Chapter 4

"What do you mean you plan to use MY house?" Howard's voice challenged Santos.

"Ah, I am to meet my associates. I like the use of this house. I would let you think, perhaps, some people my coyotes bring, come into the house. Of this, you would not know. It has been done here before, yes?"

Gail could see the muscle in Howard's lower jaw clenching, between words, as he said, "Santos, my wife is recovering from a miscarriage. Have your meeting somewhere else."

"No, I think I use the house. It is special house to me, no? You would not enjoy for me to give these men the fun of target practice. Blood makes much mess. I would enjoy a time in the bed with this one," he said, pointing to Gail. "But I think I wait for her to be well, is that not so? I like you. You can take the wife to town. You come another day, eh."

From the back, Gail saw Howard's shoulders stiffen, much as they had done when Billy approached. Then he relaxed and said, nonchalantly, "Okay, we'll go."

Howard turned and offered a hand to Gail, helped her stand up, his arm around her to make sure she wasn't wobbling, and walked her through the house, grabbing his clothes off the back of the kitchen chair. As quickly as she dared, without looking to either side, Gail walked out the door and with Howard's help stepped up into the front passenger seat of her truck.

After closing the car door, Howard walked around the front of the truck and stopped by the driver's front fender. Gail saw him grin and heard his muffled call to the man standing in the doorway of his house, "Hey Santos," he paused a moment until Santos walked out the door. "Don't mess up my house, okay?"

"Howard, is smart of you, attention you give to your business. My attention I give to my business. I know where you live." Santos laughed, blew a kiss to Gail, and turned his back, going back inside Howard's house.

As soon as they are driving away, Howard took his eyes off the dirt road for a moment to look at Gail. Her face was so white he was worried she might faint. Neither of them spoke until they reached the main highway.

Gail, her voice trembling with fright, asked, "What are you going to do?"

Howard looked at her for just a moment, a little color was returning to her face. "I'm taking you to my Aunt Jean."

"I mean about ... that man ... that man back there ... Howard, he's going to..."

"Gail, there is nothing I can do. I told you, I'm not the Border Patrol and I'm not Homeland Security. As much as I want to call Frank and about twenty other men I know, all that would do is put all of us in prison."

"But that man back there..."

Howard stopped her. He hated it, but he could do nothing. He tried to explain about the problem of illegal immigration. There weren't enough Border Patrol agents. They might apprehend a few, deport them, but they came back again, and again, and again.

Railroad cars, coming from Central America were covered with those men, riding on top of the cars, hanging onto the sides, all traveling north, seeking something better for themselves and their families, or looking for their associates involved in illegal activities. Similar to the opposite way a funnel works, those people, for the most part men, went to Los Angeles, where they joined gangs. They crossed into Arizona, simply by walking across a field of brush then stepping over a simple barbed wire fence. They would walk, wade, swim, or use motorboats to cross the Rio Grande River and could fan out across the entire United States, blending in with others like them, some legal residents, some not.

Although he may not have appeared so, Santos Aguirre was an American citizen. What good would it do to report Santos's meeting? Santos did not break into the house. He walked to the door, greeted Howard, and walked inside, as if he were a well—known friend and neighbor. Howard left Santos inside the house, so he could take Gail to town. His remarks were not much more blatant than those Billy used at Scooters, Saturday night, just more suggestive—and although insulting, they were not an actual threat. Later today, if a few friends, driving down the road to see Santos, discovered he was visiting a friend and stopped for a chat, it would be nothing uncommon. Even if a local Deputy Sheriff drove by, he could do nothing to stop a conversation between friends.

When Gail raised the question of the armed men, Howard explained. Did she really think any of those men would allow themselves to be seen by anyone in law enforcement? And if they did, the Deputy Sheriff or Border Patrol agent would likely not be alive by sundown. The problem with weapons in the hands of those men was far overshadowed by all the other illegal immigrants in small towns. They carried a weapon, ready for use against a law enforcement officer, either because they feared a policeman would treat them as they were treated in their own country, or because they were simply a criminal, like many citizens, who would rob, kill, rape, get drunk, and then kill people with their cars.

Could Howard do anything? Not much. Although some tried, they were often harassed, some were killed, and they, along with all Americans, suffered from the expense of illegal entrants coming to the promised land.

"Gail, I know people who don't live near the border don't understand. But I live with it every day. I may not say much, but it angers me—and a lot of people like me. We wish something could be done. But until then, we will live with it and fight the battles we have a chance of winning."

"What battles can you win?"

"Sorry, I don't talk about that, and neither does anyone involved. All you need to know is that you are safe. I will take care of you."

Howard's aunt was a woman, Howard described, so much like his mother he was often tempted to call her Mom instead of Aunt Jean. She had many features similar to Howard's brother, Frank. She was slender, tall, long limbed, and had a long wide forehead above her twinkling blue eyes.

"You sure timed your visit well," Aunt Jean said as she opened her front door to Howard's knock. "Frank was here yesterday to cut up that fallen limb in the back yard."

"Hi Aunt Jean" Howard grinned as he kissed her on the cheek. "I'm the smart nephew, remember. This is Gail Fisher. I need you to take care of her a few days for me."

"Well come in, both of you." She stepped back and smiled at Gail, then turned to Howard. "Ah ha, so this is the pretty little thing Frank said you were dancing with at Scooter's the other night. You two created quite a stir."

"How did you hear about it?" Howard grinned at Gail as he followed his aunt into her living room.

"Oh, I have my ways, and a few friends who gossip like nothing you would believe. No, Billy's grandmother came by, said you apologized for trying to kill her grandson and he forgave you, just so he could dance with Gail."

"Aunt Jean, Gail needs to be in bed, she spent yesterday afternoon in the hospital."

"Well goodness gracious, why didn't you say so, instead of letting me talk like I don't have a lick o' sense. Come on, she can stay in the front room." The older woman led them into the hall to a bedroom where she threw back a beautiful hand—crocheted bedspread and turned down the thin blanket and top sheet. "You get on that bed, honey, and rest. I'll have Howard tell me what to do to help you."

For a few minutes, Gail heard their mumbled voices coming from somewhere in the house, and then she was asleep.

In her half—asleep, half—awake dozing state of a late morning nap, Gail re—heard the conversation she'd had with the manager of the apartment complex where she lived.

"What do you mean, you're moving out?"

"Mister Collins, my lease is up and I'm not going to sign another one year lease."

"My goodness Gail, you've been here for five years. If one of the other apartment complexes is giving you a good discount, I might be able to cut you a little slack. I know you've had a tough time in the past. I'll help you all I can."

"No, I don't think so. I'd just like to have my security deposit back."

"Oh, now, I don't know about that. Security deposits are only given back after the apartment is inspected."

Gail leaned over the desk and said, quietly, "Mister Collins, I've never reported to the management company that you have entered my apartment three times while I was there, without knocking or notifying me in advance. I think you just need to write a check for the security deposit and I'll leave. Huh, don't you think that would be better?"

"Well, I guess I can get a check for you, at least by the end of the month. Or, give me a forwarding address and I'll mail it."

"Mister Collins, I'd like that check today, like right now. I think you can do that, don't you? It would certainly be easier than if I called the management company and told them you offered to excuse my late fees if I would let you watch me take a shower."

When she was awake again, she realized she had been dreaming about her final conversation with the apartment manager. She still hadn't written the letter to the management company and wasn't sure she even wanted to. It was late in the afternoon, well past the heat of the day, and a quietly rumbling window fan was blowing toward the floor.

After a visit to the bathroom, Gail walked into the living room and found the older woman quietly rocking in a chair with pieces of colored fabric spread across her lap. She said she was sorting squares for a new quilt top.

After her explanation of her sewing project, Aunt Jean looked at Gail, "I thought Howard said you were supposed to be in bed."

"Yes, that's what the doctor said," Gail answered. "I wanted to thank you for taking me in."

"You're welcome. Now go back to bed and I'll bring us a glass of iced tea and we can get ourselves acquainted. Howard didn't say you can't talk, just that you're supposed to lie on your back as much as you can."

For the next hour, the two women talked quietly. Gail learned Jean was the older sister of Howard's mother. Never blessed with children of her own, she was frequently around Howard, Frank, and their younger sister, Marie.

"Oh I haven't heard about Marie. Where does she live?"

"Honey, Marie lives in Heaven. She decided she didn't want to live with us poor mortals anymore."

"You mean she killed herself?"

"Yes, she did. It must have been at least ten or twelve years ago or maybe a little more. See, she was raped, not a lot of people knew about it. One of them illegals got to her when she was out at the ranch, working her horse. She didn't say a thing about it for a few weeks. When she found out she was pregnant, she just couldn't live with it. We sure would have helped if we'd known, but she didn't say anything."

Gail felt the tears form in her eyes, much as they did in Aunt Jean's eyes. "How horrible. How can Howard even stand to look at that house?"

"Well, Howard's the one that found her, you see," Jean explained. "Their folks was out at the ranch and Frank was off with his friends, I guess. She went home after school, filled the bathtub, and then slit her wrists. It really tore him up."

"I can imagine." Gail nodded, thinking about the things he had said about taking care of her.

"Oh, Howard's mom always said he's a bear, but he's really a teddy bear. He just works hard at not letting anybody see it. Well, my goodness, here I am talking your leg off and I need to quit. He's coming for supper. I got stew cooking, guess I'll go make the cornbread. It's a little hot to heat up the kitchen, but he sure does like my cornbread."

When Howard walked in late in the evening, he kissed his aunt on the cheek and asked, "How's my two best girls?"

Jean answered, "This old bag of bones is just fine, and that pretty one is too. She's been in bed since you left. Go see her. It's lonesome when there's no one to talk to and you aren't sick enough to sleep."

Howard stood in the doorway to Aunt Jean's front bedroom and braced his arm on the facing. "That is a very inviting pose, Miss Gail. It's a shame we aren't alone, I might join you."

"You look tired, Howard. I'll move over and share the top of my wall with you, if you're in danger of falling. What have you been doing all day?"

"Well, let's see, I worked a few 'ours," Howard said, sounding like an uneducated country hick. "I rousted Frank outta bed, sleeps too much anyhow. Billy 'uz out to his dad's place, he ken go ahead an' put tha tractor tire back on tomorrey. Took us couple o' hours to locate most o' his buddies. Then we had us a ride up and down a country road 'er two, whooping, hollering, shooting our pistols, throwing empty beer cans we found 'round Scooters. Couple of them guys did some target practice and we just had ourselves a high ol' time, we sure did."

"Howard, I know you're not a hick, so just tell me in plain English, huh?"

Howard walked over and sat on the side of the bed, picked up Gail's hand, and turned it palm up to trace up and down her fingers. "We were just delivering a message. If the men who come to visit Santos know there are some wild young men in town, they might take their business elsewhere. Then Santos would need to go meet them. We're not always successful, but sometimes we are. Gail, I told you I would take care of you."

"Howard," she grabbed his hand and held on. "Please don't put yourself and Frank in danger because of me. Please."

Howard leaned over and kissed her cheek, and then straightened up, placed the palm of his hand against her cheek. "Sweetheart, every one of us is in some kind of danger simply because we live this close to the border. But this is our country and we will not give them free rein to take it away from us."

After two more days in bed, and another two days of spending at least half the time in bed, Gail was sitting on the front porch with Aunt Jean, who would not allow Gail to call her by any other name. They were sewing the small fabric squares onto the growing quilt top. Gail looked up as a sleek black sport utility vehicle drove down the street. The vehicle went to the end of the block, turned around in the intersection, and then came back to stop on the wrong side of the street, at Aunt Jean's front sidewalk.