Chapter 15

1883: taos

Marshal Garrison said, “Oh, yeah, a letter came for you.” He put down his coffee cup and opened the top drawer in his desk. “Here y’are,” he said, handing me a fine envelope of linen paper. It was addressed in an elegant hand to Señor Judah Becker in care of the U.S. Marshal in Santa Fe. The return address was the Rancho Castellano at Española.

Inside was an ornate engraved invitation:

Señor Emilio & Señora Maria-Teresa Castellano

of Española, New Mexico,

invite you to the nuptials and celebration for their daughter,

Marita Bernadetta Castellano Guerrero

and

Señor Ezekiel Saltell

son of Mr. Zedekiah & Mrs. Betsy Saltell of Tallaposa, Georgia,

at noon, Sunday, October 28^th, 1883,

Rancho Castellano, Española, New Mexico.

It was then Monday, the twenty-fourth of September, so I had a month to prepare.

I handed the invitation to Marshal Garrison but he waved it off. “I received one of my own,” he said. “About everyone did, including the governor. And I’ll be attending, with my wife, along with everyone else, including the governor.”

I asked him, “Do you know anything about the bride?”

“A little. She’s a widow, so this will be her second marriage. Her first husband was some cousin of your friend, Hector. I don’t think she has any children.” Then, pointing to the invitation, he asked, “Did you see the note on the back?”

Turning it over, I read,

Seneca,

I would be honored if you would stand for me, along with Marita’s brother, Ferran, at the wedding ceremony. If this is agreeable, please stop by the rancho no later than October twentieth to be fitted in a type of formal vaquero garb known as a charro suit. We’ll have a photograph made you can send to the folks in Ohio.

Zeke

That made it sink in: Zeke was getting married. He’d said nothing about having a sweetheart when I’d visited with him. In any event, I was quite pleased and I decided to stop off in Española on my way back to Taos.

I showed the Marshal the note on the back of the invitation.

He nodded. “I expected as much. And a tall, rangy man such as yourself will look good in those fancy duds with all their spangles and frills. You might want to hold onto it for your own wedding.”

I shot him a challenging look. “And what wedding might that be, Marshal?”

He smiled broadly. “The word’s out, Judah. The de Lorenzo sisters want you as part of the clan. And the further word is that you are not of a mind to argue.”

My face grim, I shook my head. “Marshal, it wouldn’t be proper--” but he cut me off with a dismissive gesture.

“I know, I know, the lady’s in mourning, but only for about five more weeks, as I understand it. If I were you, I’d be thinking about silverware patterns.” And he laughed heartily, slapping his knee.

I thought, however briefly, about the revolver under my coat, but then decided I didn’t want to have to find a new job.

My plan to stop in at the Castellano ranch on my way back to Taos was somewhat thwarted. I’d wired ahead just before boarding the train and was surprised to be met by Señor Castellano, himself, at the Española train station, especially since it was almost ten o’clock at night.

“Deputy Becker, I am pleased to see you again,” he said, offering his hand.

“Señor Castellano, I am honored, but it was hardly necessary.”

He shrugged in a dismissive gesture. “It was no trouble. I was in town overnight on business. In any event, Ezekiel is unavailable. He and the vaqueros are bringing the cattle down from summer pasture; they are up on the divide.” He waved toward the mountains to the east, dark shadows in the night. His reference was to the divide of the east and west slopes’ watersheds along the highest peaks in the Sangre de Cristo range. The actual Continental Divide ran down through western New Mexico, nearer to Gallup, Silver City, and Deming.

“Even sol, it was very gracious, señor. I was honored to receive the wedding invitation. Zeke asked me to stand up for him with your son. I understand that requires formal attire, so I decided to stop in for the fitting.”

“Then it is just as well, Señor Becker, since the tailor is here in town. Have you had supper?”

“I have, señor, just before I boarded the train.”

“Then a drink, perhaps? I have taken the liberty of arranging a room for you.”

“That is most kind, señor, on both counts. Please lead the way.”

Seated in a quiet barroom attached to the hotel’s dining room, Castellano was saying, “To be accurate, what you will be fitted for is not strictly formal attire. Similar to most European and American cities, formal attire is a black coat and trousers with a white shirt and black tie. What you will be wearing is a highly stylized version of a vaquero’s range wear called traje de charro (charro suit). It is the first class dress of some Mexican mounted military forces and is often worn by bullfighters,” he chuckled, “and some mariachi bands, too.”

“Now that you describe it, I can picture the style, with the short, open jacket and the wide-bottomed trousers. Will I be expected to play an instrument or fight bulls?”

“You may only have to dance at the fiesta. My daughter, Marita, is an admirer of the vaquero style and,” he shrugged, “I also find it smart and well-suited to a rancho wedding. Besides, we have already had the big formal wedding for Marita as well as for her older sister, Jasmina (yahs-MEE-nah), and Marita did not want all that pomp again. Still, it will be fancy enough. Jasmina will be standing for Marita, and our good friend, Feliza de Lorenzo Guerrero, has been agreeable to putting aside her mourning a few days early and also to stand for Marita beside Jasmina.”

I was to be partnered with Feliza for the wedding.

It was Wednesday morning and when Mannie walked into the sheriff’s office he said, “Buenos dias, Seneca. I put your invitation to Marita Guerrero’s wedding in your desk drawer.” I realized they must have sent my invitation to both offices so I would receive it as soon as possible.

“I take it you received one, too.”

“Of course,” Mannie scoffed. “It seems everyone not in a jail or prison has been invited. They had to use a wagon to haul all the invitations up from the depot at Embudo, so don’t get to feeling too special.”

I found the envelope and decided to borrow Mannie’s fancy paper knife to open it, so I stood and walked over to his desk. “I don’t want to tear this fine envelope or break the wax seal. It will make a nice memento,” I told him, as I picked up the miniature saber from his desk.

Mannie rolled his eyes and attempted to stifle a laugh, which emerged as a snort.

I slowly slit the top fold of the envelope and carefully extracted the invitation. Then I stood in front of his desk, holding invitation close to my face to read it, thus displaying the back to Mannie.

“Now wasn’t that nice of them,” I said. “I feel very honored.”

“You and every living person in the territory,” Mannie chortled. But then he leaned forward and said, “There’s something written on the back. Turn it over.” I did so and he asked, “So, what’s it say, ‘No fishing allowed on the rancho’?” He chuckled at his own wit.

“Oh, it’s a note from my friend, Zeke.”

“Who’s that?”

“Fella I was in the Army with, another scout. He works on the Castellano ranch. He wants me to stand with him during the wedding.”

“Great. Two old army buddies whispering and laughing in the church.”

“The wedding isn’t going to be in a church. It will be performed in the walnut grove above the hacienda.”

“How do you know that?”

“Señor Castellano told me.”

“What Señor Castellano? Are you talking about Don Castellano, the Patron of Rancho Castellano?”

“He’s the only one I know.” I handed him the invitation and he immediately turned it to read the note. Then, with an uncertain look on his face, he turned the invitation over to read the front. He then looked up at me with narrowed eyes. “So your old army pal, Zeke, is this Ezekiel Saltell the Castellano girl is marrying, huh?”

I took the invitation and looked at the back and the front and back again, then looked at Mannie sort of wide-eyed, “I think you may be right, Sheriff. How about that.”

Suddenly his expression changed to one of wide-eyed discovery. “So that’s why Feliza is cutting short her mourning.” He shook his head. “You poor devil. You’re about to walk into a buzz saw and you won’t feel a thing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The de Lorenzo curse.”

“What? What curse?”

“Look at me, Judah. Do I seem a happy man? Am I successful in my work? Have I been re-elected to this office twice? Haven’t I a comfortable home and two loving children?” He spread his hands and shrugged.

“Yes, it certainly appears that way to me. You are very fortunate.”

“Then consider this. Sixteen years ago I was working as the Taos deputy town marshal. Essentially I checked the doors in the business district to make sure they were locked at night and I picked the drunks up and brought them over here. I lived in a small rented room in a rooming house. My ambition was maybe to become a brand inspector and to move to a bigger room and own a horse.

“Then I met Fatima de Lorenzo. I became a deputy sheriff during our engagement. Six years later I had two children, a large home on ten acres along the creek, and I was the elected sheriff -- and for the life of me, I don’t know how it happened.

“Look at Hector Guerrero. He and his brother were doing mill work for their father, being paid a miller’s apprentice wage. Then they met Paulina and Feliza de Lorenzo. His brother and he ended up owning three mills and Hector is part owner of the trading post here in Taos.

“Same with Matias Salazar, over in Mora. He was cutting and selling cordwood and doing a little heavy lumbering until he met Sofia de Lorenzo. Now he’s sheriff of Mora County and his wife manages the Guerrero mills over there.”

I said, “Don’t give me that ‘curse’ business. Except for Ernesto Guerrero, I know all of you. Much as I hate to admit it to you, I know you as smart, capable men who are more than competent at your work, and are likely capable of more, and you each appear to have a happy marriage to wonderful women. So how is there a ‘curse’?”

“Because none of it was our idea or how we expected our lives would go. Just look at you. A few weeks ago you were rubbing shoulders with the governor and he was fetching pastries for you. And now you tell me you are hobnobbing with the largest grant-holder in the Rio Grande valley and are best friends with his soon-to-be son-in-law. When did you decide to involve yourself in those circles?”

I hadn’t thought about it in those terms, but I said, “That was simply coincidence. You haven’t mentioned that I’m a fugitive from justice in El Paso County, Texas, or that I live in a room over a blacksmith shop.”

“A silversmiths shop,” he corrected.

“Or that the Speaker of the Territorial Legislature tried to kill me.”

“Exactly my point,” he crowed. “How was it you gained such a powerful enemy? Did you set out to antagonize the most powerful elected official in the territory?”

I gave him a skeptical frown. “But that argues against your point, Mannie. I am not involved with anyone from the de Lorenzo family.” At least not outwardly, I thought to myself. But I knew I was counting the days to the end of Feliza’s mourning period. My mind constantly turned to her in quiet moments. And I was fully aware that the one thing that so enraged me about the orphanage in Romeo, and that allowed me to exact the terrible vengeance we had taken, was my constant thought of young Neto being caught in such a horrifying web of torment, torture, and murder. Even now I could feel the hot blood rising in my neck.

Mannie looked at me with the skepticism that one reserves for a small child caught with cookie in hand and yet denying having raided the cookie jar. He chided, “I know you are not fool enough to believe your own nay-saying, Judah. I would be willing to bet you have November the first circled in bold strokes on a calendar in your room.”

“Hah! A bet you would loose, Mannie.” In fact, I had drawn a box around that date. I was lost, and I knew it. I chose a strategic retreat.

I reached for my hat and said, “I need to come up with a wedding gift for Zeke and Marita. I’ll be either at the trading post or at Stillwell’s. I need to see Mister Stillwell anyway.” Then I hurried out the door.

I had been feeling some uncertainty now that the end of Feliza’s mourning period was at hand. I wasn’t at all sure exactly what to do. It hardly seemed proper to show up at the door, a bouquet of flowers in hand, bright and early on November first. But in my considerations, I had realized that Feliza was an attractive woman and would likely be subject to other suitors. While I had been made welcome by the family, I did not want to assume any privilege, nor did I want it to appear as if I thought I held a favored status. As I considered my options -- rather, as I tried to come up with some options -- I compared this situation to my courtship of Janie Tipton, almost ten years before. As I thought about it, I realized there had been no real courtship, at least none that might be considered customary.

After their Pa died, Janie moved to Texas, where Jordie and I were posted to Fort Davis. With Jordie’s agreement, Janie had sold the farm in South Carolina and had bought a house in the growing town adjoining Fort Davis. Janie lived there and Jordie and I stayed there when we were at the fort, he and I sharing a second bedroom. It was a small adobe structure of three rooms and an attached storage shed. Out back there was a small corral and a covered stall for the mule that pulled the buckboard Janie used to get around. She had also purchased the empty lot next door.

I considered Jordie more of a brother than just my best friend, and so I had thought of Janie more as a sister. The three of us got along well and I felt I had a real home, for the first time since leaving Ohio. It wasn’t until Janie had been there about a year and a half that Jordie said to me one day, “When are you going to marry that girl?” It was at that point that the fog cleared and I came to realize how precious Janie had become to me.

But the present situation was something much different. The current circumstances were highly public. The relationship between Janie and me was necessarily secret. That was due to the anti-miscegenation laws common in most of the states, including Texas. Those laws made marriage between the races, specifically the white and colored races, a criminal offense.

And so, on a week’s leave, Jordie, Janie, and I traveled the eighty miles to Presidio, Texas and crossed the international border into Ojinaga, Chihuahua. There, Janie and I were married by a Franciscan padre. Even then we couldn’t reveal our marriage to anyone. At the house, I simply changed bedrooms, moving in with Janie. Still, I kept my clothing and such in Jordie’s bedroom, maintaining the appearance that he and I still bunked together.

Major Lange had guessed at the purpose of our trip to Presidio and had given us an eight-day mantle clock as a gift. A few of the men we worked with organized a fiesta for an unspecified purpose. Janie was the presumed guest of honor and we were offered quiet congratulations and modest gifts. Remembering it all now brought tears to my eyes. I swiped at my eyes as I crossed the Taos plaza.

I arrived at Stillwell’s store to find both he and his clerk involved with customers, so I decided to come back later. I walked out to the south edge of town where the Guerrero trading post was located. It was known simply as the Taos trading post.

In recent years, it had been expanding more into tinned and dry foods, like rice and beans, but also crackers, coffee, tea, sugar, and flour. While many of those items had been stocked before, they now were a much more prominent part of the business, as opposed to the more common trading items -- blankets, firearms, tobacco, stew pots, axes, and shovels -- though such were still maintained.

Hector’s Uncle Antonio and Antonio’s son, Oscar, were filling orders for customers. I caught Antonio’s eye and pointed to the back room and he waved me through. In the back was a large shed used as a warehouse, both for sale goods and for those items taken in trade, such as skins, pelts, and craft-works like baskets, woven items, and pottery. One corner of the room was used as an office. Here I found Hector, seated before a large roll-top desk.

He turned to see who had come through the curtains that closed off the passage into the storeroom and a wide smile spread across his face as he rose to greet me, ignoring my outstretched hand and embracing me instead.

“Judah,” he said, “I’m glad you stopped by. I have something I want to talk to you about, but first tell me why you are here. How can I help you? Sit, sit. Would you like some coffee?”

Turning toward the pot-belly stove, I said, “Thanks, I’ll get the coffee. Can I refill yours?”

“No, thank you, I just poured this from a fresh pot.”

I sat down and sipped the coffee, which was still too hot, but I knew the Guerreros usually produced a good coffee. “Your coffee always tastes better than most,” I observed.

“Salt,” Hector said.

Salt?”

“Yes, salt. We put the smallest pinch in every pot. Just a bit, not enough to be tasted. But the salt reduces any bitterness.”

“Salt. Huh. Never would have guessed.”

“Besides enhancing flavor, salt can reduce the harsh and bitter taste in many foods. That is probably why one takes the salt before the tequila and the lime.”

“Never thought about that, either, but it makes sense. I’ll keep it in mind.

“Which brings me to the reason I came over. I need a gift for Zeke and Marita’s wedding and I have little idea what would be proper. The finest gift I received when I was married before was a mantel clock, but I just don’t know.”

“How much do you plan to spend?”

I shrugged, my face an uncertain grimace. “I won’t say cost is not a concern, but I have a few dollars in the bank, so I’m open to suggestions.”

“Normally household items, like the clock you mentioned, or pots and pans, even a table or an easy chair would be in order, but in that you would be competing with the Castellanos whom I am sure will completely furnish the house they are building on the estado (estate). And that doesn’t even begin to consider whatever Marita might still possess from her first marriage.”

I nodded. “That was the impression I had from talking with Señor Castellano the other evening. That’s why I don’t know what to give them. Janie and I treasured that mantle clock, though it was of rather plain and sturdy design, suitable to a soldier’s life of relocation. But I would not give Zeke and Marita something like that for fear they will already have something nicer.”

He nodded. “Yes, that would be a possibility.”

“If you don’t mind saying, have you decided what you are giving them?”

“Paulina is having a set of four nesting baskets woven by a basket-maker in Santa Fe. The design will be in stains known to be Marita’s favorite colors, rose and violet.”

Grinning, I asked, “And what about Zeke’s favorite colors?”

Grinning, too, Hector asked, “Do you know what they might be?”

“Probably steak and potatoes,” I quipped, adding a dismissive, “Favorite colors,” as we both chuckled.

He said, “But that gives me an idea. Hold on a minute.”

He got up and disappeared among the shelves and stacks of goods and piles and bales of hides and pelts in the warehouse. Shortly thereafter, I could hear the squeal of a wooden crate being pried open, and then the clink of bottles being handled, then another round of the same sounds. A minute after that, Hector reappeared carrying a narrow, wood-slat crate. He set it down on the seat of a chair and pulled the chair between us. He lifted the lid off the crate to reveal six bottles nested in straw in individual compartments, which were separated by more wooden slats.

Indicating the crate and its contents with his hand, Hector said, “This is from an estate sale in Las Vegas. It was an auction sale and the weather had turned bad, but I had gone down there just for the sale, so I went, despite the rain. There were hardly any bidders and I ended up with near a half boxcar load. It cost more to haul it back here than it did to buy. But we did well. Most was sold within six months and we quadrupled in profit what I had spent.

“Among the items, were several cases of wine and brandy. We’ve had some at home and it’s really good. Do you drink wine?”

“Sure I do, especially if there’s no beer, whiskey, lemonade, or water to be had.”

“So, a real connoisseur, then?”

“I was a Congregationalist when I was a kid. Not much of anything, now.”

Hector laughed. “Judah, my friend, you are a texano necultivat.” (uncultured Texan)

“Just spelling out my credentials.”

“Or lack thereof. In any event, the brandy is from a respected distiller in Spain, but the wine is bottled at a vineyard down by Socorro. All of us in the family enjoy them both and I would recommend this collection as a gift. There are four bottles of the wine and two of the brandy. I will see that the bottle necks are tied with different color ribbons, violet for the wine and rose for the brandy, and then we will paint the crate steak and potatoes. How does that sound?”

“Or maybe you could just have it stained a uniform dark brown.”

“Or we could do that.”

“How much?” I asked.

He glanced down at the crate for a moment, then looked up and said, “Five dollars.”

“Ribbons, paint, and everything?”

“I’ll even see that the lid is tacked down, but you must write the note to go with it.”

“It seems a generous price, Hector.”

“That’s because it is.”

“I can afford to pay what it’s worth.”

“Then that would deny me the pleasure of being generous to a friend.”

I looked at him a moment and then nodded, reaching across the crate to grasp his shoulder. He beamed a smile.

I said, “Do you have more of this good wine?”

“We do. Have you other gifts in mind?”

“No. I was thinking I might buy a bottle of good wine and a bottle of bad wine and see if I can tell the difference.”

“Just from buying it?” he jibed.

“Not at all. I was thinking of shooting the bottles to see which made the bigger splash.”

“That only works with beer, Judah.”

Chuckling, I said, “Do you have more of the wine or not?”

“Better than that, I have some decent but inferior wine that should be worthy of your test. If you’ll buy the two good wines for a dollar apiece, I’ll throw in the mediocre wine for free.”

“With different colored bows so I can tell them apart?”

“That would be another dollar each.”

“Boy-oh-boy, I got a better deal on that wedding gift than I realized.”

“Tell you what,” he said, reaching for some glasses on a shelf. “If you’ll take these to the well out back and wash them out while I collect the wine, you and I can sample them right now.” He handed me four small glasses and then reached into a flour sack and brought out a ragged piece of material. “You can use this to wipe them out.”

We both stood and went about our tasks.

A few minutes later Hector was working a corkscrew into the first bottle. I had used corkscrews, but to open whiskey or other products that came in corked bottles, like horse liniment, or some army food and medical supplies.

When he had both corks in hand, he explained, “you should always have a sniff of the cork to make sure the wine hasn’t gone bad. Wine bottles should be stored on their side, to keep the cork wet. If the cork dries out and shrinks, air can get in, the wine can spoil, even turn into vinegar. At home, one could simply tilt that crate at an angle, which is what you should do when we have it packaged. It doesn’t have to be flat on its side, but close to. Now, take a whiff of these, first one, then the other.”

I took the corks and held each, in turn, for a sniff. “Smells like wine.”

“Which is what you want. You can’t really tell quality from the cork. In fancy restaurants, the wine steward, called a sommelier, will first show the wine bottle to the host, ostensibly to see that it is the wine that was ordered. The host can take the bottle to inspect it further, if he wants to. If satisfied with the bottle, the host tells the sommelier to open it.”

For the next ten minutes, Hector explained wine etiquette to me. It reminded me of learning the rifle drill in the Army’s Manual of Arms -- what a rigmarole.

The, after all the holding to the light to see the clarity, and color, and how long it clings to the glass, then more swirling and sniffing, he finally allowed me to, not drink, but to “take the wine into my mouth.” There followed another ten minutes discussing the odors and flavors of the wine., earthiness, and floral notes, and hints of fruits, and nuts, and what-all. Who knew having a drink could be so much bother.

But it worked. I began to taste the wine, where, in prior encounters, I had simply drunk it. I could easily taste the richer flavors of the better wine while the lesser wine, though not bad, tasted somehow thinner and flatter, and a bit harsher on the back of the tongue. But it still would have been more fun to be drinking beer.

Setting his glass down, Hector said, “That’s enough of that. But there is something else I wanted to talk over with you.”

I had been curious since he’d mentioned it when I first arrived. “Go ahead, Hector, I’m interested to hear what you want to discuss.”

“It is not for general knowledge, but we -- Tio Antonio, Oscar, and I -- are planning to open a trading post in Abiquiu.” (EH-bih-kew) Abiquiu was a pueblo twenty-two miles by rail northwest of Española, situated on the Rio Chama. It was in Rio Arriba County, where Javier Prado was the sheriff. Abiquiu was some forty-four rail miles southeast of Tierra Amarilla, the county seat.

But I was surprised, not by the branching out, but by the location. “Abiquiu’s not much more than a village, at least that’s what it looks like from the train. Will you find sufficient trade there?”

He smiled. “You have put your finger on it: trade. Our plan is to operate the store exclusively as a trading post.”

“But still...,” I demurred.

He said, “What you do not realize is that Abiquiu is already a trading center for all of the Indios of central New Mexico. Even many Utes and some Navajo come there, many to winter over.”

“Really? Why there?”

“Abiquiu was one of the first settlements north of Santa Fe. A Franciscan priest brought a small group of Tewa Indios there in the seventeen forties after they fled from the Hopi in what is now Arizona Territory. Then, in the seventeen fifties, the governor of Nuevo Mexico gave a land grant to a group of Genizaro families who were to provide an outpost against the Comanche.

“Genizaro? Is that a tribe?”

“No. It is a term used to describe Indios who had been sentenced to long years of involuntary servitude after being captured in war. They were often offered a type of military service upon completion of their indenture, to settle in a frontier location, typically with a communal land grant for the outpost. After long years of indenture, usually far away from their homes, Genizaros identified more with one another than with their tribes, though their clan origins are not forgotten. In effect, towns like Abiquiu became a sort of neutral territory for different clans of Indios in general rather than the territory of a specific tribe.”

“This sounds like you are trying to sell me something, Hector. What is it?”

“I’m hoping to sell you a small piece of our business, Judah, to make you a junior partner.”

“You mean the new trading post in Abiquiu?”

“That would depend. You might buy into both this trading post and the new one. In other words, to buy into the trading post business that I am in with my uncle and cousin. Or you may invest in only the new trading post.”

“Oh. Wow. Do your uncle and cousin know--”

“Of course,” he said, before I completed the question.

“How much are we talking about?”

“How much can you afford?”

“It depends. What sort of return would I expect?”

He nodded, looking at me. “Last year, our profit was seven thousand seven hundred dollars. The year before it was six thousand seven hundred. In ‘eighty it was five thousand eight hundred. But there are no guarantees. And opening a new post will necessarily take a big bite from that amount, perhaps as much as half, depending on circumstances.”

“Can you put a value on everything the business owns?”

“As of last month, the Bank of New Mexico would loan us twelve thousand dollars based on eighty percent of our equity.”

“And did you take out a loan?”