the annual late-spring gathering the professor and his wife held for students enrolled in his mechanical arts classes. They lived in the village of Mesilla, a few miles south of Las Cruces.

Mesilla had been part of old Mexico until the middle of the nineteenth century, when the federal government bought almost thirty thousand square miles of borderlands to accommodate the construction of a railroad to Southern California. Much like Tularosa, it had remained a mostly Hispanic settlement.

Built by Consuelo's grandfather, Santos Mendoza, the thick-walled adobe hacienda was half a block away from the Catholic church, which had towering twin belfries that dominated the village plaza. Like many old adobe homes, it rambled on from room to room, with low-beamed passages that conked the heads of the unsuspecting, and finally opened onto a large, high-walled courtyard with an outdoor kitchen shaded by cottonwood trees. Stone-and-mortar flowerbeds filled with brilliant spring blooms lined the courtyard walls, and a fenced vegetable garden with a hearty abundance of flourishing corn, squash, and tomato plants thrived in a sunny corner. Flagstone paths led to comfortable benches and chairs, and several well-placed birdbaths under low branches attracted darting, fluttering, singing, squawking robins, wrens, and warblers.

During his first visit, Matt had passed a pleasant few minutes in the courtyard with Señora Merton, who complimented him on his command of Spanish and asked how he'd come to speak it fluently. Without mentioning Pa or the ranch, he gave full credit to Tía
Teresa, the Luceros, and Evangelina. Señora Merton, in turn, told him the story of meeting the professor at a dance when he was a student at the college and how he won her heart by reciting love poems to her in Spanish he'd learned as a child living in Barcelona. She merrily warned Matt to tread lightly on the hearts of the local señoritas lest a likely fate befall them. Señora Merton's dark hair and pretty eyes reminded Matt of Tía Teresa, as did her easy charm and grace. He had warmed to her immediately.

Matt and his classmates knew a little bit about Augustus Merton and his family because the professor often drew on his past experiences as an engineer when lecturing. The Mertons had lived in Mexico for many years during the professor's successful prior career designing and supervising the construction of bridges and tunnels, before returning to teach at the college. The couple had one son, Lorenzo, a recent West Point graduate serving at a fort in Oklahoma.

At the appointed time, shaved and wearing freshly ironed trousers and shirt, Matt tapped the heavy iron door knocker on the tall, hand-carved hacienda entry door. As he waited he gazed with smug satisfaction at his Studebaker, parked in the lane. A duplex roadster model, it came with a steel roof, four-wheel brakes, and a fifty-horsepower, six-cylinder engine. He'd added new bumpers front and back, a spare tire, and a sunscreen over the windshield, essential in the harsh New Mexico sunlight. When new, it had sold for almost twelve hundred dollars. Matt had bought it for three hundred from wages he'd earned at Sam Miller's store.

On the drive to Mesilla it had handled like a brand-new motorcar. Matt itched to take it on a long trip on one of the new oiled or paved highways. It was dusty from sitting idle in the shed for several months, and he hadn't had time to wash it, but tomorrow it would shine after he gave it a good cleaning.

The hinges on the massive door creaked open and Matt turned, expecting to see either the professor or his wife; instead, a petite, blue-eyed, redheaded girl with creamy skin, a ridge of freckles across her nose, and a stunning smile greeted him.

“Uncle Gus told me that if a young man with a split lip arrived at the front door driving a Studebaker, I was to let him in,” she said in a breathy voice. “You must be Matt.”

“You have me at a disadvantage, miss,” Matt replied, trying to sound sophisticated. She was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, far prettier than Clementine.

“I'm Beth Merton, Uncle Gus's favorite and only niece. Come in. He's already opened a bottle of wine to let it breathe. I don't know what that means, but since I'm not allowed to have any it doesn't matter. You've been here before, so find your way to the library. I'm helping Tía
Consuelo in the kitchen.”

Matt nodded and followed her into the house, appreciating her girlish figure until she disappeared into the kitchen hallway. In the library Professor Merton sat in an overstuffed chair, wineglass in hand. Although it was a hot summer evening outside, the thick adobe walls kept the hacienda comfortably cool.

“Good evening, Matt,” Gus Merton said, rising to shake his hand. “Are you a drinking man? I've opened a good red that has a hint of raisin and almond. May I pour you a glass?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Excellent. Did Beth behave like a lady or try to disarm you with her quick wit and saucy attitude?”

“Both, I believe, much to my enjoyment,” Matt replied.

“She's irrepressible,” Merton noted, gesturing for Matt to sit.

“Is she here for a summer holiday?” Matt asked hopefully, thinking
irresistible
was a more suitable depiction.

“Alas, no,” Merton answered. “Unfortunately, Beth has a troubling case of consumption, and her father, my younger brother Darcy, sent her to us from Cleveland for the dry climate. We've arranged for her to be admitted to a tuberculosis sanatorium that has just opened on the Alameda. She's to be examined by a doctor on Tuesday.”

“She looks perfectly fine to me,” Matt said.

“Indeed she does, and equates the sanatorium to jail, which I can understand, although it's a pleasant enough facility, with spacious rooms, a wide veranda that catches the breeze, and an excellent professional staff. If she pleads and begs for you to help her run away, you must decline.”

“Perhaps as an alternative, I can take her for a ride in my Studebaker,” Matt proposed.

Professor Merton smiled. “That's entirely up to the two of you.”

At dinner, Matt sat across from Beth, and as the meal progressed he learned she was eighteen, had suddenly taken ill near the end of her sophomore year of college, and had plans to become a medical doctor.

“My unfortunate illness—as Uncle Gus refers to it—should prepare me well to enter the medical profession,” she added flippantly. “At the very least I'll be good at diagnosing at least one disease. Don't you agree?”

“At the very least, it might make you more sympathetic to those who are very sick,” Matt replied, thinking of Ma and all she'd endured.

His comment caught Beth by surprise. “What a perfectly splendid observation. Uncle Gus said you were a very bright young man.”

“What I said to Beth was that you are not one to flaunt your intelligence and that I appreciate that quality in a person,” Augustus Merton explained.

Matt turned away from Beth's dazzling smile. “Thank you, sir. But I must ask: Have you told her everything about me?”

Merton laughed. “I've only briefly touched on those facts and qualities about you that I have at my disposal. Any serious flaws or dark secrets you may have are yours to reveal or keep as you see fit.”

“I'm greatly relieved to hear that,” Matt replied.

“He's hopeful I'll take you as my beau,” Beth said in mock seriousness.

Consuelo Merton stifled a laugh. “Stop it, Beth. You're incorrigible. He said no such thing.”

Augustus Merton pounded the table in response. “There, sir! I am innocent. My words are easily twisted by the women in this house. Look to them for any evidence of romantic collusion, not me.”

“Enough of this, you two,” Consuelo scolded cheerfully. “Stop before Matt decides we're all lunatics and bolts for the door.” She smiled reassuringly at Matt and added, “Beth knows no one here. We're hoping that you might find some time to keep her company while she's resting and recovering at the sanatorium. That is, if it's not an imposition.”

“I'd like that,” Beth said straight on.

“I'm told such places can be pure tedium,” Augustus added. “As high-spirited as my niece is, she'll need some occasional distraction, if you'd be so inclined.”

Matt glanced from the professor to his wife to Beth. All smiled at him with genuine good humor and goodwill. He felt incredibly at ease and comfortable, as though he was spending an evening with dear, lifelong friends. “I'd be more than happy to oblige.”

“Excellent.” Augustus raised his glass. “We are most grateful to you.”

***

A
fter dinner, Matt invited Beth on a stroll around the village plaza, and they left the hacienda with a promise to their hosts not to be long. With a cooling breeze and a lovely sky of puffy clouds tinged pink and orange by the sun low on the horizon, they entered the plaza, where a few
viejos
were clustered around a bench smoking and quietly telling stories while much louder sounds of merriment emanated from the open door of the corner speakeasy.

“Consuelo tells me you speak Spanish,” Beth said. “Will you teach me?”

“Sure.”

She pointed at the men at the bench.

“
Viejos.
Old-timers, or old men.”

“
Viejos,
” she said.

She pointed at a tree. “What's that?

“
Árbol.
”

“
Árbol,
” she repeated as she pointed at the church. “And that?”

“A church,” Matt said.

“A church,” Beth said with perfect elocution.

“Actually, it's
iglesia
in Spanish,” Matt said.

“
Iglesia.
There, I know three more Spanish words besides
tía, señora,
and
adios.
My vocabulary has doubled with your help. Uncle Gus says you live alone. Are you a rich orphan?”

“What else has the professor told you?” Matt asked snappishly.

“Oh, please don't hate me,” Beth pleaded, reacting to his tone of voice. “I don't mean to be rude. Sometimes people think I'm ill-mannered when I'm only trying to be amusing. It gives my mother fits. It happens when I try too hard to be liked.”

The notion that Beth wanted Matt to like her brought a smile to his lips. “It's okay.”

She hooked her arm in his. “Thank you. You must understand that Gus and Consuelo feel they must do everything possible to protect my virtue, safeguard my welfare, and promote my speedy recovery while I'm here. They are worse worrywarts than my parents. I think they spent days before my arrival arranging and planning every itty-bitty detail of my life in Las Cruces, selecting the sanatorium, deciding on the best doctor to treat me, and picking the perfect, most trustworthy young man to squire me around when it is allowed. You may be my only chance for any freedom.”

“I've promised the professor not to help you escape.”

Beth smiled jubilantly. “See? You've made my point exactly. But I'm glad they picked you to be my escort.”

“So am I.” Matt slowed at an empty bench away from the noise of the speakeasy and the
viejos.
Beth immediately sat down.

“It seems so much like a foreign country here,” she said, gazing around the plaza. “So different from Cleveland, I hardly believe I'm in the United States. Do you dream of traveling the world?”

Matt sat beside her. “Sometimes, but mostly now I concentrate on my studies. It's a promise I made to my mother. You asked if I was an orphan. I'm not.”

Beth put a finger to Matt's lips. “Hush. I'm sorry I asked such a thoughtless question. You don't have to answer.”

He took her hand away, held it for a second, glancing at her eyes. He reluctantly released her hand and said, “I don't mind telling you.”

He told her about Emma, her defective heart, which had ended her life much too soon, how she parlayed her divorce settlement into smart investments that put enough money in a trust to support him for years, and his home in town, where he'd lived mostly since the day he was born. He saved for last the tale of the short story Eugene Manlove Rhodes wrote about his mother making a hand on a Double K cattle drive back in the days before statehood.

“I know I would have loved her,” Beth said emphatically.

“And she you, I bet,” Matt allowed.

“Are you a cowboy as well as a scholar?”

Matt laughed. “Some might disagree with that notion, but I can sit a horse fairly well and know my way around cattle. I have a pinto named Patches. He's a fine pony.”

“You must take me riding, and out for a jaunt in your motorcar. And will you lend me the story to read?” She stopped, out of breath.

Matt laughed. “Of course, whenever you like.”

“Wonderful. You haven't mentioned your father or if you have any brothers or sisters.”

At the far end of the plaza in the last light before dusk, Augustus and Consuelo Merton appeared, arm in arm. Matt stood to greet them, glad to be distracted from her sobering inquiry. “We've been spotted.”

Beth sighed. “By my kindhearted jailers. When will I see you again?”

“I'll bring the Gene Rhodes story to you tomorrow, if you wish.”

Beth stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips on his cheek. “Perfect.”

Matt silently agreed as they strolled to meet the professor and his wife. The evening had been perfect.

***

M
att saw Beth twice more before she entered the sanatorium. As promised, he dropped off “Emma Makes a Hand” the following afternoon and spent an hour in her company before Consuelo whisked her away to shop for essentials she would need at the sanatorium. To his relief, not once did Beth question him any further about Pa or his family. Early the next morning, he took her for a jaunt in his Studebaker to see some of the countryside before she had to report to “jail.” They drove to the base of the Organ Mountains, skirted along the foothills over rocky dirt roads to the state highway, crested the San Andres Pass, and stopped at a turnoff that gave a panoramic view of the Tularosa Basin. Beth took it all in with eyes wide in wonderment. Under a clear blue sky, with the desert in full bloom from the recent rains, the white gypsum dunes sparkled like diamonds and the Sacramento Mountains rose in sharp relief, hard and foreboding against the horizon, with the distant Sierra Blanca shimmering through the heat waves rising from the basin floor.