Light changes everything, p.5
Light Changes Everything, page 5
It was plumb dark as pitch when I got back to the library, but I lit a kerosene lantern and put it on a safe shelf near me, and kept my pistols near as I lay down. It was a quiet night.
CHAPTER FIVE
I’d gotten a bed in a huge room lined with stacked-up beds, and though the one on the bottom was empty, a girl in the bed next to mine told me to grab the top bunk because it was warmer in the winter and cooler in the summer up there.
Each and every teacher had a list of things I had to buy: books, art supplies, paints of every color, and odd things I couldn’t even name. I took notes on every word the teachers said. I stared open-mouthed at the drawings on the walls, the lumps of clay that would become busts, and the photographing equipment. By the end of two weeks, I joyously engaged in every class, still trembling with the thought that they’d see I didn’t belong and send me home. I was out of money. Pa had expected me to make it last the whole year and I was flat broke. I wouldn’t even be able to get a pair of shoes, and they didn’t feed Duende the nice hay he was used to getting. I needed a job.
I couldn’t say why I asked the head librarian, Mr. Finch, who was Miss Kotterman’s boss, about making some small money hereabouts, but when I began to talk to him about the heaps of books that students returned, and how I had learned to make sense of the numbering system, I became employed by the end of the week. He told me to come in before seven and work until a quarter to eight every day, and then after classes until eight at night. As the month wore on, I became pretty fast at restocking the books, and was even allowed to show students where in the stacks of shelves they might find the source they were hunting.
Mr. Finch was not long on praise, but I saw that he looked mighty pleased when I brought to the desk a book on Sir Christopher Wren, and asked might it belong in architecture of the Middle Ages or would it be more modern. Mr. Finch had studied architecture, and longed to talk to someone about the subject. My uncle Harland, I said, was an architect in San Francisco, but after the earthquake and then his wife died, he moved to Tucson to be nearer family. Mr. Finch wondered that there were buildings in Tucson that needed an architect, as he assumed we lived in tents and teepees, he said, adding, “Meaning no offense.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “Tucson is more of a town than that. We have gaslights and a streetcar, paved roads, and two hospitals.”
“Hospitals?”
“Tuberculosis.” I smiled and added, “And the occasional snakebite.”
“Ah. Is it the volume by Rudolf Dircks?”
“Yes, sir. The numbering is worn off the spine. Someone removed the card envelope.”
With a roll of his unmonocled eye, he took the book to be repaired. I was not allowed to glue card envelopes into books, yet.
One night late, I came across Calvert slipping through the shadows at the wall toward the storage room. I hollered out that it was me, and asked if he wanted to do some more roping practice.
Calvert smiled. “That was real fun times, miss. Real fun, but I gotta get to bed.”
“I work here now, and put books away in the mornings,” I said. “I won’t tell anyone you sleep here. But you quit messing things up if I stack them.”
“Okey-dokey. Do you want a apple? I got two.”
I smiled at him. “You sure you ain’t hungry enough for two?”
“I’d rather share ’em with you.”
I took the apple and said, “Happy dreams then. Thanks, buddy.”
He puffed out his chest, saying, “I’m her buddy.”
* * *
One of the requirements I had to do was enroll in some classes strictly for academics, not just art. I was glad there were only two in this section. History, which I knew some of, and then I could choose another. I looked over all the courses for something that seemed might be easy. I went to the beginning lectures on five different subjects in one day, and decided to take Latin. I sat down to do three translations with a bunch of nineteen other students, mostly boys. Men, I suppose. Well, they didn’t act much like men. That thought gave me to think of Aubrey Hanna, and that I was practically engaged, and I was glad of that. We turned in our written translations to a group of five older students—they called them graduates, but I don’t know why if they’ve graduated they are still hanging around to read our papers—and pretty soon they stacked up the papers. Only ten students had passed and I was one of them.
After that, my course was set. History, Latin, sculpture, perspective drawing, art history, beginning oil painting, and principles of photography. By the end of the first couple of weeks, my schoolwork seemed to triple and then triple again. The big room where all the girls slept was noisy, and I often went to the library to work. Even there, sitting under the beautiful painting I so admired, I felt not so much inspired as overwhelmed by it. How could the history of some old falling down and half-buried building on some island off of Greece, and the shape of its columns, help me to learn to paint? I did pretty well in the history and Latin, though, but all the art classes were harder than I could have imagined. I thought I had been pretty good at penciling down a likeness, but I soon learned I was at the bottom of those classes.
The days grew cold, colder than I could have imagined this early in the year. I determined that I’d save up money and buy myself one of those fur muffs the girls wore around their hands. Until then, I wore my leather ranch gloves, but I found myself hiding my hands under my books when other girls were around.
I didn’t try too hard to make any friends, because I had so much work to do, and so my letters from home seemed to be my only connection to anyone still alive. All these artists were dead or not even named.
Elsa wrote me that she was planning to run away from the convent, and not to let on in any letters home. It was just between her and Charlie, and as long as no one knew, they thought they could get away with it. I warned her just to be careful for the sake of Esther.
I wrote letters to everyone although they were short, and though I promised myself I’d write every day, that was often the last thing on my mind at night when I closed my books. Sometimes I kept a letter going all week just to give it a few lines every day. I wrote Aubrey most often, of all the things I was doing and learning, imagining him being so proud of me. I wanted to be worthy of him. He must have gone to school for ages to learn law. At least I would be accomplished in ladylike things like painting and drawing. I hadn’t gotten any letters from him yet, but I was sure he was busy with his law business, and maybe things got pushed aside or the letters got lost.
On Saturdays, the girls in the dormitory washed their clothes and bathed. It had become the worst annoyance to me to have to always keep fixing my poor sewing. About mid-October on a Saturday, when we were all gathered around the washing—except I, who sat with needle and thread—there was a bitter chill in the air. A small cluster of other girls from another dormitory came to us, giggling to each other behind their hands.
“Go on, ask,” one of them whispered loudly.
I knew that bunch. They slept here for the fun of it, but they had families in town and laundresses and maids, and they rode in coaches around school.
“So you’re from Arizona Territory?” the girl asked. “That’s not even a state, is it? Isn’t it because it’s full of bad men and Indians?”
“Well, I reckon,” I said. I tried to smile but I got a feeling that there was a rustle in those petticoats like a snake under a greasewood bush. They were dressed really fine. All wearing fine white blouses in the latest styles, with lace and brooches of cameos.
Another girl said, “My father said you were a sight. A spectacle dressed like one of Buffalo Bill’s madams, straddled on a horse, pulling that idiot downtown.”
“Melinda!” her pal exclaimed, elbowing the girl. “That was rude. Saying ‘straddled.’”
She didn’t say anything about the word “madam” used in the same way. Like I was some kind of low woman. I felt a blush rise. I had grown up on a saddle, sitting like my brothers did, every day of my life. I kept silent.
“Well, she was.”
A girl nudged me. “Don’t talk to them, Mary Pearl. Those girls couldn’t ride a horse without a hoist to get them up there and a gallon of glue to stick them to it.” I didn’t even know her name, but I smiled at the person who was willing to ride alongside me.
The first one said, “I ride very well, thank you. I have been educated in the finest dressage since I was twelve. On a sidesaddle.”
I had seven brothers and sisters and I knew when I was being teased. “Cut a lot of stock on a sidesaddle?” I asked. I wasn’t going to be kowtowed to her.
She made a face. “I don’t cut anything.”
“You must be a load of help come gathering time,” I said. “If you’re such a smart piece on a saddle, I’ll meet you soon as I get my skirt changed. We’ll have a race.”
“Meet me out back.”
I asked, “Dress-ahhhzh? Isn’t that where your mule wears lace pantaloons and a bonnet with a flower? I’ll bet you could carry a teacup and not spill it from a sidesaddle.”
“I could, actually. I ride a show horse, not a mule. You probably smoke cigars and drink whisky like a man.”
I laughed, and a couple of the other girls did as well. I smiled at the girl. “I also eat cactus for breakfast and stir my coffee with a branding iron. Can’t wait to see your pony. I’m sure it’s the finest piece of mutton on three hooves.” I figured she’d laugh, and I knew when I cut my eyes just the right way that both my dimples showed to their best advantage. However, my attacker, whose name I didn’t even know, had quit making fun and turned bristling and red. “One hour from now we will meet at the back of Wilson’s Dry Goods and see who the better horsewoman is.” She stomped away, followed by her pals.
I said, “What do you reckon got under her bonnet? Hornets?” No one answered.
By the time we got to Wilson’s Dry Goods, a crowd of students had gathered. One of the boys called out for us to start at the corner of the store, loop around a light post at the far end of the road, and come back to the starting point. I paced Duende a couple of times around the loop, feeling him shiver with excitement, like he knew what was coming. I was thinking it was going to be hard to get him to stop on that short a run, when here came Miss Fancy Duds, all set up proud and haughty in some kind of tight black jacket, riding a leggy dark horse with a sleek rump and a high neck. She held a short whip in her right hand, her knees up to her waist, and her curls had been pulled back so she could wear a gent’s top hat.
We set up at the starting point and I got low over the saddle horn, then some fool spanked both horses on the rump. Duende leapt forward, but so did her gelding. The girl looked like she’d topple off any second. I urged Duende to do what he did best of all. The cheering from the side just made it more fun. We made it to the light post neck and neck, but I rode all my life with my brothers and I was forked on like a saddle tramp, and cut that corner brushing my knee against the metal post. From then I was so far ahead I couldn’t even hear her horse’s hooves but I heard the crowd gasp. I looked back and pulled my horse up short and swung off. The girl lay sprawled in the dirt, her hat gone and her saddle flopped down on the side of the worried-looking mount.
“You all right?” I said, and pulled her up by one arm. She jerked away from me. “Suit yourself,” I said. Then I turned to the horse she’d been riding. I tugged his head down and gentled him, crooning to him, “Calmar, buen muchacho, calmar. Tu chica fino.” Then I straightened her saddle up and tightened the cinch. “Want to call it a draw?” I asked over my shoulder. “It ain’t fair if your cinch slips.”
“Where’s my hat?”
Plenty of others were gathered around by then. I pulled my glove off and held out a hand. “Mary Pearl Prine,” I said. “I come from Arizona Territory to go to school here. Nice to meet you.”
She looked pretty glum, but then started to grin. “All right. You won. This time. I’m Prairie Amelia Longmore. Is my horse all right?”
I pushed my Stetson back on my head and smiled. I liked anyone who cared about their animal first. She hadn’t even brushed the dust off herself. “He’s fine. A bit skittish since you went flying off him. He probably feared he’d killed you.”
“I … I don’t know how you can ride in that getup, Miss Mary.”
“I was thinking the same thing about you, Miss Prairie.” She and I both laughed, and she put out her hand and shook mine.
After that day, I felt as if I fit right in with the other students. I hadn’t even realized that I had been lonesome for friends, but I sure noticed now that I had them in good numbers, packed down and overflowing as they say. Now, folks said hello to me as I shelved books in the library, and helped me carry my photographing boxes and jugs of developing fluids around. I had been so busy, so preoccupied with learning everything I could as fast as I could, and writing letters home, I had ignored everyone around me. I felt much happier now that people spoke to me and I could walk to classes or eat lunches with other girls.
When I wrote home, which happened fewer times every week, I imagined Elsa Maldonado reading my letter, or Rachel and Rebeccah reading my notes aloud to Ma and Pa with Ezra and Zack at their knees. I had so much fun I quit looking for letters from Aubrey every day. They never came anyhow. I kept writing him, and I pictured him nearly aswoon with passion and longing, but I had not a single letter from him in all this time.
Prairie and I worked on our projects together, ate together, and sometimes, we went riding in the beautiful wooded avenues around the school. I’d never seen so many trees, and they were all decked in colors of red and orange. Grassy lawns and bushes lined every street. It was a sight to behold, greens and golds and plants still in flower.
“And, is there law and order? I mean, police? What do you do if you need an officer?”
“In Tucson there is. Out where we live—” I had to pause. Taking old fat Calvert to the sheriff was nothing. Where I lived, the law was what you made it. I remembered our near war with Elsa’s pa, el Señor Maldonado, el pinche Pendejo, who poisoned Aunt Sarah’s well, ran guns to Mexico, and was once a suitor to that same aunt. “We have Arizona Rangers, sometimes Texas Rangers,” I said, thinking that the gap between right and wrong out in the desert was measured by a length of rope or a well-aimed bullet and often men’s fists. “Where we live, there are good people and bad ones. You get to know pretty quick.”
“But what could your parents be thinking, raising a daughter in such a place?”
“I suppose they didn’t guess beforehand I’d be a girl. I had three older sisters. Two are left.”
“One got married?”
“She did. Then she got killed. You get used to carrying iron wherever you go. Looking under every rock for a rattlesnake.”
“Iron? Whatever would you do with an iron? Hit someone?”
“I don’t mean a sad iron. I mean a shootin’ iron. A pistol.”
Horror flooded Prairie’s face. Then she tilted her head toward mine and whispered, “Do you have it with you now?” looking up at me with a sparkle in her eyes like I’ve seen in Zachary’s when he’s got a mouthful of sugar stolen from the pantry.
“Well, of course. There might be snakes in these woods.”
“May I see it?” The look in her eyes was like that of a little kid, too giddy, too tickled. Just the kind of person who’d accidentally shoot a hole through someone’s house or someone’s dog without even knowing they’d pulled the trigger.
I lied right to her face. “It’s hard to get it unhitched. It’s under my skirt, just for emergencies. You can see it some other time.” I grew up around guns; a loaded rifle stood ready behind every door. There was a pistol in every room, one in my pocket while I rode, and two by my side when I traveled. Once we were past the age of ten, there was always a gun ready if you needed one, and sometimes you needed one. I felt safe knowing that everyone around me respected them and knew the use of them. I didn’t want Prairie or anyone else having themselves a tinhorn lesson on gunpowder.
“If you were my friend you’d let me.”
“Honest to blazes, Prairie Longmore. It’s not a test of friendship. It’s not for foolin’ around, neither. Ask me sometime and we’ll plan a day and get way out of town and I’ll show you and let you shoot. Let’s ride back to school. I have to get to the library pretty soon.”
Once we parted company, I stopped at the hardware and bought myself a padlock and a chain to keep the key around my neck. I would store my “irons” in a locker near my bed, same as before, but the question of whether Prairie actually liked my company or was simply curious about me, as if I was still a spectacle in her mind, made me wary.
Prairie wasn’t so easy to find for a few days after that. I reckoned she took offense, but if she wouldn’t talk to me, how could I explain? I found her one day with that same bunch of girls and offered to go find a good place for some target practice, but she was too busy having a party every single day, she said.
“Suit yourself then,” I said, though I felt a little raw over her snubbing. I wrote all about her to Elsa Maldonado, and then to Aunt Sarah, the two people most likely to take my side in any situation.
I loved my studies. I wasn’t necessarily good at them, but I practiced. The hardest thing for me was mixing paint, because all I’d ever had was a pencil. There were all kinds of things to do to get colors, and mine were never right. Nearly every morning before chapel I ran up the stairs to stare at the huge landscape painting on the third floor. Every time I messed up yellow ochre and raw umber and tried to fix the difference between crimson and cadmium red, I admired that artist even more.
Getting to class on time was torturous, because these folks did everything by the chime of a clock and all I’d ever used before was the angle of the sun. Here the skies were gray, and I began to listen for a clock to tick even in my sleep, and I’d dream of running in late to class without my work finished and without my boots on or my hair done.
