Chapter 3
~ terra firma ~
Even the beautiful sunsets in the altitudes of New Mexico couldn’t compare to the streaks of wild color Grace saw on her first trip to Arizona. During the week between Christmas and New Years, she spent the late afternoons outside watching the sun begin its descent in to the endless Arizona horizon. The hours between 5:00 and 6:00pm were filled with impossible hues, patterned clouds and undisturbed stillness. It was as if the troubles of the world ceased to exist so that the sun could have a quiet departure from the busy day.
The rich blues of the sky faded into purples, streaked with lines of clouds in explosive oranges and pinks straight from an artist’s palette. The firebombs of color were different each evening – sometimes varying shades of yellows claimed the horizon, other times tangerine fused with amber and lavender blushes. Always, the sun left a thin, brilliant, golden line along the mountain horizon for a split second each day before vanishing altogether.
One evening, as she emerged to the front patio, she thought the mountains were on fire. Strokes of short clouds behind the edges of the mountains were brushed up in short, angry wisps. The intense reds – brick, ruby, black cherry – stitched together the jumbled heaps of orange and hints of mottled blue. She gasped at first, her skin electric and alive with the danger of dusk.
The desert creatures stretched their heads out from hiding places and coyotes loped down dry ravines. Their night was just beginning after their daytime slumber. Crickets sang and cicadas strummed, the desert quail scurried across the desert paths along the mountain toward the saguaro they called home.
She wanted to be nocturnal, to emerge at dusk when the world folded in upon itself. With her history of insomnia, she felt she knew the night intimately. Now, she was getting to know the nights in Esker – becoming an expert in fact. In the made up guest room, under layers of white sheets and a down comforter, she woke in the quiet hours between midnight and four, and translated the shadows that stretched across the bedroom’s ceiling. Tick. Purr. Click. Tick. Purr. Click. She listened to the black and white clock next to her bed and predicted the time lapse between when she would fall into a fitful sleep and when she would wake again.
The trip to Esker was a jolt to Grace. She was a misfit in the familial hellos, hugs and stories from holidays past. At first, she fidgeted and silenced herself when she felt kernels of words wanting to pop from her throat. This was Jack’s family, not hers.
She wondered why she had listened to her aunt. Gina had encouraged her to go – said she had done her duty to have Christmas with the family; she should spend New Years Eve with the guy who made her giggle and think about important things like how her lipstick looked and whether Vygotsky’s Social Behavior Theory applied to her childhood. Grace thought that Gina, always staunch when it came to family time, just needed to know that Grace was normal. So she went.
Jack greeted her at the surprisingly bustling airport in Tucson, a bunch of red heather and sunflowers in hand, and transported her into the folds of his life. Grace’s eyes opened wide when she first saw the town. The mountains and river valley were wide, expansive. Jack hadn’t told her that his home was so beautiful. The town’s elevation was 3,000 feet above sea level – nothing like the flat, desert wasteland she had first pictured when Jack spoke of his hometown. Driving through the winding roads towards Jack’s parents’ house, she felt moved to the ends of the Earth. There was nothing before now, this enchanting ride into a hidden place felt magical, healing.
The Esker homestead was located in a different dimension. Built in the late 1700’s, Jack’s Spanish ancestors vividly recreated the architecture of their homeland. Mission style arches, windows cut into exterior adobe walls, and wrought iron gates shaped the small, artsy town.
Jack’s ancestors, the Eskeras de Madreon, had settled the town after the Pima Native American tribe Revolt of 1751. The Eskeras built churches, missions, town buildings all in the style of their native roots. By the time Jack’s great, great grandfather was born, the family had adopted the name Esker as their surname. The town was officially founded under the name of Esker in 1802.
With the Mexican War of Independence, Esker officially became part of Mexico for nearly 30 years before the Gadsden Purchase. During this time, the town did not grow rapidly. The family survived on the fortunes from Spain and cultivated the land to grow their own food, raise their own cattle. The familial records from this time are scarce. Most of the documents chronicled births and baptisms and some purchases and trades with transient tribes. A family portrait of the Esker’s was commissioned during this time and showed matriarch and patriarch surrounded by sons and daughters, their spouses and eight grandchildren. The curly-headed infant, dressed in a long white baptism gown, was Jack’s great-grandfather, Alejandro Jack Esker.
After the United States claimed the land in 1853, Jack’s great, great-ancestors, two uncles and his grandfather, founded the Esker Mining & Surplus Depot which attracted people from across the southwest region, and those from the East seeking fortunes. There were many mining towns at this time though Esker seemed to attract more than its fair share of people hoping to strike it rich in the impressive mountains and wide, flowing river. Esker Mining & Surplus did a heavy business during the boon and soon others were coming to set up shop in the serene hamlet between the river and the mountains.
With the addition of added businesses, a new rail station and the newly formed Daily Chronicle, Esker began to attract an affluent population. People who wanted to make the move permanently began to settle in the town and on the outskirts in the hills and mountains. The community continued to grow rapidly. Soon artists and writers began to make their home in Esker and the surrounding Santa Inez Valley region. The affluent needed to have pretty things in their homes and many of the families with a long history in Esker commissioned paintings of their families and the mountains that enclosed their community and made it home.
Esker remained a thriving artist community throughout the 1900’s, and only suffered slightly – unlike most communities – through the Great Depression. Bootlegging alcohol became a past-time of artists to keep the economy strong. People didn’t want for much, even when some surrounding settlements were forced into ghost town status.
The community still drew people who were looking for a different type of life – one away from the vast cities that were growing and changing constantly. Esker became a stable haven for the refugees of city rhythms.
“Wow. I can see why you like it here.” Grace smiled at Jack, took his hand in hers.
“It’s home. Come meet my mom and dad.” He grabbed her brown leather travel bag and held her hand as they ascended the walk.
Introductions weren’t awkward as she feared. In fact, Grace liked his family – they were warm, inviting her into their home with meaningful phrases – “so nice to meet you,” “you are quite a pretty thing,” “Jack says wonderful things about you.” She smiled and nodded, returning the compliments about their hospitality and beautiful home.
“I’m so impressed with the history of the town. Your house is beautiful. Thank you for letting me stay.” Grace turned her face toward Iris, Jack’s mother.
“Would you like the tour?” Iris was gracious. Grace imagined her own mother in that instant. Both were similarly elegant.
Jack’s mother showed Grace the turquoise necklaces from the Pima tribes and the gilded crosses from Spain showcased in the low, spacious library. Paintings, from local artists of the 1800’s graced the Spanish red-tiled hallways. Exposed wood beams in every section of the house were smooth from centuries of oils and dust.
Grace learned that the thriving artist community is one of the main draws of the town. She wasn’t surprised when Iris told her about the influx of tourists and art connoisseurs from around the region that visit in for the fall and spring artist festivals. Grace wanted to visit again too. Grace wanted to live in Esker, miles away from the hills of North Tome. Miles from what she thought was home.
“Here’s where you’ll be sleeping, honey. The bathroom is yours and Gloria’s. Her room is down the hall. Let’s go see if she’s in there.”
Gloria was on the porch outside the double glass doors. The blue sky showed forever today and Gloria was reading a book, her glasses down across the bridge of her nose.
“Mama, this is Grace, Jack’s girl.” Iris made the introductions, hand extended toward her mother-in-law.
Gloria’s eyes rose, gray and delighted. Her lips extended upward, a permanent curved smile rested on her lips. She invoked years of sweet memories, daring adventures and shared secrets. No wonder Jack adored his grandmother so much. She was perfect.
“It’s so nice to meet you Grace.” She extended a worn hand, paper thin skin. Her grip was firm.
“Nice to meet you too, Gloria. Jack has told me so much about you.”
“Why don’t you join me?” She motioned to the empty chairs on her tiled patio. She had a carafe of coffee next to her cup on the small glass table.
Jack left to retrieve two more mugs as Iris excused herself to attend to dinner.
“Sit, sit, child. I don’t bite… hard.” Her eyes were full of mirth.
Grace laughed, feeling her anxious energy slip from her stomach.
Gloria crossed her strong hands in her lap and caught Grace in her kind, level gaze. “You are the girl my grandson will marry, Grace. Mark my words. I feel it in the energy in the air. Don’t you?”
She uncrossed her hands and stirred her coffee with a small, silver spoon.
“Um, I… I really hadn’t thought much about it. Jack certainly is a nice guy though.” She wasn’t sure whether she should think of it. Marriage never crossed her mind.
“Grace,” Gloria began, “he is a firecracker. He will be grounded with you. You two are kindred.”
As if on cue, Jack stepped from Gloria’s bedroom to the patio and poured two more cups of coffee. He flopped down directly across from her. Grace looked at him, bent around the white wooden chair. Even sitting down he looked tall, cocky from head to long toes. His dark hair had a confident wave. His brown eyes weren’t hard, lashes were prominent and strong. She loved to hear him talk – swallowed his words like smooth brandy. He popped the self-doubt balloon she had carried for most of her life.
It was the one and only time that Grace would think that Gloria was wrong about something. Grace didn’t ground Jack. Jack pulled Grace back to this world and made it something worth living.
Even the beautiful sunsets in the altitudes of New Mexico couldn’t compare to the streaks of wild color Grace saw on her first trip to Arizona. During the week between Christmas and New Years, she spent the late afternoons outside watching the sun begin its descent in to the endless Arizona horizon. The hours between 5:00 and 6:00pm were filled with impossible hues, patterned clouds and undisturbed stillness. It was as if the troubles of the world ceased to exist so that the sun could have a quiet departure from the busy day.
The rich blues of the sky faded into purples, streaked with lines of clouds in explosive oranges and pinks straight from an artist’s palette. The firebombs of color were different each evening – sometimes varying shades of yellows claimed the horizon, other times tangerine fused with amber and lavender blushes. Always, the sun left a thin, brilliant, golden line along the mountain horizon for a split second each day before vanishing altogether.
One evening, as she emerged to the front patio, she thought the mountains were on fire. Strokes of short clouds behind the edges of the mountains were brushed up in short, angry wisps. The intense reds – brick, ruby, black cherry – stitched together the jumbled heaps of orange and hints of mottled blue. She gasped at first, her skin electric and alive with the danger of dusk.
The desert creatures stretched their heads out from hiding places and coyotes loped down dry ravines. Their night was just beginning after their daytime slumber. Crickets sang and cicadas strummed, the desert quail scurried across the desert paths along the mountain toward the saguaro they called home.
She wanted to be nocturnal, to emerge at dusk when the world folded in upon itself. With her history of insomnia, she felt she knew the night intimately. Now, she was getting to know the nights in Esker – becoming an expert in fact. In the made up guest room, under layers of white sheets and a down comforter, she woke in the quiet hours between midnight and four, and translated the shadows that stretched across the bedroom’s ceiling. Tick. Purr. Click. Tick. Purr. Click. She listened to the black and white clock next to her bed and predicted the time lapse between when she would fall into a fitful sleep and when she would wake again.
The trip to Esker was a jolt to Grace. She was a misfit in the familial hellos, hugs and stories from holidays past. At first, she fidgeted and silenced herself when she felt kernels of words wanting to pop from her throat. This was Jack’s family, not hers.
She wondered why she had listened to her aunt. Gina had encouraged her to go – said she had done her duty to have Christmas with the family; she should spend New Years Eve with the guy who made her giggle and think about important things like how her lipstick looked and whether Vygotsky’s Social Behavior Theory applied to her childhood. Grace thought that Gina, always staunch when it came to family time, just needed to know that Grace was normal. So she went.
Jack greeted her at the surprisingly bustling airport in Tucson, a bunch of red heather and sunflowers in hand, and transported her into the folds of his life. Grace’s eyes opened wide when she first saw the town. The mountains and river valley were wide, expansive. Jack hadn’t told her that his home was so beautiful. The town’s elevation was 3,000 feet above sea level – nothing like the flat, desert wasteland she had first pictured when Jack spoke of his hometown. Driving through the winding roads towards Jack’s parents’ house, she felt moved to the ends of the Earth. There was nothing before now, this enchanting ride into a hidden place felt magical, healing.
The Esker homestead was located in a different dimension. Built in the late 1700’s, Jack’s Spanish ancestors vividly recreated the architecture of their homeland. Mission style arches, windows cut into exterior adobe walls, and wrought iron gates shaped the small, artsy town.
Jack’s ancestors, the Eskeras de Madreon, had settled the town after the Pima Native American tribe Revolt of 1751. The Eskeras built churches, missions, town buildings all in the style of their native roots. By the time Jack’s great, great grandfather was born, the family had adopted the name Esker as their surname. The town was officially founded under the name of Esker in 1802.
With the Mexican War of Independence, Esker officially became part of Mexico for nearly 30 years before the Gadsden Purchase. During this time, the town did not grow rapidly. The family survived on the fortunes from Spain and cultivated the land to grow their own food, raise their own cattle. The familial records from this time are scarce. Most of the documents chronicled births and baptisms and some purchases and trades with transient tribes. A family portrait of the Esker’s was commissioned during this time and showed matriarch and patriarch surrounded by sons and daughters, their spouses and eight grandchildren. The curly-headed infant, dressed in a long white baptism gown, was Jack’s great-grandfather, Alejandro Jack Esker.
After the United States claimed the land in 1853, Jack’s great, great-ancestors, two uncles and his grandfather, founded the Esker Mining & Surplus Depot which attracted people from across the southwest region, and those from the East seeking fortunes. There were many mining towns at this time though Esker seemed to attract more than its fair share of people hoping to strike it rich in the impressive mountains and wide, flowing river. Esker Mining & Surplus did a heavy business during the boon and soon others were coming to set up shop in the serene hamlet between the river and the mountains.
With the addition of added businesses, a new rail station and the newly formed Daily Chronicle, Esker began to attract an affluent population. People who wanted to make the move permanently began to settle in the town and on the outskirts in the hills and mountains. The community continued to grow rapidly. Soon artists and writers began to make their home in Esker and the surrounding Santa Inez Valley region. The affluent needed to have pretty things in their homes and many of the families with a long history in Esker commissioned paintings of their families and the mountains that enclosed their community and made it home.
Esker remained a thriving artist community throughout the 1900’s, and only suffered slightly – unlike most communities – through the Great Depression. Bootlegging alcohol became a past-time of artists to keep the economy strong. People didn’t want for much, even when some surrounding settlements were forced into ghost town status.
The community still drew people who were looking for a different type of life – one away from the vast cities that were growing and changing constantly. Esker became a stable haven for the refugees of city rhythms.
“Wow. I can see why you like it here.” Grace smiled at Jack, took his hand in hers.
“It’s home. Come meet my mom and dad.” He grabbed her brown leather travel bag and held her hand as they ascended the walk.
Introductions weren’t awkward as she feared. In fact, Grace liked his family – they were warm, inviting her into their home with meaningful phrases – “so nice to meet you,” “you are quite a pretty thing,” “Jack says wonderful things about you.” She smiled and nodded, returning the compliments about their hospitality and beautiful home.
“I’m so impressed with the history of the town. Your house is beautiful. Thank you for letting me stay.” Grace turned her face toward Iris, Jack’s mother.
“Would you like the tour?” Iris was gracious. Grace imagined her own mother in that instant. Both were similarly elegant.
Jack’s mother showed Grace the turquoise necklaces from the Pima tribes and the gilded crosses from Spain showcased in the low, spacious library. Paintings, from local artists of the 1800’s graced the Spanish red-tiled hallways. Exposed wood beams in every section of the house were smooth from centuries of oils and dust.
Grace learned that the thriving artist community is one of the main draws of the town. She wasn’t surprised when Iris told her about the influx of tourists and art connoisseurs from around the region that visit in for the fall and spring artist festivals. Grace wanted to visit again too. Grace wanted to live in Esker, miles away from the hills of North Tome. Miles from what she thought was home.
“Here’s where you’ll be sleeping, honey. The bathroom is yours and Gloria’s. Her room is down the hall. Let’s go see if she’s in there.”
Gloria was on the porch outside the double glass doors. The blue sky showed forever today and Gloria was reading a book, her glasses down across the bridge of her nose.
“Mama, this is Grace, Jack’s girl.” Iris made the introductions, hand extended toward her mother-in-law.
Gloria’s eyes rose, gray and delighted. Her lips extended upward, a permanent curved smile rested on her lips. She invoked years of sweet memories, daring adventures and shared secrets. No wonder Jack adored his grandmother so much. She was perfect.
“It’s so nice to meet you Grace.” She extended a worn hand, paper thin skin. Her grip was firm.
“Nice to meet you too, Gloria. Jack has told me so much about you.”
“Why don’t you join me?” She motioned to the empty chairs on her tiled patio. She had a carafe of coffee next to her cup on the small glass table.
Jack left to retrieve two more mugs as Iris excused herself to attend to dinner.
“Sit, sit, child. I don’t bite… hard.” Her eyes were full of mirth.
Grace laughed, feeling her anxious energy slip from her stomach.
Gloria crossed her strong hands in her lap and caught Grace in her kind, level gaze. “You are the girl my grandson will marry, Grace. Mark my words. I feel it in the energy in the air. Don’t you?”
She uncrossed her hands and stirred her coffee with a small, silver spoon.
“Um, I… I really hadn’t thought much about it. Jack certainly is a nice guy though.” She wasn’t sure whether she should think of it. Marriage never crossed her mind.
“Grace,” Gloria began, “he is a firecracker. He will be grounded with you. You two are kindred.”
As if on cue, Jack stepped from Gloria’s bedroom to the patio and poured two more cups of coffee. He flopped down directly across from her. Grace looked at him, bent around the white wooden chair. Even sitting down he looked tall, cocky from head to long toes. His dark hair had a confident wave. His brown eyes weren’t hard, lashes were prominent and strong. She loved to hear him talk – swallowed his words like smooth brandy. He popped the self-doubt balloon she had carried for most of her life.
It was the one and only time that Grace would think that Gloria was wrong about something. Grace didn’t ground Jack. Jack pulled Grace back to this world and made it something worth living.
posted by Roxy at 4:20 PM
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