“What you receive is like the outlines in a child’s coloring book. You must fill in the colors yourself.
“I hope, in these classes, to give you an idea of where you came from, how you got here, and what has been said about it.”
When we started to leave the room, I found Meghan beside me. She looked around at me and said, “What do you think of him? Of Mr. Fraser?” “I like him. I think he wants to be a writer.”
“I wonder where he went to school?”
“In Scotland, I believe. He is Scottish,” I said. Then, fearful of seeming to know too much about him, I added, “Fraser is a Scottish name.” This was one of the first times Meghan had struck up a conversation with me yet I was worried. I did not want to be talking about him because if I seemed to know too much it might start somebody thinking and wondering how I knew. “Your father is a captain of a ship?” I said.
“Yes. Only he says he is the master. He does not use the word ‘captain.’ He sails to China,” she added. “And he has been around the Horn several times.” I said nothing to that. She glanced at me. “You are from the East?”
“Most of us are. I mean, unless we are Spanish.”
“My father thinks you are an interesting boy.”
Startled, I said, “Your father? He does not know me!” “He has seen you. And I have told him about how well you read. He says you remind him of someone.”
Suddenly I was scared. I wanted to talk to her but I was afraid of what she might ask, and I did not want to lie.
“I have to read well,” I explained. “I work at the book shop for Miss Nesselrode.”
“Papa said he would like to meet you someday. He said I must bring you home sometime.”
“I’d like that,” I said.
We had come to a corner. “I’ve got to go to the shop now,” I said. “I promised to help.”
We parted there, but as I turned away I saw Rad standing across the street, glaring at me. Once, when I looked back, he was still standing there, but Meghan had gone on home.
Miss Nesselrode was donning her hat when I came in. “I have to go out for a few minutes, Johannes. Will you mind the shop?”
She left and I gathered up some scattered newspapers and rearranged them, straightened books on the shelves, and had just taken down Pym when the door opened. It was Fletcher.
He was better dressed than he had been in the wagon, and his beard was trimmed carefully now and he had a sense of confidence about him, and seemed less surly. “How are you, boy? Long time since we come west together.”
“Is there something you want?”
He smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile. “Your pa got killed,” he said. “I guess he wasn’t so handy after all.”
“There were a lot of them!” I said. “There were too many of them.” “Maybe … maybe there was.” He grinned at me. “You got a nerve, boy, stayin’ here in town with those about who’d like you dead.” My heart began to beat heavily. I was frightened. Yet I tried not to let him know.
“I been watchin’, boy. Don’t you think I’ve forgotten.” Suddenly he leaned his hands on the desk. “I never liked you, boy, nor your pa either. He thought himself too good.
“Well, he’s gone, but I got you. I got you right where I want you, and when it’s worth my while, I’ll do something about it.
“That Nesselrode woman, how. What’s she up to? I figured she was comin’ west to catch herself a husband, but now I ain’t so sure. Not if what I hear is true.” I said nothing, but I was hoping she would not come back, not now. There was a pistol in the desk drawer. I wondered if I could get to it quick enough. “I hear she’s been dealin’. Makin’ herself some money. Makes me wonder what she’d pay to keep me quiet about you.”
“Me?” I tried to speak very casually, carelessly. “Why would she pay for me? I was an orphan and she took me in. Gave me a home.” I looked up at him. “I work for her.”
Taking up some books, I returned them to the shelves. “You must be crazy,” I said. “She took me in because I didn’t have a home. If you asked her for money, she would just laugh and then she’d probably turn me out. She’d think I was too much trouble.”
When I returned from the shelves, I walked right to the desk. He was close to me but I was also close to the gun. He was scowling now and I think what I said had made him doubt. “Nobody cares about me.” I tried to sound bitter. “She’s the only one who’s treated me decent.”
“Maybe.” He took out a cigar and lighted it. “That house, now, the one down in the desert? That belong to your pa?”
“We stayed in it. That’s all.”
“I been wonderin’ about that. Comin’ by there a while back, I saw a light in the window. Thought at first it was you, but it wasn’t, I couldn’t get close enough to see, but there was somebody in there, somebody big.” He scowled as if puzzled. “Real big.”
My heart was pounding now but I tried not to seem interested. “Some of the Indians stay there sometimes when they are in from the desert,” I said. Suddenly his manner changed. He smiled in what he probably believed was a friendly manner. “Aw, forget it, kid! I was just funnin’ with you! Matter of fact, I thought your pa was quite a man. Quite a man.” He glanced around. “Now, a boy like you, in a place like this, he could make himself a bit of money now and again.”
He took his cigar from his mouth and leaned closer. “You an’ me, we come over the trail t’gether. We’re friends. If you was to hear some talk, somethin’ about business deals, somethin’ like that, and if you was to tell me…” He knocked the ash from his cigar and put it back in his teeth. “More’n that, there’s talk of rebellion. Talk of the Yanks comin’ out here. That there Wilson, he’d know about that. Or Stearns. He’s supposed to be a Mexican citizen, but… You hear anything, boy, you come to me. You tell me what you’ve heard, an’ I’ll pay.”
He grinned at me from around his cigar; then he winked.
“Pards, that’s what we are! Pards! You an’ me!”
“Miss Nesselrode will be coming back in a minute,” I said. He went to the door. “All right, I’m goin’, but you remember!” He went out and the door closed behind him.
Twenty-five
Often at night we heard gunshots. Usually they were from Sonora Town, but that did not mean the antagonists were always Mexican or Californio. Just as often, in proportion to their numbers, they were Anglos. Killings were frequent; knifings and cuttings of varying degrees took place almost every day. Occasionally groups of vaqueros from one of the nearby ranches would come galloping down the street to swing down at the nearest cantina and troop inside, spurs jingling and jangling.
Women did not walk on the streets after sundown unless going to or from a fandango or balie, and then they were usually accompanied by someone of the family. Yet one night, awakening suddenly when it was almost midnight, I heard voices from the outer room.
Surprised, and a little anxious, I listened. But toe voices were those of women.
“I have come to you for help. There is no one else.”
“Of course, Dona Elena. How may I help you?”
“I do not know of business. Of things with money. My people do not think of money. We … we exchange. One thing for another, you see? You have the shop. The place of the libros, the books.
“I know nothing, but it has been said that sometimes you do business. I do not know of this. There is a woman with a cantina toward San Pedro. She speaks of you with admiration.”
“What is it you wish?”
“I wish to use money. I wish to do business. I wish to be rich from my money.” Miss Nesselrode was hesitating, but finally she said, “Always there is risk. If one would make money, one must be prepared to lose, also.” “This I understand. It is like gambling, I think. It is like the cards. Sometimes they fall one way, sometimes another. I know nothing of business, but I think you do.”
“What of your brother?”
“He knows nothing. He thinks of nothing. He would despise me if he knew. He would not allow it. He borrows money, but has contempt for those who lend. He is hidalgo. He will pay when he wish. Nobody will ask that he pay.” “The Yankees will ask. They will insist.”