Beverly Byrne (22 page)

"Get
your clothes off," he said. "I want to have a good look at you."

"Why
are you so angry with me?" she whispered. "What I said that night, I
was desperate, frightened. Surely you can understand that."

"Oh,
yeah, I understand everything. You're my wife. Do what you're told."

She
unbuttoned the buff twill blouse. These days she wore it outside the skirt
because her waist was thickening rapidly. She removed both pieces of clothing
and stood in her panties and chemise.

"Everything,"
Tommy said. He slouched, arms folded, against the wall.

Amy
hesitated, then looked at Tommy's expression and thought of the whiskey bottles
still in the next room. She did as he asked.

"You're
showing quite a bit," Tommy said. "More than I remember the last
time. How far along are you?"

"Three
months." She tried to make her voice nor-mal, even bright. "The baby's
due in November. They say it always shows faster after the first time."

"I'm
glad, I like the look of you pregnant. I did before too. Just have to keep you
that way, I guess." He studied her small delicate feet and her slim
ankles. They looked whiter than ever against the dark earth floor.
"Barefoot and pregnant, like the old saying. "

She
started to say something, then gave up pretending that this was an ordinary
conversation. Instead she shivered.

Tommy
reached out and let his fingers trail over her skin. His hands had grown tough
with the efforts of the past month; she could feel his calluses.

"This
is what you're all about, sweetheart," he whispered. "Maybe the only
thing you're good for."

The
cot was a few feet behind them, and he pushed her toward it. "Lie
down."

"Tommy,
please don't act like this. I don't know what to think! The baby..."

"I'm 
not going to hurt the baby. I talked to that doctor in New York before we left.
He says it doesn't hurt the baby until just a few weeks before it's born."
He chuckled. "Like they say out here"-he mimicked the southwestern
drawl-"you just rest easy in your mind about that, ma'am."

He
leaned over her and put his hands on her belly and traced the outline of the
slight mound. "Nice," He said. "I like the way it feels. These
are nice too."

Her
breasts were swollen and tender with pregnancy. The nipples stiffened at his
touch.

"I
hate you," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I hate you. I'll make
you pay...."

She
was sobbing and the words choked in her throat.

With
a loud groan Tommy flung himself on top of her and entered her. She felt his
turgid member punishing her flesh. Quick hard thrusts assailed her, there was
nothing of love in them.

"Now
you understand," he hissed into her ear after his climax came. "Now
you know what you are. You're a whore, sweetheart. A beautiful, pregnant, part-Indian
whore. You don't want me, but you've got me. Me, not Luke. I'm going to make
sure you never forget."

She
woke soaked in perspiration and alone in the bed. For a few confused seconds
Amy thought it had all been a nightmare. The door of the shed was open. A spill
of sunlight across the floor illuminated her clothes, lying in a heap where she
had dropped them, and she knew the memory was true.

She
rose slowly, expecting to be sore and bruised. She wasn't. Her body exhibited
no reaction to the degradation so vividly remembered. She washed and dressed
and went outside to stir the embers of the cook fire. The sounds of Tommy's
exercises floated over the courtyard. She made coffee and eggs and bacon in a
rhythm dictated by the slap of weights hitting the patio floor.

Tommy
emerged. He walked briskly with almost no limp and toweled the sweat from his
face. "Don't fix any breakfast for Diego. He left at dawn."

His
voice betrayed no residue of last night's anger. It was simply calm and
detached. She tried to make hers match it. "Where did he go?"

"To
his pueblo. He's bringing a woman back. They should be here by lunch."

"What
woman? Why?" She put the eggs on a plate and the yolks broke and ran
yellow over the chipped crockery.

"I
don't know her name. Some aunt of his. Jesus, aren't you ever going to learn to
fry an egg without breaking the yolk?"

"Why
is he bringing her here?"

"So
there'll be someone with you. Diego and I are riding out. We're going to check
the boundary. All of it. And see what we can find of the cows. It's just a
preliminary look. We'll need more men to do it right, but I want to see for
myself first. "

"I 
don't need anyone with me. How long will you be gone?"

"A
week, ten days maybe. You can't be alone that long. Have to look after my
investment." He reached out and patted her stomach. The gesture was almost
tender. She stared at him and tried to read some explanation in his familiar
face. Maybe it had all been a dream after all.

Tommy
pretended not to understand the question in her eyes. "Besides," he
added, "maybe this aunt of Diego's knows how to cook. We'll all die from
malnutrition if she doesn't. You have charm, Mrs. Westerman, but a chef you
definitely are not."

She
picked at the eggs on her plate and felt nauseated. "We can't afford to
hire servants."

There
was a long silence, during which he set down his food with slow precise
motions. "I thought we settled all that last night. I'm just going to say
this once more, sweetheart, so you better listen hard. I decide what we do and
when we do it from now on. You look beautiful and have babies. And while we're
on the subject, stop wearing those goddamn trousers. Next time I see them I'll
burn them. Do you understand?"

She
looked up at him. His face had become sun-burned, and his freckles stood out
with greater prominence. They were the only reminder of the boy who had carved
the names of her parents on the church wall in Cross River. Apart from them the
man staring at her so intently was a stranger. "Yes," she whispered.
"I understand."

Maria,
Diego's aunt, was short and round, with long black braids and a face that
betrayed neither age nor emotion. But she had kind eyes, and competence. Amy
swiftly became accustomed to having her around. Maria made herself sleeping
space in one of the unused outbuildings, and took over the more onerous
household tasks. Amy felt relief, but had more time to brood.

Tommy
wasn't drunk when he did it
, she kept thinking.
He said those things and
used me that way and he was sober.
It was a recurrent pain, an ache of
despair and humiliation that would not go away. Two or three times each day of
Tommy's absence she heated a pan of water and went behind the shed to scrub her
skin; as if she could wash away what had happened. Maria expressed no surprise
at this passion for cleanliness, but Amy realized that she was making more work
for the woman. The water butt emptied fast, and Maria had to go to the well and
haul back buckets with which to refill it. Amy returned to one bath a day.

On
the evening of the eleventh day the men returned. Tommy slid from his horse,
and there was a brief moment when Amy thought him drunk. It was only
exhaustion. He staggered to the cook fire and accepted the mug of coffee she
poured.

"How
did it go?" she asked.

"Not
bad. No, better than that, it went well." His face was seamed with
tiredness and dirt, and his clothes were covered in a thick layer of dust. He
had a cut on one cheek. "You're improving," he said as he drained the
coffee.

"Not
me, Maria made it. I'll heat some water for a bath."

He
emerged from behind the shed in twenty minutes, refused anything to eat, and
went inside. Amy followed him. He was sprawled on the cot, arms folded behind
his head, eyes closed. "I'll let you sleep," she said and turned to
go.

"No,"
he said. "I'm too keyed up for that. I want to talk to you."

She
sat on a rickety stool and leaned her back against the adobe wall. Suddenly she
felt tired too.

"The
land is wonderful, in some places it's fantastic," he said. "There's
plenty of decent grazing in the high ground to the east. The first thing we
have to do is get a fence around the whole place."

"Can
we?"

"Yes,
why not? The only problem's money. That's one of the things I want to tell you.
There's no more than four thousand left of our working capital. I spent the
rest in Albuquerque, don't ask me how."

"I
wasn't going to ask."

"The
fence will cost a lot," he said. "I've decided to sell off what cows
we have."

"Did
you find them?"

 "We
saw a couple of herds. There's probably not more than a thousand left. The way
things have been around here they were easy prey for any two-bit rustIer that
cared to try his luck. That's spilt milk, what we need now is a quick sale of
what we have."

"Can
you get it?"

"Yes.
I've been in touch with Washington. The government is buying all the food it
can get its hands on. They'll take whatever we can round up, at thirty dollars
a head. It's not a good price, but it's fast, sure money. Lucky for us they
decided to have a war."

"And
afterward?"

"We
hire a crew, build the fence, and buy in more stock. We'll keep a few of our
original herd for breeding. They were a great strain in their day." He
turned and propped himself on his elbow and lit a cigarette. Every time he drew
on it Amy could see his eyes in the glow. It made him seem to approach and
recede in the dark.

"I've
spoken to some men in Kansas City. In the future we'll breed and raise our
cattle, and sell them after three years. It's the only thing that makes sense
in a country like this. The guys I'm in touch with have feed lots. They can
fatten the cows for market. The housewife back east gets juicy corn-fed beef,
and we get a quick turnover and low overhead."

Now
she understood all the hours he had spent brooding, and the unexplained trips
to Santa Fe. "It's a good plan. You've spent a long time thinking it out,
haven't you?"

"Yeah.
Then, when I found out I couldn't drive the flivver around the spread, I
thought we were beaten. Sorry about the hiccup in production."

Amy
started. They were the same words the nurse had used in the hospital in New
York. She pressed her hands over her belly and felt the child stir. "It doesn't
matter as long as it comes right in the end."

"Agreed."
He stretched and stood up. "There are places out there, miles from
anywhere, so beautiful it hurts to look at them."

"I
know," she said.

He
lit the oil lamp and looked at her in its dull glow. "Yeah, you knew right
away. From the time you saw the picture in the library book." He looked
around, as if seeing the shed for the first time. "I'll get you out of
here as fast as I can. But the cattle have to take priority."

Amy
watched him lift a jug and start for the water butt.

"Tommy,"
she called softly. "The things you said the night before you left, the
names you called me ... why?"

He
paused with his back to her, then continued walking; pretending he hadn't heard
and limping heavily.

The
next morning the gum tree bloomed.

For
once Amy woke first. She slipped from the narrow bed and looked at Tommy in the
gray light of early dawn. He slept on, his breath deep and even. She crept
quietly to the dead embers of the cook fire. Not even Maria was up yet. Amy
found a little luke-warm coffee still in the pot.