Backlands (26 page)

“It's magical,” she proclaimed in a reverential whisper. “I want to see all of it. Why, you could drop Cleveland in the middle of it and it would be lost forever. Is there any water?”

Matt shook his head. “Hardly any.”

“Can we drive on a bit farther?”

“A little ways, before it gets too hot.”

At the bottom of the Chalk Hills he stopped again to point out the distant alkali flats that pressed against the north-south rib of the rugged eastern face of the San Andres Mountains. He described the winding, tortured pass through Rhodes Canyon, the high-country forests that capped the faraway peaks, the vast valleys and wide pastures hidden in the mountains, and the narrow canyons, musical and moist from live water trickling down rock streams kept cool by the shade of supple desert willows.

Without pause, he told her how the Double K sat poised in a low valley overlooking the basin, the toe of the rangeland touching desert scrub, the headlands rising to the tall pines, and how the ranch house with its wide veranda perfectly perched on a shelf gave a view that seemed to stretch to the ends of the earth.

“My ma is buried on a hill above the house,” he concluded. “It's about the best spot in the whole world to be laid to rest.”

“Does your father still live there?” Beth asked.

“He does,” Matt answered shortly. “He's pretty much a loner who doesn't cotton to folks easily.”

“Is that the nicest thing you can say about him?” Beth asked pointedly.

Matt hesitated. “I guess so.”

“Will I ever meet him? Or see the ranch?”

“Someday, maybe.” He wondered if a city girl could thrive in such a remote place, far from everything modern, no matter how beautiful the sunsets and the azure skies.

“Promise you'll take me there before I leave.”

The notion of Beth someday leaving New Mexico felt like a stab wound. “I promise.”

On the drive back to town, Beth told Matt about a pamphlet she'd been given that explained all the services at the sanatorium. She called it “The Rule Book for Inmates.” She was to have no visitors for the first thirty days, take an hour a day of natural sunlight, practice breathing exercises to strengthen her weak lungs, take special vapors to refresh her sinuses, and read for no more than thirty minutes at a time, so as not to exhaust herself. X-rays would be taken routinely, her doctor would examine her weekly, and most important, she would be required to take the salubrious desert air twice a day on the veranda, once in the morning and again in the evening.

“Will you drive by on the road once in a while, honk the horn, and wave so that I know you're thinking of me?” she asked.

“As often as I can,” Matt promised.

***

I
t took all of Matt's willpower not to drive by the sanatorium twice a day or more. He kept to a once-a-day routine, alternating between mornings and evenings, driving very slowly past the whitewashed adobe building with a high-pitched roof that had once been the private residence of a prominent Mexican merchant who had made a fortune in Juárez. The front porch was deep and screened, making it difficult for Matt to see in. But every time he passed by, Beth would be stationed in the same lounge chair waving madly at him as he tooted his horn.

At the end of Beth's first week of confinement, a note from her came in the mail complaining about the gruel her keepers passed off as food at mealtime and warning him that she would likely waste away from starvation long before consumption claimed her. She ended with a caveat not to write back, as she would miss him too much if he did so. After that, a new note arrived every few days containing humorous vignettes about her fellow inmates. There was Miss Lucy Monroe from Boston, who blushed at the mere mention of Dr. Brandt, the senior physician; Abigail Landis, who started a glee club for the inmates and sang contralto badly off-key; and Susana Martinez, a housekeeper who had taken to teaching Spanish to an old soldier everyone called Captain Mighty Fine because of his constant use of the phrase at every possible opportunity.

Her notes had him start counting the days until her mandatory confinement ended and he could see her up close, talk to her, be with her. The world seemed dull without her. He was more than besotted. In spite of her admonition, he wrote to her anyway, reporting on his horseback rides along the river, a recent dinner with her uncle Gus and
tía
Consuelo, where her company was sorely missed, his busy days clerking at Sam Miller's store for an employee who'd taken vacation. He didn't dare try to turn a clever phase or attempt to be witty. He feared that he lacked the necessary ingredients to be an entertaining correspondent. His best hope, he decided, was to remain attentive and pray it might compensate for his lack of sophistication.

On the first day Beth was allowed visitors, Matt went to the sanatorium with Gus and Consuelo, as they insisted he call them. After hugs for her aunt and uncle and a warm smile for Matt, Beth took them on a quick tour of the building and grounds, including the enclosed pool house, used for hydrotherapy treatments, and a lovely green lawn where patients who'd been approved for physical exercise could play croquet and badminton. She had a private room with big airy windows that gave a pleasant view of the lawn and several large cottonwoods and a private entrance that led to the flagstone walkway around the lawn. The room was furnished with a twin bed, a writing table and chair, and a tall chest of drawers. On top of the bureau were framed photographs of Beth's parents and her younger sister, Emily, along with a half dozen books, mostly novels.

Consuelo raised an eyebrow. “Let me bring you a few things from home to brighten your room up.”

“That's very kind of you, Tía, but please don't,” Beth replied. “I don't expect to be here that long. In fact, I've improved so much I'm now allowed to take my meals in the dining room with the other inmates and play croquet, in which I'm undefeated.”

“Have all your symptoms abated?” Augustus asked hopefully.

“I haven't had a fever in weeks, and my appetite is back.” Her sunny look turned stubborn. “All that's left to do is gain a few pounds and banish my cough. It's worse at night but getting better.”

Consuelo smiled and hugged her. “
Maravilloso.
”

They visited for a time on the porch, interrupted every few minutes by curious patients stopping by, including the contralto who sang off-key, the old soldier, who shook Augustus's and Matt's hands and said it was “mighty fine” to meet them, and the Boston spinster who pined for Dr. Brandt and wanted to know if Matt was Beth's “young man.” Both of them blushed, Matt a shade redder.

As they were leaving, Beth pressed a note in Matt's hand. He stuck it in his pocket and didn't look at it until after he said good-bye to Gus and Consuelo and drove away from their hacienda. It read:

Meet me under the cottonwood behind the pool house at 8 tonight.

At ten minutes to eight, he parked the Studebaker a hundred yards from the sanatorium. In deepening darkness he skirted the lawn to the cottonwood tree. Disappointed that Beth wasn't there, he waited. One by the one the lights inside the patients' room went out. After what felt like an eternity, Beth finally arrived, breathless and coughing into a handkerchief pressed against her mouth.

“Thank goodness you're here.” She grasped his arm to steady herself.

Her touch electrified Matt. “I'm here,” he managed.

“I am so tired of being banned from this, prohibited from that, prevented from doing something else.” The words spilled out of her. “There is no one my age to talk to. I'm going insane. Take me for a ride in your car, please. I need to break the rules and feel like an outlaw, or I'll just shrivel up and turn to dust.”

“Are you sure?” The notion of an illicit summer's night drive with Beth enthralled him.

“Yes, yes, yes.”

They drove out of town into the desert, a million stars above in the sky, Beth with her head out the window and the wind blowing through her hair. He slowed the car at the turnoff to the Arrington Ranch.

“Don't stop,” she pleaded.

“Okay.” He drove on. “There's a place nearby called Sleeping Lady Hills. You can't see it at night, but from a certain angle it looks just like a woman sleeping.”

“Can we go there someday?”

“We can get to it by horseback through the Rough and Ready Gap.”

Beth laughed. “I love the names you have for places. Promise you'll bring me.”

“As your riding buddy or your beau?” He was startled by his boldness.

“I think I'd prefer beau,” Beth replied as she scooted closer to him.

M
att started the fall 1929 term of college in love. Beth's thirty-day quarantine had ended with her health so improved, the doctors allowed her to take weekend furloughs and gave her permission to have occasional evenings off the grounds during the week. Although she stayed at the hacienda on the weekends, most of her time—much to his delight—was spent with Matt. He kept his promise to take her horseback riding through the Rough and Ready Gap to the Sleeping Lady Hills, and when they weren't out roaming the countryside in his Studebaker or ahorseback, they attended an occasional evening concert in the park, went to a Sunday movie matinee at the Rio Grande Theater, and dined frequently with Gus and Consuelo at the hacienda. When they could, they slipped away to Matt's house, where they would pet so passionately it left them trembling and breathless in each other's arms. More than once they almost went all the way, but Beth's hushed
no
always brought Matt to a stop.

In early October, the local newspapers began running Associated Press stories from New York and Washington about falling stock prices caused by a speculative orgy on Wall Street. The papers also published editorials quoting financial experts who argued low interest rates and strong retail trade were proof the economy was growing and there was no need for investors who stayed the course to worry. When the market plummeted and many rushed to sell, bigwig eastern millionaires stepped in to shore it up. That caused talk of a panic to subside, although stocks continued to sink in value.

Far removed from the financial shenanigans of Wall Street, most New Mexicans—other than the bankers and a few fat cats—were more concerned about the lingering effects of drought and lower prices for livestock and farm produce than the ups and downs of the stock market. The news was interesting but not very relevant to folks who'd never had a bank account and weren't exactly sure what a share of stock was anyhow.

When the stock market plunged again and the deep-pocket millionaires did nothing to stop the bleeding, Augustus Merton predicted that millions of people would be thrown out of work. He recalled seeing tough times in Mexico during the height of the revolution, with peasants begging for food on the streets and whole families wandering the countryside, homeless and destitute. That experience had impressed on him the need to always be prepared for an emergency. He suggested that Matt would do well to keep some cash on hand to weather any uncertainties.

“Unless you can take care of the basics, you stand to lose everything,” Augustus counseled. “Food, shelter, and cash money are essential in good or bad times. Never forget that.”

Matt didn't disagree with him but figured Augustus was being overcautious. After all, living through a bloody revolution in a foreign country and surviving some economic hardship in America were two completely different things.

Later that evening, at home and alone, Matt thought more about Augustus's advice. If hard times came, the house was his, free and clear, he had enough firewood to get him through the winter, and his tuition was paid for the full year. Still, the idea of keeping some cash on hand for emergencies made sense. Ma had always done that, and so had Pa. They also made sure the cupboards were well stocked with victuals. He decided to take some cash money out of the bank and go grocery shopping at Sam Miller's store tomorrow. That would cover the basics Augustus had talked about.

The next morning, after a trip to the bank and Sam Miller's store, Matt put the groceries away, hid his emergency cash in an empty coffee tin, and promptly forgot about the economy, his mind occupied with his course work and Beth. But in early November he was brought back to reality by an early-morning telephone call from a clerk at the bank asking Matt to meet with Mr. Worrell as soon as possible.

He arrived at the front door an hour before the bank was due to open and was let in by a worried-looking cashier who directed him to Worrell's office. After a tight-lipped greeting, Worrell wasted no time giving Matt the bad news: a margin call had been issued on the stock owned by the trust, which had completely wiped out all the cash assets. Worrell was in the process of calling in the mortgages on the rental properties, which needed to be sold to help cover the remaining market losses. It likely wouldn't be enough to cover everything the trust owed, but Worrell guessed the creditors would take what they could get and be happy with it.

“There is no more income from the trust,” Worrell announced. “Any expenses you incur from now on will be your father's responsibility until you turn eighteen. In fact, we have no funds to pay last month's bills.”

“I've got nothing left, right?” Matt asked, kicking himself for not taking all his personal funds out of the bank instead of just two hundred dollars.

“You have your house and all your personal possessions, but no cash. There is no money to pay for any of the outstanding expenses incurred on your behalf. I've informed your father by letter but have yet to hear back from him.”

Matt got to his feet. “He'll show up, especially if he stands to lose the Double K.”

“I'm afraid everyone will suffer in this disaster.” Worrell extended his hand. “Good luck, Matthew.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Matt walked home calculating how far two hundred dollars would last him and came to the grim conclusion that it would barely stretch through to the end of the semester. At the house he threw off his jacket, got the cash out of the coffee tin, and spread the bills out on the kitchen table. Unless he did something about it, Guadalupe and Nestor wouldn't get paid for their work and Sam Miller would be left high and dry. To keep the money and not settle up wouldn't be right. Ma had taught him better than that.

Then there were the electric and telephone bills, feed for Patches, gas for the Studebaker, and money for food when the victuals in the cupboards ran low. He could do without the telephone and get by without electricity if he had to, but even cutting back that much wouldn't take him very far if he had no money. If he could sell the Studebaker, that would help, but he couldn't bear the notion of losing Patches. Finally, he could forget about completing his sophomore year or even finishing the current semester.

Questions, doubts, and anxious worries about what might happen to him and to Beth tumbled through his mind. What if he couldn't find work? What if Beth was forced to return to Cleveland? What if the bank tried to take the house away to pay debts owed to the stockbroker? Aside from finding a job and seeing if he could get some of his tuition money refunded, he wasn't sure what else to do. But he knew for certain he wasn't going to ask Pa for any help.

He took a deep breath to calm down, counted out the cash he needed to pay what was owed, put the remaining thirty bucks in the coffee tin, grabbed his jacket, and went to knock on Nestor and Guadalupe's front door. He returned home an hour later to find Pa sitting in his truck in front of the house.

“What are you doing here?” Matt asked as Pa climbed out to meet him.

“I came to town to get my false teeth put in,” Pa said, clicking them together. “Mouth's a little sore, but the dentist says I'll get used to them soon enough. Glad I bought and paid for them before the crash. I stopped in to see Banker Worrell. He says we're both broke.”

“Are you gonna lose the ranch?” Matt asked as he gave Pa a quick once-over. His new false teeth made him look almost respectable, his hair wasn't all raggedy under his hat, and his eyes were clear.

“Not if I can help it,” Pa answered. “But the bank is gonna take the pastureland next to the Rocking J unless I can get Al Jennings to buy it at twenty-five cents on the dollar. I think he will. Then if I sell my ponies and cattle at a loss, I'll save the Double K.”

“How did you get in such a fix?”

“I borrowed against that land to buy stock on the margin. I figured if Wall Street was making you good money in that trust, it could damn sure make me some. Dumbest thing I ever did.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing, just came by to say howdy and ask how you're gonna get by.”

Matt shrugged. “I don't know yet.”

“Come out to the ranch. I know we can scratch out a living together and keep the Double K from going under.”

“Doing what?”

“Cut cord wood to haul to town and sell. And catch mustangs out on the basin we can gentle and sell. There's gotta be hundreds of wild Spanish ponies out there nobody owns to round up. But I'll need a hand to do it and you're a damn fine wrangler.”

Pa's compliment barely registered. Thinking of Beth, Matt shook his head. “I'm gonna stay put right where I am.”

“Not interested?”

“Not right now,” Matt replied.

“Then I'd best be on my way.”

“If I bring Patches out to the ranch, will you look after him?”

Pa nodded. “Don't see why not. I'll put him in with Calabaza and Stony; they're the only two I plan to keep, other than a packhorse or two I might need. I'll be moseying.”

“I got pork and beans I can heat up on the stove,” Matt offered, surprised by his blurted invitation.

Patrick stared at the house that had kept Emma away from him for years; CJ and Matt too, for that matter. “Thank you kindly for the offer, but I've a hankering for a sit-down meal at the hotel while I still have a silver dollar or two in my pocket. Want to tag along?”

“I got somewhere to be soon,” Matt lied. He wouldn't see Beth until tomorrow evening and had nowhere else to go.

“Bring Patches out to the ranch anytime. I'll look after him.”

“I'm obliged.” Matt stood in the street and watched Pa's truck disappear around a corner, glad to see him gone and at the same time wondering why he couldn't hate him.

***

T
he next day Matt withdrew from his college classes and got a small tuition refund check, which he cashed at the bank right away. Boone Mitchell was on his front stoop with two suitcases in hand when he got home. He'd been let go from the El Paso rail yards and used his last paycheck to send Peg, who was about to have another baby, and Kendell to live with his parents in Detroit until he found a job. He had a thirty-day pass from his old boss to ride the freights so he could look for work up and down the line and was leaving on the morning train for California, where he'd been told that mechanics were being hired for a new trucking company just starting up.

“I just need a place to hang my hat until I get back on my feet, if you don't mind my freeloading for a while,” he added. “I'm strapped for cash.”

“Make yourself at home,” Matt said. “Are you hungry?”

Boone grinned. “Boy, am I. I'm trying not to spend a penny if I don't have to.”

“You're welcome to join me for a baked bean sandwich and some canned soup.”

“Sounds like a feast.”

After they ate, Boone did most of the talking. The new baby was due any day. They'd been about to buy a house when he got laid off, and the seller refused to give back the earnest money deposit. He'd tried to peddle their furniture, but no one was buying, so he just packed his suitcases and left it all behind. He'd sold his car for almost nothing and was using the money to see him through until he found work. If he couldn't find a job in a month, he'd join Peg and Kendell in Detroit and hope that his father could get him work at the Ford plant where he was a maintenance supervisor.

He asked about jobs in Las Cruces. Matt told him he'd heard things were bleak although he hadn't started making the rounds himself. Boone sighed, pulled a hip flask from his coat pocket, and took a big swig. Matt had never known Boone to drink hard liquor before. He wondered if he'd made a mistake in agreeing to let him stay.

In the morning Boone left early to catch the westbound morning freight. On his way out the door he announced that if he got a job, he'd send Matt the money to ship the big suitcase he left behind. If not, he'd be back by the end of next week.

Matt wished him luck, fixed a breakfast of coffee and oatmeal with a bit of butter on top, dressed, and spent the day going to every store and business, looking for work. He tried the downtown filling stations, car dealerships, livery stables, warehouses, freight yards, and most of the stores up and down Main Street. He returned home late in the afternoon, weary, unemployed, and hungry. He'd saved the twenty-five cents lunch would have cost, knowing he'd be offered dinner with Gus and Consuelo when he carried Beth to the hacienda for her weekend stay.

He washed up and headed for the sanatorium, mulling what he could say to convince Gus and Consuelo to let Beth accompany him when he took Patches to the Double K. He wasn't even sure if he could talk Beth into the idea, but he was determined to try to get her out of town and on her own in the hopes of finally wearing down the last of her resistance. His idea was that they'd take the train to Engle and stay over at the hotel for the night before traveling on to the ranch. But Matt wouldn't mention the stay-over part to Gus and Consuelo. He knew the scheme was a long shot, but it was worth a try. He was tired of being so doggone honorable. It had become painful.

He sprang his idea on Beth as they drove to the hacienda.

She wagged her finger at him. “You just want to have your way with me. If Uncle Gus knew, he'd horsewhip you. Does he even have a horsewhip?”

“Probably somewhere,” Matt ventured. “And he likely knows how to use it. You did say you wanted to see the ranch, remember?”

“I do want to, but not at the expense of my virtue.”

“So much for my brilliant idea,” Matt grumbled.

“Wanting to spirit me away is very romantic.” Beth moved closer. “Would you settle for a partial conquest?”

“Such as?” Matt put his hand on her leg.

“A weekend excursion to the ranch with you, me, Tía
Consuelo, and Uncle Gus.”