RUNAWAY ROSE
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Four days later, Rose felt rested and healed
enough to continue her journey north. It was none too soon. She had nearly exhausted
the supply of food in the area of the oasis, and while spring was beginning,
the new growth had just begun to show itself.
With her clothes clean but tattered, and a
little food wrapped in a piece of palm frond and stuffed in her pocket, she
began the journey north again. By the second day, she came across a small town
in the better watered area of northwest Baja, but she avoided it, fearing that
the bandits who had kidnapped her might have reported Guerrero’s death to the
authorities. If they had, they might be looking for her, and she had spent more
than enough time in American jails. She had no wish to be placed in a Mexican
jail, which from all reports would be far worse.
Although she avoided the towns, Rose still
needed food and water, so she stopped at the ranches and farms she encountered
to beg for these things. No one seemed inclined to turn her in, but perhaps
word of what she had done had not reached the remoter areas, if it had been
reported at all. People looked at her suspiciously, regarding her as a vagrant,
but no one seemed inclined to try to arrest her, and she took pains to cause no
trouble.
On the third day after she had left the oasis
behind, Rose crossed the border into California near the town of Campo. From
there, it was only a day and half’s journey farther to Esther’s ranch.
Rose approached the ranch with a sense of
dread. What if Esther was still alive, and she had to explain that her
grandson, her heir, had been killed in a plane crash in the Mexican desert?
What would the old woman think of her, for having failed at something so
important? It hadn’t been Rose’s fault that the plane had crashed, but this
didn’t lessen her guilt.
She almost felt relieved when she arrived at
the ranch and found no one. After taking the time to make herself presentable,
she walked into town to see what she could find out.
Esther had died two weeks before Rose had
returned to the United States. Rose felt an instant wave of relief that she
wouldn’t have to explain Will’s death to Esther, and then felt even guiltier
for feeling that relief. It wasn’t right that she should feel relieved at not
having to explain what had happened.
Esther had been buried on a grassy hilltop on
the ranch, and it was there that Rose first went when she returned. The first
green shoots were showing themselves on the surrounding land, and view from the
little fence-enclosed grave was beautiful. Nearby, another grave, that of
Esther’s husband, sat covered with an overgrowth of grass and weeds. No one had
cleaned it up in a long time.
Rose spent most of the afternoon on the hill,
clearing away the grass and weeds, before she wished Esther a final farewell
and went back to the deserted house. She didn’t cry, though the old woman had,
in many ways, been a mother to her. She couldn’t. It seemed as though all
emotion had been drained from her, leaving nothing behind.
Rose walked around the ranch, looking to see
if anyone was in residence, but the workers had all been paid off shortly after
Esther had died and had moved on. The livestock had been sold off to pay debts,
and only the buildings and the land were left. Even Señorito was missing,
having followed one of the ranch hands when he left. She looked all over for
Tripper, and even inquired in town if anyone had seen him, but there was no sign
of the dog. No one knew what had happened to him.
Esther’s lawyer tried to detain her as she
prepared to leave, but she just shook her head and walked away. She knew that
Esther had left her a few things, but she had no interest in them. She would
disappear, as surely as she had from Philadelphia, and the ranch would
eventually be sold off or given to other members of the family.
The ranch that had been home to her no longer
felt like a home. It would soon be sold off, and she would have to leave
anyway, so she saw no reason to stay longer than it took her to collect the
belongings she had left there—her rucksack, a few clothes, the three pouches of
gold dust that were left, and her camping equipment.
Even had she been invited to stay, she
wouldn’t have. Her guilt over her failure to bring Esther’s grandson back
haunted her, and within two days she walked away again, never looking back. She
had returned to America, but she wasn’t truly at home anywhere. She was, as she
had always been, a stranger in a strange land.