RUNAWAY ROSE
Chapter Sixty-Three

January, 1917

Life went along smoothly for several months. Rose knew that one day she would move on, but for the time being, she pushed this desire aside and stayed with Esther, whose health was gradually deteriorating. Neither of them knew how serious it really was, however, until well into December. Esther had slowly been losing strength and energy for a long time, but Rose had attributed it to old age—after all, Esther was eighty-six years old—and had simply taken over Esther’s work for her, to allow the older woman to rest. But by January, Esther began to complain of ever-increasing pain, and Rose realized that something more than old age was the matter.

Early one morning, after she had prepared breakfast for Esther and cared for the chickens, cow, and horses, she took the wagon and made her way into town to fetch the doctor. Fortunately, he had only one patient waiting ahead of her, and she didn’t have to wait long before he accompanied her back to the ranch.

Esther was still lying in bed when they arrived. She hadn’t touched the breakfast that Rose had fixed, and the dogs lay at the foot of the bed, their eyes mournful. They ran to greet them, barking wildly at the doctor when they arrived, but quickly returned to guarding the old woman.

Rose stood in the hallway, waiting anxiously, as the doctor examined Esther. Esther had, in many ways, become a grandmother to Rose, and she would miss her if anything happened. She knew well that doctors couldn’t always cure everything, and Esther had been growing progressively weaker for a long time. She had good days and bad, but overall things had been slowly deteriorating.

The doctor finally emerged from the room, closing the door quietly behind him. "Mrs. Calvert?"

Rose turned, startled. She hadn’t heard him come into the hall. "Yes?"

The doctor’s face was grim. "It’s cancer. A very advanced case. I doubt she’ll live more than a week or two more."

"Isn’t there anything you can do?"

He shook his head. "Aside from giving her painkillers and making her comfortable, no. Had you gotten me sooner, surgery might have been a possibility, though at her age, it could have done more harm than good." He handed Rose a brown bottle of medicine.

"What’s this?"

"Morphine. It will help ease the pain. Give it to her as needed, following the instructions on the bottle. Don’t give her too much; high doses can be fatal, especially in one not used to them."

Rose nodded slowly. "All right. Is there anything I can do for her?"

"Just keep her comfortable. There’s no medicines that can cure a case of cancer like this, but you can keep her from suffering too much." He turned to leave, then turned back to Rose. "By the way, she wanted to speak to you."

Rose nodded sadly. "Thank you, Doctor. Do you need a ride back into town?"

"No, I can walk. You’d best see to her." He walked away. Rose stood quietly until she heard the door open and close.

Bracing herself, she walked into Esther’s room. "Esther?"

"Rose." The old woman struggled to sit up.

Rose hurried to help her, trying to hide the tears that streaked her face. Esther wasn’t fooled, though.

"Rose, don’t cry for me. I’ve had a good, long life. I’m eighty-six years old, and I’ll be back with my husband before long." She sighed. "He’s been gone for twenty years, but nothing is forever. He promised we’d see each other again, and I’m finally going to join him."

"No, Esther. You’ll be all right."

"No, I won’t, Rose. I’ve known that something was wrong for a long time, but I didn’t bother you about it until it became too painful to bear. There was nothing that could have been done, anyway."

"Maybe something would have worked."

Esther shook her head. "No, I don’t think so. My mother died the same way, and so did my sister, thirty years ago. It’s finally come for me, too."

"Do...do you want some morphine?" Rose asked, reaching for the bottle she had set on a shelf.

"No, not yet. I want to speak with you first."

Rose nodded, sitting down beside Esther’s bed.

"There’s a few things I need you to do. I need you to go to the Catholic church in town and bring the priest for last rites. I’ve never been very religious, but I might as well set things to right with God before I go."

"I will." Rose nodded her head, her eyes still streaming.

"In addition, I need you to fly down to Mexico and find my grandson. His name is William Murphy, but he was known here as Will, and his friends in Mexico call him Guillermo. That’s his picture." She pointed to a small, framed photograph on the shelf. "Take it with you, to help find him. You don’t know enough Spanish to talk much, but some people there do speak English, and Will certainly does. You know enough to ask after him. The last place I heard from him from was Tijuana, just south of San Diego, on the Mexican side of the border. Start there. I haven’t heard from him in three months now, so there’s no telling where he’s gotten to now. If you can find him, bring him back. He’s the heir for all of this, except for the plane, the horses, and the small shack out on the edge of the property that you like so much. I’ve willed those to you. You’ll always have a home if you need one."

Rose was touched by the old woman’s willingness to leave something to her, though she had only known her for a year. In many ways, Esther had taken a mother’s place in Rose’s heart, and Rose had tried to give that back to her all the time she had been there. Still weeping, she nodded her head.

"I’ll do it, Esther. I’ll find him and bring him back, kicking and screaming if I have to."

Esther managed a small laugh. "That may just be necessary. A Villista, indeed! But he’s dedicated to his cause, even if he is putting himself in danger."

She settled back, worn out by the exertion. Rose took the bottle from the shelf and read the instructions, taking out a single pill for Esther to take. After crushing it to make it easier to swallow, she gave it to her patient, then waited beside her until the powerful narcotic had sent her into a drugged sleep.

*****

The next morning, Rose set off for Mexico. She had driven back into town the afternoon before to fetch the priest, who had promised to keep an eye on Esther while Rose was gone. In addition, she had found the one of Esther’s daughters still living in the area and had brought her to help care for her mother.

Esther was in good hands by the time Rose fueled the plane, checked it over, and set out, carrying with her the supplies she would need for her search. She left Tripper behind, much to the dog’s disappointment. She had often taken him flying with her before, tying him down in the seat so that he couldn’t try to jump out. He had watched with sad eyes as the plane had risen into the sky, circling around before heading southwest in the direction of Tijuana.

She arrived there by that afternoon, but there was no sign of Will, despite extensive searching. Many people spoke English this close to the border, so she had a fairly easy time of her search, but all she found was that he and his friends had headed to the southeast two months earlier.

The next day, Rose headed southeast, flying farther into Mexico. She stopped at every small town and outlying ranch or farm that she came across, but no one could tell her where Will was.

Communication was difficult, because Rose’s command of Spanish was far from perfect, and the farther from the border she got, so was the English she found. Translators were not always available, and she spent a great deal of time trying to communicate through what little Spanish she did know, along with gestures and the picture of Will. Several people had seen him, but he had always moved on before she got there.

Another problem that Rose encountered was finding enough fuel for the airplane. It was sometimes available in the larger towns, but she tried to stock up when she could, carrying as much as possible with her. A couple of times, she had walk to the nearest town, trying to find fuel and someone to help her transport it, delaying her search for Esther’s erstwhile grandson.

Finally, late in January, she found him. She doubted that Esther was still alive—the doctor hadn’t thought that she had much time left, and it had been weeks since Rose had left to find Will—but she still honored the old woman’s wishes and sought out her missing grandson.

She found him in a cantina in a small, dusty town. Even with her limited Spanish, Rose could still sense the tension that pervaded the small town. The revolution had taken a toll on the people, and those who did not support Pancho Villa had been driven out or silenced. The events of the revolution had done harm to the people of the town, loathe as many were to admit it, and Rose couldn’t help but think of Esther’s assessment of revolution as an opportunity for the oppressees to become the oppressors.

People stared when she walked into the cantina. The owner of the small boarding house down the street had told her in broken English where he could be found, and Rose had immediately headed for the cantina, ignoring the fact that few women frequented it, and those who did were anything but respectable. She had grown used to being stared at, especially with her airplane, her men’s clothing, and the fact that she was a woman alone. People in the smaller towns had often regarded her suspiciously, for she was a stranger in a land torn by violence.

She recognized him at once from the picture Esther had given her. Ignoring the stares of the occupants of the cantina, she walked up to him.

"Will?"

"Yo soy Guillermo," he told her as his friends snickered.

"Speak English," Rose told him, a note of impatience in her voice. "Your grandmother would take a whip to you if she could see you now."

Will stared at her. "Who the hell are you?"

"I’m Rose Calvert. I’ve been living with your grandmother, Esther Henke, for over a year."

"So what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you." She looked around the cantina. "So, this is how you fight a revolution, is it?" She looked at Will and his half-drunken friends, sitting around a scarred table with half-empty containers of beer and tequila scattered across it.

"Why were you looking for me?" He gave her a lascivious look.

"Not for that," she told him, crossing her arms over her chest. "May I speak to you alone for a moment?"

One of Will’s friends hooted with laughter when he translated her words, whistling appreciatively. Rose ignored him. She had encountered rude, ill-mannered men on both sides of the border, particularly young men who had had too much to drink and were surrounded by their friends. They didn’t disturb her. She had long since learned that ignoring them was usually the quickest way to discourage them.

"Why?" he asked her, taking a gulp of tequila and almost choking on it. His friends pounded him on the back and took the bottle from him, passing it around. Rose looked at them in disgust.

"I have a message from your grandmother."

"Tell her to write me a letter."

Rose set her jaw in irritation. "You move around too much to receive a letter. Besides that, she’s dying, or may already be dead."

That got his attention. Picking up his beer, he gestured for her to follow him to a corner table.

"What happened?" he asked, his demeanor much more serious than it had been a few moments earlier.

"She has cancer. The doctor figured she only had a week or two to live. It’s been almost three weeks since I left California to find you."

"You followed me this far in three weeks? How?"

"I flew your plane, which, by the way, is mine now. Your grandmother gave it to me."

"She had no right to do that."

"You’re the one who ran off to Mexico and left her to fend for herself."

"I don’t know who you are, or how you talked her into giving you my plane, but—"

"The reasons aren’t important now. There’ll be plenty of time to talk about them later, when we get back to California."

"I’m not going back to California."

"The hell you aren’t. I promised your grandmother that I would bring you back, kicking and screaming if necessary, and I will."

"I’d like to see you try." He looked over Rose’s smaller figure insultingly. "I’m needed here, for the revolution."

"You’re needed here to drink with your friends."

He looked at her angrily. "You have no idea what’s going on."

"I have a fair idea—I’ve been in Mexico for almost three weeks, looking for you. Your grandmother also told me about you and your friends, and your idea of freeing Mexico from tyranny."

"And we’re succeeding."

"Revolution is only an opportunity for the oppressees to become the oppressors."

"You’ve been listening to her talk, haven’t you?" He laughed bitterly. "It’s about time the oppressors got a taste of their own medicine."

"You’re an American. You don’t owe any loyalties to Mexico."

"I’ve been fighting in this revolution, and I’m seeing it through to the end."

"Or until you get killed or thrown in jail. Look, just come back for a while, long enough to settle your grandmother’s estate and arrange for it to be kept up while you’re gone. Then you’ll have a place to come back to when the revolution is over."

"I might stay in Mexico."

"Or you might come home and accept your inheritance. You might even be able to help more with the money you could make from the ranch."

He considered this for a minute, his alcohol-befuddled brain slowly going over her words. "I’m going back when things are settled."

"That’s fine." Rose narrowed her eyes as he looked her over again. "I am not a part of your inheritance. You get the land and the animals and the money. I get the plane, the horses, and a shack on the edge of the property."

"You really brainwashed her, didn’t you?"

"There was no brainwashing involved. Your grandmother is a sweet woman who wants you to come home and take your place in the family, accept your inheritance, and forget about this revolution."

"I’m not abandoning the cause."

"I understand that, but will you at least accompany me back to California? If we’re lucky, she’ll still be alive to say good-bye to you."

He sighed, taking another swig of beer. "All right. But only for a short time."

"Good. Tell your friends when you will be back and where to meet you, and then we can go."

"I’ll go with you tomorrow."

"She may already be dead."

"Then one more day won’t make a difference."

Rose shook her head, her mouth twisting in contempt. She held her tongue, though, knowing that she had barely convinced him as it was. It would be easy for him to change his mind.

"Fine. I will meet you tomorrow morning at sunrise outside of town. I left the plane in a field on the western side. Meet me there."

She got up to leave, her eyes warning him of the consequences if he did not meet her, and walked out the door, ignoring the stares and catcalls.

*****

At dawn the next morning, Will met Rose near the plane. Rose had spent the night in the field, not wanting any curious individuals to tamper with the plane. Will was quiet, in a much more agreeable mood, as she checked the plane over and added fuel. He held his head in his hands, and Rose suspected that he had a hangover, but he was much more pleasant without his liquor and drinking companions. He approached her politely and apologized for making her wait an extra night when they could have been halfway back to the United States by now. Rose accepted his apologies, though she was still reserved.

They headed northwest over the desert, away from the glaring light of the rising sun. It was a cold but bright morning as they set out, heading in the direction of the United States.

Much of the land was unfamiliar to Rose once she got out of the area she had been traveling in, so she brought the plane lower, looking more closely at the landscape to be sure she was going to right way. The position of the sun helped, but by noon it was hard to tell which way was north, and the compass she had with her was broken, spinning around and around no matter where she was pointed. She supposed she should have tried to find another compass, but she was in a hurry to get back to the United States and the sun pointed her in the right direction most of the time.

It was just as the sun had passed its apex that she flew over a low copse of trees surrounding a small spring; one of the scattered desert water holes so important to the wildlife. She looked down, considering whether to find an open place to land and stop for a while, when a shot rang out from the trees.

Startled, Rose pulled the plane higher up, trying to get away from the watering hole, but before she gained more than twenty feet in altitude, another shot rang out, this one striking the plane’s engine. There was a crackling sound, and then the plane began to plummet toward the ground.

Rose tried to control the descent, trying to use the air currents to bring them down safely, but the plane was too close to the ground. Another shot sounded, the bullet narrowly missing her. Startled, Rose jerked back, her hands flying from the controls, and the plane spiraled downward, hitting the ground with a jolt before bouncing up again, finally crashing into a pile of large boulders and ripping apart.

Chapter Sixty-Four
Stories