Read The Rattlesnake Season Online
Authors: Larry D. Sweazy
The Rattlesnake Season (24 page)
“Take that out of my sight,” the woman said, pointing at the blanket that had covered the coffin all the way from Neu-Braunfels. “Burn it.”
“
Sí
,” the manservant said, nodding, backing away, sweeping up the blanket and stowing it behind him.
Sí
,” the manservant said, nodding, backing away, sweeping up the blanket and stowing it behind him.
The woman ignored Josiah and Scrap as the four Mexicans pulled the coffin off the wagon, then hefted it on their shoulders.
“Take him to the parlor and put him in the new coffin there. Then burn that one along with that sorry blanket. And for God’s sake, don’t let Pearl see the mortal remains of her father when you put him in the new coffin. She is nearly at her breaking point the way it is.”
No one said anything; all four men stiffened, then marched past the woman, carrying the coffin inside like they were instructed.
The woman, who was dressed head to toe in black widow’s weeds, stood back and watched the coffin pass by closely—without showing any emotion at all. She looked like she was judging the quality of craftsmanship applied to the hand-crafted box and wholeheartedly disapproved.
If the captain were alive and standing next to the woman, she would have towered over him by a good head and a half. She was tall and bony and had wiry gray hair pulled up on top of her head, bound in the back, and topped with a small black hat, the suitable veil of which was pulled up out of her face. Her cheeks were a little sunken, and her blue eyes were pale, the color of a robin’s egg.
Unlike her daughter, at least from a distance, the woman who Josiah assumed was the captain’s wife did look fragile, as if a touch to her face would cause her to shatter like the thinnest glass vase Josiah had ever seen.
He’d expected the woman to resemble Mayor Kessler in a recognizable way, since they were related, but she looked nothing like the earnest man who’d seen them out of Neu-Braunfels.
“You, sir, what is your function?” the woman asked Josiah.
“I am a Ranger who served under Captain Fikes. My name is Josiah Wolfe, ma’am.”
A quizzical look crossed the woman’s face, deep crevices furrowing her brow. “I do not know any Wolfes in Austin.”
“I hail from near Tyler. Seerville, actually. I have only come to Austin for the first time on this day.”
“I see.”
“I have a letter from Sergeant Feders.” Josiah pulled out of his pocket the letter that Feders had entrusted to him, and offered it to the woman.
She stared at him coldly. “For me?”
“If you are the wife of Captain Hiram Fikes.”
“I am.”
“Then I am very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” she snapped, taking the letter and shoving it into a hidden pocket of the black brocade garb she wore. “And you’re a Ranger, too, I suspect?” She directed the question to Scrap.
“I am, Mrs. Fikes. It was an honor to know the captain and serve under him, even though it was for just a short time. I just joined up with him a few weeks ago. I hope you will accept my sincerest sympathy.”
“Why, thank you, young man. Hank always did have a good eye for picking the right sort for his adventures.”
“Hank, ma’am?” Scrap asked.
“No one here ever called your captain Hiram. It was an offense to the ears and likely to get you taken out behind the woodshed for a set of lashings you’d soon not forget.”
Scrap smiled. “I am glad I never made that mistake.”
Josiah had never seen a more charming, warm side of Scrap Elliot. He wasn’t sure he recognized the well-mannered boy who was speaking. Scrap stood up straight, looked Mrs. Fikes in the eye, and actually acted like he had some sense. Wonders never ceased. Maybe there was hope for Scrap Elliot after all.
“And what shall I call you, young man?”
Scrap laughed. “Robert Earl Elliot. But folks all my life tagged me as Scrap if they were my friends. Scrap Elliot, ma’am, that’s what you can call me if it wouldn’t be too presumptuous to assume that we might become friends.”
“Lord knows I could use all the friends I can get at the moment.” Mrs. Fikes returned Scrap’s smile, then looked to Josiah. “You will need to rest your horses and clean yourselves up before getting on your way, I assume?”
“Sergeant Feders ordered us to be of service to you and your family, ma’am,” Josiah said. “We will stay here, unless you object, until we receive new orders.”
The woman studied Josiah and flashed another smile at Scrap. “Yes, Pearl might like the company. There is extra room for you both in the carriage house. Pedro will see to it that you are comfortable.”
The Mexican manservant nodded at Josiah, implying that he was Pedro.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Josiah said. “Again, I am very sorry for your loss. If there is anything I can do to ease your suffering, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Mrs. Fikes looked past Josiah at the group of horses tied to the back of the buckboard. “Is Hank’s horse there?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Josiah said. “That’s Fat Susie in the middle.”
“Good,” Mrs. Fikes answered over her shoulder as she made a quick turn toward the house. “Shoot her.”
CHAPTER 21
The carriage house was well appointed, and large enough for plenty of storage and repairs. It was bigger inside than most barns, and cleaner, too. A four-passenger surrey sat next to a calash with a leather folding top. Beyond the calash sat a platform spring wagon, similar to what Josiah called a buckboard.
Every inch of every buggy and wagon was without a speck of dust. A fella could have eaten off the freshly swept floor. It must have been a difficult, and surely a constant, feat keeping such a place so tidy, but there was no question that on the captain’s estate everything was kept in its place . . . even dirt.
Mrs. Fikes obviously ruled over the daily chores with an iron hand, had high expectations, and did not relent in her pursuit of those expectations. There were some similarities to the homes in Neu-Braunfels, now that Josiah thought about it. The captain’s wife sure seemed like a demanding sort.
Josiah hoped his stay in Austin would be short, hoped Feders would show up soon. It still amazed him that the captain’s home was so . . . grand. He had never taken Hiram Fikes for a wealthy man.
From the look of things, the captain had had no need to ride hard on the trail like he did—unless he just wanted to. How the money had been made to sustain a piece of property that was just shy of being considered a plantation was not immediately apparent . . . or really any of Josiah’s business . . . but it did make him wonder.
There were no crops or harvesting equipment to be seen. And the captain had never, in all of the time they spent together, even hinted at any means of making a living other than being a soldier and then a Ranger.
Josiah had only been on the estate less than an hour, and he’d already experienced far more discomfort than he’d ever expected to. There was no place he would fit in on the land Captain Fikes called home. The captain’s wife had looked at him like he belonged with the dirt. His place was as far away from Austin, and the estate, as possible.
Josiah stopped the buckboard just inside the double doors of the carriage house, and jumped down, glad to stand on two legs for more than a minute, glad to finally be free of the coffin, swarms of flies, and the ever-present smell of death.
“There are rooms in the back with fresh bedding, señor,” Pedro said, appearing out of the shadows from behind the buggy. “There is also a place to bathe out behind the barn. Hot water will be waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” Josiah said, setting about to release the trail horse from the buckboard’s harness.
“There is no need, señor, I have plenty of stable help here.”
Josiah looked at Pedro oddly. He may have looked a little like Juan Carlos, but his speech was more Anglo, his Mexican accent less defined, almost impossible to detect. “I was hoping to avoid having Fat Susie shot. She’s a good horse.”
Pedro lowered his amber brown eyes. “The captain made some choices that were not always welcome here. He chose poorly to pay reverence to an ill-reputed woman his wife despises.”
“I understand that, but she’s a good horse.”
“The madam has made her wishes known. I will have the horse taken care of, you need not worry about it.”
Footsteps came up behind Josiah—he whirled around and came face-to-face with Scrap.
“Am I interruptin’ something?”
Josiah shook his head no. “I’m just trying to save the captain’s horse.”
“I’ll shoot her,” Scrap offered happily.
Pedro turned his attention to Scrap, looked him up and down, kind of like Mrs. Fikes judging the coffin her husband had been brought home in. The result was the same. Pedro obviously wasn’t impressed with what he saw. His lip curled up, and his eyes hardened. “Ranger Wolfe and I will see that task through, señor. You should concern yourself with a bath. There’s a tub waiting behind the barn.”
Scrap glared at Pedro, then turned to Josiah. “Did a Mexican just tell me I stink?”
Josiah couldn’t contain the smile that rose to his face, or the laughter rising deep in his chest. “I think he did.”
“That’s not funny, Wolfe.”
“Damn, if it’s not.”
Pedro had stiffened. He had far more control of himself than Josiah did.
Scrap started to say something, then obviously thought better of it, and stomped off in the direction of the bath.
Josiah just shook his head, a smile still on his face. “I’m sorry about that, Pedro.”
“It is of no consequence, Ranger Wolfe. I have dealt with that all of my life, even though I was born and raised far from here. I was never a Mexican loyalist.”
“I am sorry about that, too.”
“Don’t be. I have had a very satisfying life serving the captain and his family.”
Josiah cocked his eyebrow, curious. “What do you know of Juan Carlos?”
Pedro sighed. “Juan Carlos, you know him?”
“He saved my life. They wanted to charge him with the killing of a man in San Antonio . . . the man he saved me from, so he had to disappear.”
“Disappearing is one of Juan Carlos’s many talents. It is a skill he had to develop a long time ago.” Pedro stepped in closer, lowered his voice. “You do not know about him and the captain?”
“Nothing, other than they were good friends.”
“Good friends.” Pedro chuckled, then stopped, looking over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone in the carriage house. “They were brothers. Same father. Different mother.”
“Brothers. I would have never guessed,” Josiah said. “I would have figured you and Juan Carlos were brothers, not Juan Carlos and the captain.”
Pedro chuckled again. “We are united only by our country of origin. I have long envied Juan Carlos, the errant brother, always in the captain’s shadow, protecting him, doing his bidding. He must be heartbroken that he was not there to save the captain in his hour of need.”
“I think he is,” Josiah said.
“Do you know where he is?”
Josiah shook his head no. “It was a good secret, their being brothers.”
“Only out of necessity, señor. The captain had ambitions. You must be aware of that. Having a half-breed brother reflects poorly on one’s position.”
“That explains a lot.”
“I expect you will not betray my trust? There are not many who know that truth.”
Josiah stroked his chin. “No, you have nothing to worry about from me.” He paused, then said, “I don’t mean anything by this, but you sure don’t talk like you look.”
Pedro nodded, and bestowed a genuine smile in Josiah’s direction. His white teeth, against his bronze skin, gleamed in the sunlight.
“The madam sent me east for schooling, once she determined I had an inclination for it. I spent six years in Dartmouth. It has been many years ago, and I have been loyal and thankful to the madam ever since. I still maintain my native tongue, though it is looked down upon. It is imperative to know the language here. But I, too, have to be aware of how my actions reflect on the madam and the captain.”
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