The tears that Rose had fought so hard to contain spilled out at the thought of Nieve clinging to the peacock shawl in her sleep—her fingers wrapped around the frayed, faded fabric that had very likely been woven by her mother’s own hands. Rose felt an overwhelming urge to get up and run from this place, down the mountain to the school, to gather the child up in her arms and bury her face in Nieve’s hair.
“I have to go now.” Rose jumped to her feet, wiping her hand across her cheeks. “Thank you for . . .” She broke off, unable to say any more.
“Let me give you something first,” Maria said. She stood up stiffly, holding her hand to her back. “It’s in the house—I won’t be a minute.”
Rose followed her silently back through the rows of vegetables. It was as if her mind had broken loose from her body. Her limbs were doing exactly what they should, but she felt like an automaton. She stood, rigid, outside the door of the farmhouse while Maria went inside. When the old woman reemerged, she pressed a small, hard object into Rose’s hand. “He would have wanted you to have this. You did a brave thing, coming all this way to find him.”
Rose opened her fingers. In her palm lay the tiny figure of a horse.
Chapter 27
The early-morning sun slanted through the tree outside the window, casting dappled shadows on the gray woolen blanket that covered the bed. Rose rubbed her eyes. Where was she? This was not her bedroom at the mill. Where was Nieve? And Gunesh?
There was something on her head. She could feel a cold, wet sensation on her scalp. Panic seized her. She tried to scramble out of the bed, but a searing pain shot up her left ankle. Then the bedroom door opened, and Zoltan’s face appeared.
“Oh good—you’re awake.” The worry lines between his eyebrows relaxed a little.
“What happened? How did I get here? Where’s Nieve?” The questions tumbled out in a voice that sounded as croaky and ancient as Maria’s.
“It’s all right.” He sat down beside her, stroking her hair. “Nieve’s playing outside with Gunesh. I put you in here to get some rest. You must have fallen coming down the mountain. I found you on my way back from the market.”
“But I . . . I don’t remember . . .”
“Shhh. Don’t try to talk. You were out cold—that’s why you don’t remember. You must have knocked your head on a rock when you fell. There’s no wound or anything—just a small lump—but you need to take it easy for a day or two.” He reached across to a jug on the windowsill and poured water into a glass. “Here. Drink this. I’m going to take Nieve to school now. I’ll make you some breakfast when I get back if you feel up to eating anything.”
When he’d gone Rose spotted a familiar object on the bedside table. It was the wooden horse her brother had carved for Maria. She reached out to touch it, running her fingers over the smooth curve of its back. Thank God she hadn’t lost it when she fell on the mountain. It was the one thing that connected her with Nathan.
She must have drifted back into sleep soon after that. When she woke up again, Zoltan was standing beside the bed with a tray of coffee and toasted bread spread with apricot jam.
“Thank you.” She struggled to raise her head. He slipped his arms behind her shoulders and eased her into a sitting position. “Was Nieve okay going to school?”
“Fine,” Zoltan replied. “She loves animals, doesn’t she? I think she was born to ride a mule.” He set the tray on her lap and poured coffee into an enamel mug. “Oh! Did I hurt you?”
She felt stupid, pathetic, for welling up at the very mention of Nieve’s birth. “No,” she whispered. “It’s just . . . Nieve . . . she . . .”
“You don’t have to explain. Maria told me everything. She came over last night with that poultice for your head.”
“I thought I could take it.” Rose lifted the coffee to her mouth, breathing in the sharp aroma. “I’d told myself a hundred times that it was impossible—that Nieve couldn’t be my brother’s child—but in here . . .” She clasped her hand to her chest. “I was clinging to it. When you told me that Nathan was dead—well, it was all I had left. And then, when Maria filled in the rest . . . it was like I’d crucified myself on a shadow.”
“I wish she hadn’t given it to you in such gruesome detail. If I’d been there with you—”
Rose held up her hand. “I made her tell me everything. It was the only way I could know for sure that Nieve wasn’t Nathan’s daughter.”
“You’ve made a huge difference to that little girl’s life, you know.” Zoltan pushed the plate of toast across the tray toward her. “She told me she couldn’t read or write before she met you.”
“She’s an easy child to love. Her mother—Lola, I mean—was afraid I might try and take her away if I found out she was my niece. That was before Lola was arrested. I told her that whatever happened, I’d never do that.”
“What will you do now? Is there any chance of Lola being released?”
“I don’t know. I’ve written letters to everyone I can think of. But no one’s replied. I go cold every time I think about it. She could be locked up for years.”
“Would you take Nieve back to England?”
Rose shook her head. “I don’t know. She seems happy here, doesn’t she?” Glancing at the shape of her foot under the bedclothes, she added, “And I’m not going anywhere in a hurry, am I?”
“Well, not for a couple of days. But it’s San Juan tomorrow—remember? I’ve promised Nieve I’ll get you down the mountain on the mule so you can see her in the dance display.”
“Oh God—I’d forgotten all about it!”
“Hardly surprising—you’ve had a bump on the head.” Zoltan’s lips pressed into a wry smile. “You’d better eat some of that toast. Apricots are good for the brain.”
“Are they?” Rose took a big bite and swallowed it down. “I didn’t know that.”
“Nor did I.” Zoltan grinned. “Don’t stop eating now, though, will you?”
The sun was low in the sky as the mule made its way through the cobbled streets of Pampaneira. Zoltan walked in front with Gunesh at his heels. He held the lead rein, taking care not to let the mule get too close to the water channels. Rose held tight to the saddle. The swelling in her ankle had gone down, but she was afraid of putting any weight on it, so only her good foot was in a stirrup.
“The houses look pretty,” she said. “I can see why you did such brisk business the other day.”
“Looks like love is in the air, doesn’t it.” He smiled over his shoulder as they passed yet another front door festooned with a garland of white roses and jasmine blossom studded with cherries.
Rose wondered if Nathan had hung flowers and cherries on Adelita’s door. Very likely they had met and fallen in love in the summer of ’37. But it seemed unimaginable that such innocent pleasures as adorning a sweetheart’s house with flowers and dancing around a midsummer bonfire could have gone on during the dreadful years of the Civil War.
“That one doesn’t look so nice, does it?” Rose pointed to a door on the other side of the street. It had a bunch of thorns and nettles tied to the door knocker.
“That’s what they do if they’ve had a quarrel,” Zoltan replied.
“If someone hung something like that on my door, I’d take it down—I wouldn’t leave it hanging there for everyone to see.”
“They can’t—it’s bad luck. Anything that’s hung on a door must stay there until sunrise tomorrow. If a girl takes it down, they say she’ll never marry.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Maria told me.”
“Is she coming tonight?”
“Oh no—much too dangerous,” he said with a wry grin. “They burn an effigy of a witch on the bonfire. She’ll be tucked up in bed while the fiesta’s going on.”
Zoltan led the mule out of the village and across the bridge to the mill. Rose wasn’t looking forward to going back there, but she had to pick up Nieve’s costume, which she’d left lying on the bed the previous
morning.
There was no sign of life when they got there. She gave Zoltan the key, and he disappeared inside while she stayed sitting on the mule. She’d had to ask him to look through her things, to find spare underwear, nightdresses, and a change of clothes for Nieve and herself. It was embarrassing—but there was no way she could get up those stairs herself.
“Oh, you’ve come back, have you?”
The miller’s wife came from behind, startling her so that she nearly lost her balance.
“Buenas noches.” Rose twisted around in the saddle. But before she could explain her absence, Señora Carmona let loose a tirade:
“Didn’t take you long, did it, to find yourself a man? I’ve seen him selling his cherries in the market. A dirty Gypsy—that’s what he is. I don’t know how you could lower yourself. I thought you were an educated person! Writing a book, indeed! Well, you needn’t think you’re spending another night under my roof! Whatever he’s gone up there for, you’d better tell him to bring the rest as well. I want you and the kid and that slobbering dog out! Out!”
At that moment, Zoltan appeared in the doorway.
“Señora Carmona, you misunderstand,” he said. “Rose injured her foot while walking in the mountains. She only—”
“Don’t give me that rubbish!” the woman hissed.
“You’re wasting your breath, Zoltan. She took a dislike to me the day I arrived.” Rose’s voice, quiet and controlled, belied her seething anger. “You’re not interested in the truth, are you?” she said, turning to Señora Carmona. “You only want to see the bad in people. And I wouldn’t spend another night here if you paid me. I’d rather sleep under a bush!”
“I’m sorry,” Rose murmured, stroking the mule’s neck as it labored back up the village streets, its panniers bursting with her possessions. “And sorry to you, too,” she said to Zoltan. “Looks like you’re stuck with us until I can find somewhere else to stay.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he replied. “I like having you and Nieve in the cottage. It gets lonely up there sometimes.”
“But we’ve taken your bed!”
He shrugged. “I’m quite comfortable on the rug. Believe me, it’s luxury compared to what I had to sleep on in Mauthausen. I spent two years on a filthy straw mattress crawling with lice.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m sorry for reminding you of that. But thank you—you’ve already done so much for us.”
“We’d better speed up a bit if we’re going to get that costume to Nieve in time for the performance.” Zoltan smiled. “Do you mind if I carry you the rest of the way? It’ll make it easier for the mule.”
He lifted her from the saddle. Somehow, he managed to hold her with one arm while leading the mule with the other. Her head was over his right shoulder. She could smell the earthy warmth of his skin through his shirt. When they reached the village square, he set her gently down on one of the wooden benches that had been set out in front of the church for the dance performance. Then he tied the mule to a ring in the church wall and set off on foot to deliver Nieve’s costume to the school.
As she watched Zoltan go, Rose couldn’t help drawing a comparison between him and Cristóbal. Physically, they were very different. Zoltan was much taller and fairer complexioned. Cristóbal had the kind of face that turned heads, while Zoltan’s attractiveness came from somewhere deeper. His kindness, consideration, and respect for her put Cristóbal’s behavior to shame. She closed her eyes, shutting out images of Cristóbal and summoning the memory of nestling against Zoltan’s shoulder. He had made her feel . . . what? Protected. Safe. Not things she’d ever thought she needed from a man—and yet . . .
Instinctively she reached under the bench, feeling for Gunesh. He gave her a reassuring lick as her hand found his head. She let out a long breath. It was impossible to deny the gentle, seductive charm Zoltan exuded. And she was about to move into his home. She was going to have to be very, very careful. Her heart was too fragile, too scarred, to be exposed again.
By the time Zoltan returned, the square was crowded with people. Everyone was in their best clothes, the women in bright frilled dresses and the men with colorful shirts and jaunty hats. Rose wished she’d had time to retrieve something more attractive to wear when they’d stuffed all her belongings into the panniers. She felt very dowdy in her dusty workaday skirt and blouse.
“Did you manage to find Nieve?” Rose shifted her bag to make a space on the bench for Zoltan.
He nodded. “And I brought you something.” In his hand he had a rose. It was dark red—so dark that the center was almost black. “They call it terciopelo—the Spanish word for velvet. It has a wonderful scent. There’s a bush of them growing behind the school.”
She took it from him and held it to her nose. The fragrance was heavenly, subtly sweet with a hint of something musky and exotic.
“I thought you could wear it in your hair—for the fiesta.”
“Thank you.” She smiled as she tucked the stem behind her ear. He seemed to have a knack for sensing how she was feeling. With the simple gift of a flower, he had instantly lifted her spirits.
Zoltan cocked his head toward the fountain, where Señora Carmona was standing, as black and brittle as charcoal, talking to her daughter. “I see the dragon has arrived.”
“I suppose she was bound to come,” Rose replied. “I’ve been pretending to read so as not to catch her eye.” Rose showed him the piece of paper in her hand. It was a receipt for the bus ticket from Granada to Órgiva. “It was the only thing I could find.”
“Well, she’d better not give us any more grief—I might not be able to keep my mouth shut next time.”
A hush fell over the square as the children began to troop onto the makeshift stage erected against the wall of the church. Rose had a strange sense of déjà vu as Nieve stood in line with the other little girls and lifted her hands above her head. She looked like a miniature version of Lola. The way she held herself, the curve of her hands and arms, and the proud, defiant angle of her head were just the same. When she began to dance, it was hard to believe that—unlike her classmates—she had been rehearsing for only a matter of days.
“She’s very good, isn’t she?” Zoltan murmured. “A natural.”
“Lola’s a professional dancer,” Rose whispered back. “It’s strange—they’re not related, but Nieve seems to have inherited her talent.”
As she watched the child switch effortlessly from a graceful letra to a fast foot-stamping sequence, she glowed inside with pride. When the audience erupted in applause, Rose felt as if her heart would burst.
After the performance ended, Nieve came hurtling through the throng of people in the square to where Rose was sitting. She leapt onto Rose’s lap and wrapped her arms around her neck. Gunesh immediately leapt up, too, licking Nieve’s face as his tail wagged back and forth.
“Gunesh!” Nieve wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, pressing her face closer to Rose’s. “Did you like me?” she whispered.
“Like you? I loved you!” Rose hugged her tight, kissing her through her curls. She was on the verge of adding that Lola would have loved to see it, too, but she bit her tongue. To say such a thing would only upset the child, rob her of this moment of elation.
“What about you, Uncle Zoltan? Did you like me?”
“I think you’re the best dancer in the whole school—and I want you to teach me how to do it.” He grinned. “You won’t make me wear a dress, though, will you?”
“Silly!” She batted at him with her hand, laughing as she jumped off Rose’s lap. “I’ve got to go to Pilar’s house now.”
“What time will you want to come back tomorrow?” Rose asked. “Did she say?”
Nieve shook her head.
“If it’s anything like last year, no one’ll be in bed before sunrise,” Zoltan said.
“I could walk to the mill easily from Pilar’s,” Nieve said. “Shall I meet you there?”
Rose and Zoltan exchanged glances. “
We’re not going to be staying there anymore, actually,” Rose began. “Señora Carmona was cross when we went back to get your costume.” She glanced across the square to where the woman was deep in conversation with Pampaneira’s priest. “She said some nasty things to me. So we’re going to stay at Uncle Zoltan’s for a while longer.”
Nieve beamed, clapped her hands, and ran off toward the stage.
Rose followed her with her eyes until she disappeared, hand in hand with Pilar. Could it be possible to feel closer to a child if they were your own flesh and blood? With sudden clarity Rose realized that it made no difference that Nieve wasn’t Nathan’s daughter. Nathan had brought this child to her, and she loved her—deeply and unconditionally.
It was almost dark when they got back to Zoltan’s cottage. He’d had to unload the panniers and leave them behind the woodpile in the school yard to enable the mule to get Rose up the mountain. She had all that she needed in a bag slung over her shoulder: clean underwear, a nightgown, and her toothbrush. He’d promised to bring everything else when he went to collect Nieve.
“Shall we sit outside for a while?” Zoltan went inside to fetch a blanket and some cushions. He lifted her out of the saddle and laid her down, then went off to feed and water the mule.
Rose lay back on the cushions. Although it was nearly eleven o’clock, the air was still warm. In the pale-indigo sky, she could see the first stars coming out. The trees and bushes were alive with the musical thrumming of the crickets. Then she heard an owl calling. The sound fractured the air, a shrill, mournful cry—like a song for dying souls.
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