sorts and avoided their eyes. They told each other she was just uneasy about their going away for a while, that she wasn’t yet very comfortable in this borderland world.
They bought camp bedding and tools and supplies. She was not going with them so they saw no need of a tent. Early one morning they gave her a sum of money and one of the derringers, though she protested she did not want it. Then kissed her each in turn and said they would be back in two weeks or so.
They explored from west to east and in a week arrived at the largest of the property’s palm groves. There were yet a few more groves to the east of this one, but from out on the road they could see that those palms were neither as tall nor as dense as these. They left the wagon and the tethered mules in a high growth of scrub in the chaparral and out of view of anyone who might pass by on the road—a remote likelihood, as in all the time they had been there they had not see a single wagon or horseman pass in either direction. There was a stream where the mules could water and grass for them to feed on. They waited till the sun was well up before they entered the grove, machetes in hand and their bedrolls and rucksacks slung on their shoulders. This was the thickest grove yet and some of the palms looked to be forty feet high. They had to hack their way through much of the underbrush and were often in mud to the shins. Past midday they were in a segment of grove so dense it was in twilight, and after another few hours they began to suspect they might be going in a circle. Then they saw light through the trees ahead and as they drew closer to it they felt a slight incline under their feet. They came out of the palms and into in a large sunlit clearing—a rectangular expanse about seventy yards west to east and forty yards north to south, the south side abutting the gray-green river, which they could see through gaps in the reeds and cane.
The clearing was high and flat and dry, some three feet above the surrounding ground. It contained moss- hung oaks and cottonwoods, patches of lush grass to their knees. They thought somebody must have axed out the clearing and raised it with a mix of rock and river dredge, a formidable undertaking. But they found not a single stump nor any other sign that the clearing was man-made or even that anyone else had ever been there. The only explanation they could think for the clearing was geographical quirk. Such high and solid ground should not naturally exist in a marshy palm grove, yet here it was. The river at this point was a hundred feet across and they saw that on the Mexican side there was no similar high ground or clearing.
They built a campfire and caught small frogs to use for bait on handlines and in quick order landed four fat catfish, which they filleted and peppered and fried in a pan with lard. They divided the fillets into two tin plates and sat beside the fire with the map spread between them and studied it as they ate. They figured where the clearing was and penciled it on the map and reckoned a distance of five miles from there to the Point Isabel road—though they would have to build a wagon bridge over Nameless Creek—then about twelve miles to Point Isabel itself.
They knew the unexplored groves to the east could not provide such privacy as this, nor, they were certain, a clearing of such good ground. This was the place for a house. A big one on heavy pilings ten feet aboveground, high enough to protect it from any flood lesser than Noah’s. With a verandah. It was no Ensenada de Isabel, of course, but it was on a river and the gulf was but eight miles downstream and it was far from town and its people and its noise and afflictions. The problem was Marina. She had made it plain she didn’t like it out here.
They talked of her recent remoteness and wondered if she might never adapt to this region. What if she hated it even more than they knew? She dearly loved Tampico and would have been very happy had they stayed there forever. Would she prefer to return there, even without them? They had known her all their life and had lived in her company for so long now that they did not like to think of being without her. But they would not have her think she was obliged to remain with them, and they of course would never alter their plans to suit somebody else, not even her. They decided they would tell her quite frankly what she should already know—that she was free to choose her own course. If she wanted to live in town, fine. Go back to Tampico? Very well. To Buenaventura? All right. They would fund her. Whatever her choice.
Vapor rose off the river as the night closed around them. The air heavy with the odors of dank earth and muddy water. They unrolled their bedding next to the fire and settled themselves and talked a while longer. And determined, among other things, to name the clearing Wolfe Landing and their entire property Tierra Wolfe.
As expected, she said she would not live out there, no matter how nice the house they would build. I don’t like it there, she said. They said they understood, and gave her their prepared talk. Told her she could live in town, if that’s what she wanted, but if she did not want to live in Brownsville, well, she could go wherever she chose. They would always see to it she had plenty of money to live on.
Her eyes brimmed. I will not go live somewhere else, she said. I do not want to go away from you. They smiled. They had been almost sure she would say that. That she loved them too much to go away. All right then, Blake said, so you’ll live here and—
Besides, she said, a child should not be apart from his father.
They stared at her.
She said she had suspected her condition for a few weeks before they left Tampico but hadn’t said anything because she wasn’t sure. Now she was sure. Her great fear, she said, was that they would think it had been deliberate. It was not. She would never do that. She was anyway thirty-six years old, for the love of God. Too old for this. She had never wanted to be a mother. It is hard enough tending to you two children, she said with a weak smile. She had always taken precaution, always, but they knew as well as she that there could never be absolute certainty. Now that it happened, she said, the wonder was that it had not happened long before.
They stared at her. I know the question in your mind, she said.
Well? Blake Cortez said.
She looked from one to the other. How is it possible to know whose?
They nodded. They had another question in mind too but they would not ask it. If she had said she wanted to go to a curandera to resolve the matter, they would have said all right, and would have looked somber in saying it —and would secretly have been relieved. But she did not suggest a curandera, as they knew she would not, even if she really did think she was too old for motherhood.
I have to take the laundry from the clothesline, she said. Before it rains. They watched her go out the back door. The day was nearly cloudless.
“After all these years,” Blake said. “I never expected this. I sure as hell never wanted
“Hell no, you never wanted it. Neither did I. Neither did
“I know, I know. So what do we do?”
“ I don’t know. Hell.”
They stood silent a long few seconds.
“Aint but one thing
Blake shook his head. “Dammit.”
“Yeah.”
“Well hell, then, let’s get it over with.”
James Sebastian took a coin from his pocket. “Call,” he said, and thumbed it spinning in the air. Blake called tails. James caught the coin and slapped it to the back of his other hand and uncovered it for Blake to see. Tails. Blake looked at it without expression. Then looked at his brother. James nodded and sighed.
When Marina Colmillo came back in the house James Sebastian asked her if she would marry him. But even at such a moment they could not resist deviling her. They had their hands in their pockets so she could not see who had the crooked little finger or node on the wrist. They were dressed differently but had not called each other by name since arriving. She gave them a chiding look and then stepped closer to the one who had asked her and told him to stop squinting. And saw the green flaw in his eye.
Yes, James, she said, I will.
Two hours later, on that bright January afternoon, they stood before a justice of the peace and were wed.
The marriage did not change their plan for a river house, but first they had to provide a home for her. They looked at different lots around town before buying a large one on the west end of Levee Street. While they were building a sturdy clapboard house of three bedrooms and a small room in the rear as a servant’s quarters, they continued living in the Adams Street rental. Most days were cool and bright and favorable for hard work but they had not imagined a South Texas winter could some days be so cold. Some mornings the bushes were sheeted with
