Chapter 23

Padre Enrique Lopez, the aging Franciscan priest who was the curate at Saint Francis Xavier church and who provided mission services to Ranch Home, Texas Bend, Utica, and Kylie, presided at the memorial mass and funeral oration for Tian Wu. Father Drew Jones, the pastor, a man of unapologetic anti-Chinese opinions, had forbidden the choir or organist from providing accompaniment in any form. In fact, he had nearly forbidden admission of any Chinese to the church building, including the decedent’s body, only relenting when Lopez cast a knowing eye between Jones and their comely housekeeper.

So, when the pastor heard the organ playing for the early afternoon funeral service, he stormed out of the rectory and slammed through the church’s main doors, striding noisily up the open stairway to the choir loft, causing many of the assembled congregants to turn in an attempt to discover the source of the disturbance. In the loft, Jones was taken aback to find Christina Malik at the organ’s keyboards, playing the somber notes of the Dies Irae. Jones slid to a halt, his leather shoes failing to take immediate purchase on the polished adobe floor. Christina smiled innocently at him and he choked back the screaming rebuke he had prepared for whomever had displayed the audacity to defy him.

Jones’s problem was that the Maliks and Jacob Baylor, the two surnames to which Christina was most directly linked, provided nearly eighty percent of the parish’s operational support, including his own stipend, and ninety percent of its building maintenance fund. While he took a twisted pleasure in assigning those family members the most tedious penances when they were unfortunate enough to find him on the other side of the confessional screen, he dare not confront them directly. His smile to Christina hinted at the sour burn in his throat but the look he shot at his curate, Lopez, standing peacefully in the sanctuary, gave clear warning of the bile rising in his gorge.

Lopez, looking directly at the pastor, took that moment to intone, “Brothers and sisters, we are gathered here in the love of Jesus...”

“Sorry for spoiling your holiday, but I didn’t want all of you to arrive and be caught off guard by what’s happened here,” Malik said to the Rademachers and the Garcias after the burial service. Malik was referring to the letter he had sent to the depot at Fort Birney for delivery to Andy and the others that morning, as they journeyed toward Waypoint.

They had joined most of the other mourners at the Old Courthouse Inn’s large private dining room, where people had been invited following the service, after the fashion of a wake. It was a notably subdued gathering, with quiet talk and no laughter, in deference to the Chinese mourners, whose funerary customs were unknown to the westerners. Outside the Inn, four uniformed K&ASR railroad police officers watched all sides of the building. Two other officers were patrolling the town, assisting two sheriff’s deputies on special duty. Eight railroad policemen had arrived with the southbound. They were under the command of Sergeant Wayne Dewitt, who was with Sean Edwards coordinating their plans.

Andy had explained that, starting the next day, Tuesday, two officers would remain in Waypoint and the six others would patrol the railroad’s constructions sites in Franklin, Jackson, Mesa, Independence, and Sonora Counties. They had brought horses and two dedicated livestock cars so that they could travel by both rail and on horseback. A locomotive with tender and two crew cars would arrive later tonight for the use of the railroad coppers.

Esteban Valdez and Denis Byrnes, two of the semi-retired Malik partners who served as constables, were still at the Malik ranch. They had recruited two aof the younger hands as assistants and had paired up to keep an eye on both Ranch Home and the temporarily vacant Chinese homes at Summer Lake.

Summer Lake, Andy had explained, was the new name the K&ASR had chosen to replace the prosaic Ranch Home Siding. The name change, occurring now, before the tracks reached the site and schedules and operating orders were printed, was more easily accomplished. The siding and depot were, in fact, a mile below the Summer Lake dam and on the south side of the Rio Isabella, but it was a clear reference to the agricultural area that was important to that burgeoning Chinese community on the north side of the Rio.

In Waypoint, a number of businesses had closed for the day at noon, so that even those not directly acquainted with Tian Wu could demonstrate their solidarity with the Chinese immigrants. The bank, the Isabella saloon, Baylor’s store, the Waypoint Bakery, the school, the Malik ranch office, the saddle shop, the Golden Spike Saloon, and several others had closed, though the saloons would reopen at five.

Chinese families had brought covered dishes to contribute to the table; most of the other offerings had been prepared by Sara Lewin and her high school students. Among the popular Chinese dishes were several varieties of fried rice, barbecued pork, and spring rolls.

Folks relaxed as the afternoon advanced, with more visiting, some going out of their way to meet those of the other race. There was even some laughter. Tian Wu’s daughters were playing with some of the other children, including some white youngsters.

About three o’clock, many of the Chinese families left, as they had over thirty miles of travel to get home. Most had been transported in wagons supplied by the railroad construction crews and the Malik ranch. Tian Wu’s daughters left with Dr. Lee and his new wife, in the buggy that had been a wedding gift from the Maliks. Four of the railroad policemen went along with the Chinese, who wouldn’t be arriving home until well into the night.

Some of the Ranch Home people had traveled in the two Abbot and Downing Concord coaches that the Malik ranch had recently purchase for the planned coach service between Ranch Home and Waypoint. Others had come on horseback or in personal buggies, buckboards, or wagons. All had all left by four.

Christina and Matilda brought the babies with them from the ranch, in a fully-enclosed Concord coach that the brothers had purchased for family use at the same time they purchased the semi-enclosed coaches for the town run. Wren accompanied them and had stayed with the infants at the Inn during the funeral, though all three women and the babies attended the wake at the Inn. They would stay over so that Christina and Matilda could attend the peacekeepers meeting the following evening.

While the ladies retired to the Inn to bathe both the children and themselves. Malik and his brother, followed by Lee Jin, went to his office car.

After mounting the steps, Malik turned to Lee Jin and said, “My friend, I need to speak privately with my brother. Would you please wait out here until we are finished?”

“Yes. Wait. Brother talk good.”

Malik led Andy through the car, closing doors behind them as they went. In the bunkroom, Malik pulled a blanket from the bed and spread it on the floor of the narrow passage next to the bunks. He knelt down facing his brother and sat on his heels at the far end and invited Andy to do the same at the other. Then he reached under the bunk and pulled out Volkov’s carpet bag.

He said, sotto vocé, “This is Volkov’s. I took it from his room late Saturday ... well probably early Sunday morning. He’s buried beneath Tian Wu. Peng knows.”

Andy regarded his brother for a moment, then, speaking just as quietly, he said, “Peng knows? How?”

“When I finished burying him, I looked up, and there she was.”

“When was this?”

“Must have been pushing twelve-thirty Sunday morning.”

“Did Volkov kill Tian Wu?”

“No, but he ordered it done and he stood lookout. The man that killed her died in the Fort Birney rail yards Saturday night. He supposedly fell asleep drunk on the tracks and had various body parts cut off by the trains.”

“Yeah, they were talking about that up there.”

“I’m pretty sure he was killed with the same hatchet he used on Tian Wu.”

“What? By who?”

“I don’t know. Some Chinese, I presume.”

“How did you find out?”

“Lee Jin. Though he didn’t actually say the man had been murdered. But I have no doubt.”

“He doesn’t know about Volkov, does he?”

“I don’t think so. Not from me, in any event. Only you, me, and Peng, as far as I know.”

“What’s the story with her?”

Malik looked down and shook his head. “It was something of a confrontation, though brief and very quiet. She threatened me with a sword,” he touched the scab on his neck, “and I told her to grow up. Haven’t talked to her since.”

“How did she find out?”

Malik shrugged. “She just showed up at the grave. I insisted the grave be dug on Saturday, told the sexton I was worried about rain. They put a canvas cover over it, which worked well for me while I questioned Volkov. But maybe my insistence made her suspicious, if she somehow got wind of it. They live just past the cemetery, you know.”

“I forgot. So what did Volkov have to say?”

“He named his union contact, said the guy knows all about his tactics. He gave me the names of all of his men who have been involved, even the two who showed up and left again on Sunday when they couldn’t find him. He said Cable Aldecott’s been paying for all his agitating, in return for promised favors and money from the union.”