Sometimes we find ourselves in the obscure corners of the world that many people are only peripherally aware of. In the old west there are many desolate lands and heaped upon them are the histories of the native people, the people who came later and the people who live there now. All of these lives become intertwined in history, living, loving, dying and then forgotten. In the old part of Las Cruces, the part called Mesilla, a separate town, in fact, history for many was born. Mesilla, a village began in the 1500's by Mexican colonists sits against the southwest portion of Las Cruces. A city that my mother would move to and live the rest of her life.

A very long time ago, during WWII, my father had fallen in love with the people, the land and the life of Colombia. My parents, before I was born, entertained the idea of living their lives there permanently. My parents bound by traditions did not leave this country to live out their adventurous spiritual callings. They stayed and lived connected to their families both in Indiana and Michigan. Still, they were not as integral as their siblings in many ways to the extended family units, though they tried hard. They were different. As the years passed their idea was to retire to Albuquerque. This was the consolation prize to a life, which might have lived differently in Colombia. While many do not understand this, when my father died, having visited New Mexico, the Land of Enchantment, many times, he had not yet retired. He was only 66. My mother did move there some years later. She also invited my oldest sister to live with her. That is another story. 

To please this sister, my mother bought a house in Las Cruces. This is at the opposite end of the state. It was not where my parents had planned, but to please this daughter, who wanted warmth and no snow, they lived there. 

My mother left when my daughter was born. She was not the kind of woman who would want to be close to her grandchildren. She wanted them to come to her. I was an older mother, and I was her youngest child. Born to her about the same age, as I was when I had my children. So you see there was a tremendous gap in ages, and it was understandable that she did not want to be a hands on grandmother, but she did want the visits and to be known.

One summer she sent for us. My husband was working a new job and could not take the time and she was sure that we needed to come and it did not matter he could not travel with. So against my better judgment I set out with three children, two six year old and a four year old. Very brilliant, well-behaved children, but nonetheless, small children.

My mother had not been around small children in a long time and they did not know her well. This was their first visit in about four years. Our children were used to travel; we often visited Disney World and spent summers mostly at our cottage. The house was very nice, but my sister smoked. It was not the freshest smelling. She had tried to clean the smell away and instead there was a kind of chemical polish smell. The kids were not prepared for that. Neither was I. I did my very best to keep them outside and doing things every day.

We visited the pecan groves, the mountains, the nearby university and anything that was considered interesting. We saw a few museums, a wonderful huge old bookshop, with collections of used books and a street market with all kinds of home made things.

One day we went to Mesilla. The square has remained unchanged for a very long time. It evokes a kind of old feeling that you might expect to imagine reading an old western or watching an old movie about the west.

This is the home of William Bonney, Billy the Kid. Pat Garrett is the man who tracked him after his escape and killed him at Ft. Sumner. Pat was mysteriously murdered in an arroyo in Las Cruces and was buried at the Masonic cemetery. Between the Apaches that would attack, the cattle rustlers and the outlaws, it was hardly a peaceful place, but probably no less violent than many other places in the world.

Albert Jennings Fountain was an important leader in this area, even being a New Mexico legislator and Speaker of the House. He had a long and distinguished career and his ancestors founded a private museum. He had amongst other things, actually been assigned at one time, to even defend Billy the Kid against a murder charge. He, along with his 8 year old son, mysteriously disappeared and while foul play was suspected, and they had men on the hook for the murders, without finding the bodies, the case fell apart. These men went free and the murder was never solved. Fountain, through his various legal dealings was on the wrong side of many an outlaw and those suspected of the crime were most likely seeking a kind of revenge.

This museum was in the original Fountain family home, built in 1875. We had made an appointment to tour the home. My sister and I, along with the children went. It was nothing like any place I had ever been, except maybe some quirky antique shop in the bowels of an ancient New York City building. 

As a person who loves antiques I was immediate enjoying the smells, the dust, the overall creepiness of the place. The children, well, they were feeling a bit curious, but not too enthusiastic. In time, they were hovering over various Civil War displays, old clothes, early settler's personal items and wandering around pointing at things and starting to feel how special it all really was. I remember the dining room full of display cases, women's fancy dress items and unlikely things sitting side by side. In the chapel area of the home,  I noticed the ceiling beginning to fall from some moisture problem. High on some shelves were beautiful antique books, several large books with pictures by Audubon, all becoming ruined by dust and dampness. I was becoming stressed by the sight. Then hanging right on the wall, with no fanfare or restraint, the original painting of the Gadsden purchase taking place, the one you saw in your grammar school history books. The very image by Albert J. Fountain Jr.

The Gadsden Museum - Wiki (Now) 

As we moved through the exhibits, I told our guide I felt like this place was so full of history it must be somehow haunted. It had been after all a family home, a place for lodgers too. She laughed nervously and walked us by a couple of bedrooms. She told us a story about one of the bedrooms and said that people who slept in this room often felt someone pulling the covers off of them at night. The kids and my sister stood in the doorway and I walked in. I sat down on the bed. I did not really see or feel anything but  I prayed that this soul would travel on from this place.  I giggled and a nervous smile popped on my face, I was relived to see and feel nothing and so were the children. We all, in our family tend to "know" things and each of us has the ability to "call" close people to us, and yes see things, both in vision and before us.

When the tour was over, the woman invited us into the kitchen, which was decked out in 1940's furniture and appliances, to sit and have lemonade with her. We started sitting there and I felt again that I was in a very different time. After a short respite indoors, we moved outside to a table, where the children had been wandering in the garden, it was fresher there. Our guide/hostess directed them over to the garage where in its large opening was the jail front to Billy the Kid's cell. Really. Well, the kids were very interested in that.

We spoke in the garden and I asked her about the ceiling damage and the Santero art collection which dated back some 350 years. I wondered if she realized the value of the books disintegrating there on the shelf and the danger to the other antiques. It was, of course, a matter of money with fixing these things. I think at that time she was fairly new to it all but I also seem to remember her perhaps being related through some connection.

The thing is my husband had a business on Ebay already at that time selling antique car parts. So I was a bit familiar with the value of some things and tried to tell her more about my experience. We talked about grant money and development funding. We exchanged emails and I got back to her with some information that she had been interested in.

I don't know much about it now some 14 years later, but I see they have a website up, and that they are mentioned in some recent guidebooks, so I think she must have been successful. I don't know what it would be like to go back there today, perhaps one of you in New Mexico can tell me. All I know is that it was a wonderful, history filled, portal to the past, kind of place.

 http://www.southernnewmexico.com/Articles/Southwest/Dona_Ana/LaMesilla/LaMesillaNewMexico-thelas.html

The above link has an excellent section on some of the contents of the museum, that I remember. It is also about the colorful granddaughter of Fountain's and who was an important citizen of Mesilla born at the turn of the century. This piece of writing was taken from magazine article written about her in the 1960's. I believe it accurately shares what I was seeing when I visited. 

Copyright 2011 by SheilaTGTG55 

http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-albertfountain.html

 http://www.desertusa.com/mag06/mar/murder.html

http://www.gadsdenmuseum.org/