Escape, The Conclusion

This is the conclusion to the story I posted last week. To read part one and to see a picture of most of the people in this story, go here: Escape, Part One. And I will soon be out of town through the weekend, but I will catch up on your great blogs when I return.

Liza followed the direction of his pointing arm and what she saw made her drop the food, cover the children's eyes, and pull them close to her.

The passing telegraph poles now held bodies; bodies of men, women, old people, children. Some were hanging, some were nailed on, crucifixion style.

She stifled a scream and forced herself to close her eyes. Other women on the flatbed were unable to choke back their reactions though, and wails and unfettered sobs pierced the otherwise pristine morning.

Inexplicably, the train slowed its thunderous roll and she raised her head in alarm. All over the car, women and children let loose fearful cries. Meli whimpered in her mother’s lap while Carlos wrapped his arms around both of them. The telegraph poles they passed now were free of the gruesome cargo, but the abject horror of what they’d seen sat like a leaden cannonball in their souls.

A railroad man made his way gingerly to the flatbed. “Please, sir, what is going on? Why are we stopping?” Liza asked with as much control as she could muster.

“Only a stop for refueling. We’ve got to make it quick. We don’t know if it was the Villistas or the federales who left that…,” his voice trailed off as he jerked his head in the direction they’d come from.

The next hours on the journey to the coastal city of Tampico blurred. Liza occupied herself with keeping the children’s minds on happier things, but her heart ached.

Tampico was not the haven they’d heard. While open fighting had not yet broken out there, the food shortage was acute. The three went through the hurriedly assembled food supplies Liza kept in her bag despite her efforts to ration it. There were many hungry, especially lone children at the train station, and just as it was in her home, no one around her would go without, except of course her, although she kept that hidden from Carlos and Meli.

She managed to find them a small place to stay, really the back shed of a blacksmith shop, but it was a roof, four walls, and a place more sheltered than the openness of the train station.  It took most of the money she had, but it was all she could do for the present. After the first night spent sleeping fitfully on the dirt floor and knowing she’d be unable to appease her children’s hunger for another day with just long draughts of water from the cold well nearby, she pulled Carlos to her and bent down close to his face.

“Do not, Carlitos, DO NOT,” she emphasized as she squeezed his shoulders, “open this door for anyone but me, OR let Meli or you go outside for ANY reason, not any at all. Do you understand?” She spoke slowly, letting each word sear into him.

“Yes, Mama, I understand,” Carlos replied solemnly, protectively reaching out to Meli.

Liza furtively slipped through the chaotic streets, where people were in a confused flurry, trying to prepare for something, but for what, they didn’t know, and where thousands of refugees from the violence, just like them, flooded in by the hour.

Her feet ached, she felt weak from not eating since they’d left home, and she knew she would break down in a second if she thought of her husband, marked for death and in hiding, but she pushed on. His last words to her, “We’ll find each other again, I promise you,” became her lifeline to sanity, and she allowed herself to dwell on the strength and certainty of them.

Finally, she found one vendor who had something edible to sell, but it took all the coins she had left. It was birdseed, and even at the inflated wartime prices, she was grateful to find it. If birds could eat it, so could they for a little while.

It seemed the streets got more sinister and the people more aggressive as she moved back to the little shed as quickly as her weakened body would allow her.

In sight of the shed, her breath caught and her heart ceased for a moment. The door, which she’d carefully pushed closed and had Carlos latch from the inside, was slightly ajar. She saw a shadow pass inside near the lone window, much too tall for a four and five year old.

Now she was running, sobbing, not caring who she careened into. Her feet had never carried her faster and she hit the door with so much force it banged off its top hinge and broke.

Her eyes expected the worst after what they’d already seen on the journey there, and she thought she’d faint dead away when the reality of the scene hit her. She brought her hands to her face and choked out great, heaving, gasping sobs.

“We found each other again, just like I told you, sweetheart, just like I promised you,” her husband said as he stretched out his hands to her, although it was hard for her to find room in his embrace with the two children already folded inside it.

She sank into his strong arms and continued to cry, but tears of happiness.

They made eventually made it back to their home and hotel in San Luis Potosi, and although there were other near escapes for my great grandfather, the rebels never caught him. He lived out his days in Mexico, and my great grandmother lived to be 95, still one of the strongest and most loving women I’ve ever known.

Escape

She pulled her kids closer to her, though they were already nestled tightly in her arms. Five year old Carlos and four year old Meli had nodded off to sleep shortly after the train started moving, and for that she was grateful, but many things still scraped through her heart.

One was the safety of her husband. His parting words to her at the train station seemed to repeat so often that they became her pulse. "Liza, get to the coast- get the kids to safety, and keep yourself safe. We'll find each other again, I promise you." A hurried kiss, and he was gone into the darkness, gone to hide in mountain caves with other men targeted for execution by the warring rebels.

Although Liza's husband had been born in Texas, he and she both were Mexican citizens, proud of the gleaming little hotel they built themselves in the Mexican state of San Luis Potosi. However, their peace was shattered by the Mexican Revolution, which pitted rebel generals like Pancho Villa against pro-government forces. Because of her husband's foreign birth, he was assumed to be a government supporter and summarily marked for death by the roaming bands of rebels.

It became a cat and mouse game when rebel forces were near. The wanted men like her husband fled to the shadowy mountains to the west,  burrowing into caves they'd already stocked with provisions until rebel forces withdrew. Months before, Pancho Villa himself had even churned up to their hotel on his horse with other bandidos, leveling a rifle at Carlos and Meli. She'd stepped in front of her children and stared him down until he laughed and pulled away. (The Day Pancho Villa Came to Town)

This time, however, was different. A new, murderous spree by the rebels caught even women and babies in its net, and the little family had to escape under cover of night; him to the dark underground of the mountain tunnels and caves, and she and the children on a flatbed rail car, the only space left on the train, eastward to coastal city of Tampico, where the revolution was still only a distant rumble.

Liza didn't know what awaited them in Tampico, but she stoically set her mind to endure what she had to, whatever it took, to keep the children safe.

"We'll find each other again, I promise you," gave her strength. Her tears dried by the time the first rays of the sun warmed her skin and stirred the children. Other women and children on the flatbed car also began awakening, and the burgeoning young voices brought a level of comfort, even on a speeding train.

Carlos stretched and yawned. "Mama, will there be anything for breakfast?" Liza checked her bag, unsure how long she was going to have to make the hurriedly assembled tortillas and jerky last.

Meli was fully awake, too, but said nothing. Her luminous eyes scanned the rapidly passing terrain, broken only by the regularly placed telegraph poles.

"Yes, son, we will have some in just a bit. Don't stand, just stretch your legs here," she cautioned as Carlos tried to arise. "I don't want you to fall off the train!"

He giggled, but rubbed his cramped legs. He put a protective arm around Meli.

Liza kept her eyes on what she could see in front of them. She knew these trains could be attacked quickly by the rifle wielding bandidos.

Seeing nothing but trees, she relaxed just a little and pulled two corn tortillas out of her bag and a piece of jerky for both kids. She smoothed the blanket under them.

It startled her when Carlos yelled, "Look, Mama, look!"

Liza followed the direction of his pointing arm and what she saw made her drop the food, cover the children's eyes, and pull them close to her.

The passing telegraph poles now held bodies; bodies of men, women, old people, children. Some were hanging, some were nailed on, crucifixion style.

(To be continued...)

My grandfather, Carlos, is the little boy kneeling in the front, hands on his knee. His sister, Meli, is next to him, beside the dog. My amazing great grandmother is the second woman from the right. This picture is about the time of this story.

And to read the conclusion to this story, go here: Escape, The Conclusion. 

A Randomly Wonderful Act of Kindness

Ebbie laughed ruefully. "Bess, do you really think we're going to have to walk to the whole way today?"

Bess looked down at her shoes. Although made in a sensible, teacher style, they were no match  for the ten miles that stretched between the two of them and town.

She looked at her friend and fellow teacher Ebbie and groaned a little. " I can't even think of that, Ebbie." She looked up at the sky. "Lord, please send a ride our way into town, " she implored.

Ebbie added hastily, "And please let it not be in the back of a chicken truck!"

They both shook their heads as if to banish the memory. In the early 1920's, hitchhiking was still a fairly safe, if erratic, mode of transportation for two brand new teachers, and it was the only way they could make it into town from their rural teacherage to buy groceries and do a little shopping. Their last ride to town had been in the back of a large truck hauling cages and cages of chickens. They themselves resembled chickens when they finally arrived in town after several stops picking up more fowl along the way.

They trudged down the road, sticking out their thumbs at the lone vehicle headed north, but it was a farmer in a Model T and he called out as he chugged past, "Sorry girls, got a cow in labor! Can't stop today!"

Bess pushed her long curls out of her face. The dust from the road coupled with the already oppressive humidity was decimating the care she'd put into her hair and makeup that early morning. Ebbie was limping slightly, even though they'd only walked the first two miles.

"Bess, I..." Ebbie began before she was cut off by a car that slid quietly in behind them and slowed to a stop. It was a sleek and shiny black, longer and larger than any they'd ever seen. Had they known anything about cars at that time, they would have identified it as a 1924 Pierce- Arrow, one of the premier luxury touring cars of the day.

A small, elderly woman in the back seat, dressed in black from her hat all the way through her exquisitely made leather shoes, beckoned to them. "Come on, girls. We'll give you a ride into town."

The chauffeur held the door as the girls stepped gingerly into the back with their benefactor. "Are you the new teachers?" she asked as they settled in, dumbfounded at the turn of events.

"Yes, ma'am, we are," Bess replied. "I am Bess and this is Ebbie."

"I am Henrietta King, " she told them. "I live in Corpus Christi now, but I still come down from time to time to check on my ranch. We can drop you in town on our way back."

The girls' eyes widened. The King Ranch was the largest ranch in the world and Mrs. King, one of the richest women in America and owner of the ranch, was almost a mythical figure. Her acumen and largesse were legendary. They never thought they'd have the opportunity to meet, much less ride, with her.

A staunch Presbyterian, Mrs. King talked with the girls of the Bible, her first foray into Texas with her missionary father, and how happy she was they were teachers. The ride was over before they knew it, but the impact of her act of kindness seared into Bess and Ebbie for the rest of their lives.

When Mrs. King passed away the next year, her coffin flanked by 200 vaqueros (cowboys) on horseback, Bess and Ebbie were there to pay tribute as well.

And when my Grandma Bess and her lifelong friend Ebbie would tell us this story, they always ended with, "You'll be more remembered for your kindness than for your wealth."

This is my first blog hop,The Random Acts of Kindness bloghop, sponsored by Wayman Publishing. They are giving away some great free ebooks today. And if you buy any of the .99 ebooks, you will automatically be entered into an iPad Mini-Sweepstakes. Visit this link: Wayman Publishing to find out more.