Fathers and Sons Chapter Fifteen: All Mornings After

Buck opened his eyes and blinked, awaking to find himself staring at a massive wrought iron chandelier. He was fully clothed, except for his boots, and lying atop rich gold brocade bedcovers in his guestroom at the Hacienda Montoya. He rolled to the edge of the bed and pushed himself to a sitting position amid pillows and bolsters. His head felt heavy and his stomach sour. He did not remember returning to the hacienda the night before. Where wuz they? Oh yeah, Roy boy's weddin'. The sounds of a gentle snore from the floor told him he was not alone.

Buck looked down, focusing with difficulty, to spy Manolito sprawled on the thick carpet next to the bed. Guess ol' Mano'd had it worse 'n me, he thought. Didn't even make it to his room las' night. Still wearin' his fancy suit. Buck prodded Mano with his foot and the caballero moaned.

"Leave me alone."

"Mano, it be time to git up. We musta had us a whinga dinga las' night."

"Sí. Go away."

"You be in my room, amigo. Ain't got nowhere to go. Time ta git up, padrino!"

Mano opened one eye.

"Ay yi yi, my head, amigo. It pounds. Allow me to sleep."

"No hombre, we got to get them mares an' head back to Chaparral today. We already overdue an' Big John…"

"Big John? Whaaat Big John? Big John can go to the…" Mano broke off. "Oh, all right, hombre. En un momento." He groaned and levered himself to a sitting position.

"You look like hell, amigo," Buck observed.

"So do you."

"I don' remember much about las' night."

"Nor do I." But actually, he did. He remembered dancing with many young and lovely señoritas and a few older señoras and the beautiful bride. He remembered toasting the couple: their health, their future children, their happiness, their ancestors, their patron saints...ay yi yi, too many toasts. He remembered riding Macadoo to the hacienda and leading Rebel, with Buck somehow attached. He never drank as much as Buck. Mano blew out his breath and grabbed the edge of the bed to hoist himself upright.

"Amigo, I go to have a quick bath, eh, and make myself presentable. You would do well to do the same," he groaned.

"I will, as soon as I kin see only one o' you 'stead of three, Mano. I will."

Sporting brushed pants and jacket and a fresh shirt, a clean shaven Mano appeared at breakfast, finding his father at the table later than usual. Mano helped himself to coffee and a hard roll. He knew he should eat something but spicy huevos rancheros held no appeal.

"Good morning, my son. I trust the wedding went well?"

"Oh yes, Papá. Very well."

"Bueno. You will be leaving today?"

"Sí. We must return to the ranch. John has need of us."

"You will give my regards to Señor John Cannon and my love to your sister?"

"Of course, Papá."

"Your men, they have already eaten, and Mr. Butler said they will meet you outside when you are ready to go."

"All right."

The two men drank coffee in silence. Heavy footsteps outside told them Buck Cannon had stumbled downstairs. Nodding good morning, Buck piled his plate full and sat down to eat. Are you never incapable of eating, hombre? Mano wondered.

"Señor Cannon, if it would not be too rude, I wonder if you could please excuse my son and myself while you eat?" Don Sebastian asked.

"Of course, Don Sebastian," Buck replied between bites.

"Mano, I thought perhaps you and I might make a visit to...the chapel...before you go."

"All right, Papá," Mano nodded. "Permiso, Buck?" Buck's eyebrows lifted but he said nothing, just nodded. Jus' as well, he thought. Don' feel like talkin' anyway an' my head feels like it weighs a hunnert pounds.

Mano and Don Sebastian dipped their fingers in the small bowl of holy water, knelt, and crossed themselves as they entered the white stucco chapel across from the residential portions of Hacienda Montoya. A silver crucifix ordered from Mexico City glimmered above the altar in the front. Mano remembered how pleased his mother had been when it had arrived. Father Ruffino had been called to bless it, as he was often called to administer mass to the family and workers at the hacienda.

They were not here to worship today, Mano knew. His father grasped his lion headed cane in his right hand, so Mano walked beside him on his left to the thick-walled room opening off the side of the altar. It was the Montoya family crypt. Here his querida mamá rested, and here the family of Mercedes had allowed her to remain after her death.

"She is still here," Mano observed in a soft voice, remembering the funeral mass and the stricken parents shrouded in black, the father stoic, the mother inconsolable, her tears unending.

"So far they have not requested her to be moved," Don Sebastian said. "They said she loved it here and it is fitting she stay."

"Yes. She did love it. Perhaps she might still be with us had she not loved it so well. Had she married the one…"

"The one chosen for her by her parents? Sí, Mano, but this was not her desire. She would not have been happy. She loved you, my son. She would have been an excellent wife."

"Sí." Mano could say no more. His throat constricted and he could not swallow. He blinked back tears and stared at the stone sarcophagus, cold and final.

"Your mother, too. An excellent wife," Don Sebastian continued.

"Sí," Mano smiled.

"You remind me of her in many ways, Manolo. She laughed, as you do. She had compassion as do you and your sister. We were happy. I wish such happiness for you, my son."

"Gracias, Papá."

"You have found a place at the ranch of John Cannon?"

"Yes."

"I am glad."

They lit candles for the women who had loved them, crossing themselves as they knelt to pray in silence. This concluded, they crossed themselves again and, taking deep breaths, walked from the chapel, pausing in the sunlit white courtyard.

"Well, Papá, I must get our horses from Ruiz and we must go. Until I see you again, eh, Papá?" Mano clapped his hand on his father's shoulder.

"Yes, my son. I shall tell your friend Buck Cannon you are ready to depart. And then I shall come outside to make my farewell."

"All right. Good." Mano smiled and headed to the stables while his father watched and turned to head inside.

Buck, black hat shading his eyes with its brim, leaned against a column under the front breezeway of the hacienda, watching and waiting. Aw hell, he thought. Might as well say it. Been thinkin' it. I don't care if Mano gets mad. An' whut he don't know won't hurt him.

"Señor Cannon?" the old Lion asked as he neared Buck. "I trust your visit has been pleasant?"

"Yes, Señor Montoya, it has, thank you," Buck paused and bit his upper lip. "Uh, Señor Montoya, Don Sebastian, kin I have a word with you while Mano is gettin' the horses?"

"Of course."

"Uh, I think you oughta know somethin', señor, about your son."

"And this is?"

"Well, Don Sebastian, Mano an' me, we bought us a ranch up from the Chaparral. It ain't much of a place. It ain't no Rancho Montoya, if you know what I mean."

"I think I can imagine."

"I jus thought you oughta know. It's ourn, free an' clear. An' uh, we got us herds of wild mustangs on that ranch. They jes seem to natcher-ly come there for the water."

"Oh?"

"I jes thought you oughta know."

"I see. Gracias, Señor Buck Cannon. I do indeed see."

"I thought you would, sir," Buck replied. Don Sebastian's face looked gray to him, tired. He thought the old man's breathing heavy as well. But he noticed a twinkle in old Montoya's eye. The two men smiled at each other and nodded. Buck tipped his hat and walked to the courtyard.

Don Sebastian followed with careful steps, pausing for breath before inhaling deeply and striding into the courtyard with the appearance of vigor to say goodbye to his son and the friends of his son.

"Adios, Papá," Manolito called, astride Macadoo.

"Vaya con Dios, mi hijo," the old man called in reply. "Vaya con Dios," he whispered, waving and nodding his head with a broad smile. The Chaparral men tipped their hats or nodded to the old man as they urged their horses out of the courtyard and gate. Don Sebastian could hear Manolito saying something to them, but he could not tell what.

Don Sebastian de Montoya watched till he could see the riders no more. He turned to go inside but thought better of it.

"Pepe!" he called.

"Sí, Patrón?"

"Will you walk with me as far as the stables?"

"Sí, Patrón."

Silver tipped cane in one hand and servant at the other, the Lion of Sonora walked around the hacienda toward the stables in back: slow, erect, proud. Ruiz stood waiting, dwarfed in the doorway of the Montoya barn. The two men looked at each other and Don Sebastian, halting to draw breath, made his way to the side of Ruiz. Neither spoke for moments.

"Valencio Ruiz, I have learned something of utmost interest from Señor Buck Cannon," Don Sebastian opened, leaning with both hands upon his cane.

"Oh? And this is?"

"I think perhaps you may know."

"Perhaps, Sebastian, my old friend, I may." Ruiz nodded.

"Diablo, how is he?"

"Diablo is fine, Don Sebastian. He is no worse for the wear from his time at the Rancho Cannon."

"I am glad to hear it. And Toronado?"

"Toronado, ah, may be another story, my friend."

"Oh?"

"Would you like to come and see?" The two men looked, each into the eyes of the other, to see if each understood.

"I think not, Ruiz. I think not." Don Sebastian said at last. "I think not, old friend. Gracias." The slightest hint of a smile played upon the lips of both men as they turned to part. Don Sebastian paused to add, "I trust, Valencio, that you intend to collect a suitable breeding fee?" The Don laughed.

"Absolutamente," Ruiz's eyes twinkled and he inclined his head.

Don Sebastian de Montoya sighed and returned to his office, sending Pepe again to his duties. From the middle drawer of his massive carved Spanish oak desk, he took out parchment and quill and after a moment, began to write. When the letter was complete, he blotted it, folded it, and affixed the seal of the great Lion of Sonora. On the outside, he scrawled the words "Don Domingo de Montoya." He placed the letter in the back of the middle desk drawer. His servant Pepe would know where to tell the lawyer Nervo to look, if and when this became necessary. My son has a ranch of his own, he thought. My stupid son, ay Manolo.

And the Lion of Sonora laughed, a laugh that was deep and hearty and true.