A faint smile curved his mouth. “I’ve not forgotten.”
They left early the next morning, before the sun had risen above the mountain peaks.
19
Astrange, oppressive air hung over the small village as they rode down the main track, dust-grimed and weary. Most of the inhabitants were Tarahumara Indians, some of whom lived in caves on the valley floor at the foot of the high cliffs.
Ginny barely noticed her surroundings, she was so weary and sore. Horses might be the swiftest method of traveling the Sierra Madres, but they were certainly not the most comfortable. Next time—if there was a next time—she would go by carriage or stage, a circuitous route that would take much longer but not leave her so exhausted.
She was so tired she did not at first notice Steve’s frowning tension, the hard set of his mouth and narrowed eyes as he accompanied her inside the small, rough posada. The dialect spoken by the posadero was unfamiliar, an Indian dialect that she didn’t understand but apparently Steve did.
After a few minutes of conversation, he took her by the elbow and escorted her to the rear of the adobe building. “It’s not much, but it’s all there is, unless you want to sleep outside again.”
“Oh, Steve, I don’t think I can take another night of sleeping on the hard ground. I’ve gotten soft, I suppose. I don’t care if it’s a bed of straw, as long as it’s a bed!”
The room was tiny, with one window and a bed, a table against the far wall that held a water pitcher and a basin, and an oil lamp. There wasn’t even a chair, and Steve slung their saddlebags to the hard-packed dirt floor.
“It’s not the Astoria, but it will keep the rain off our heads. Is that a bed or a donkey’s breakfast?” He gave the offending item a kick, and chaff dusted the floor.
“I don’t care.” She peeled off her hat and loosened the buttons of her shirt.
It wasn’t much better than a hayrack, but at least it was fairly clean. Ginny spread her own blankets atop the crude bed formed of pine planks and a thin mattress, and lay down. She was asleep almost instantly.
Down the street from the shabby posada, Steve entered a small cantina and slouched against the bar, his hat shadowing his face as he waited. It was late; Paco should have been here long before now. All the arrangements were made. Señor Valdez in Ojinaga had met with Paco for the final shipment of rifles to be transferred from Casey’s possession to an agent for Díaz. Paco was to have shown up at the rendezvous with Casey, but hadn’t made it. With most of the rifles already passed on to Díaz’s army, there had been only the last of them to distribute.
Ginny had been right, of course. The rifles were hidden beneath garments in her trunks, the empty crates filled with straw and dishes once they’d left the ship. It was an uneasy alliance, a dance with the devil.
He remembered General Díaz well, had ridden with him for a while. He had been an efficient general, and would be a ruthless president. The human qualities of Benito Juarez had been evident in his presidency, a certain compassion mixed with the necessary regimen imposed on a man who ruled a country.
Díaz had none of those qualities, but he was capable of winning a revolution and controlling Mexico. If he could be tempered by his cabinet, the country would prosper, but that remained to be seen.
If Steve was wrong about Díaz, he would be instrumental in creating disaster, but it couldn’t be helped. Lerdo had been too weak to hold Mexico, and even with the help of the United States, had failed. Steve’s job was to play the odds and pick the victor and he’d done what he had to do.
Conversations around him abruptly ceased, as if a door had been shut. Steve glanced up, swearing softly under his breath as he recognized the uniforms. He kept his head down; he’d had trouble with Lerdo’s men before. They were growing too desperate, sensing the end, and were more brutal for it.
They crowded into the small cantina, loud and unruly as they ranged through the room, eyes scanning frightened faces that turned toward them, then away, quickly, afraid to be noticed. He could feel the tension; it crouched in the low-ceilinged room like a feral beast, ravenous and dangerous.
There was no escape without drawing unwanted attention. Steve remained still, his cup of whiskey untouched.
Prowling through the crowded cantina, the soldiers took their time, obviously enjoying the fear they incited. Then, at some furtive signal, they suddenly pounced, jerking up men from stools to shove them toward the door, denouncing them as rebels.
“You are under arrest as a traitor to the government! Pig!” Cuffing a man who was slow to respond, one soldier laughed when the man sprawled to the floor, then viciously struck him with the butt of his rifle, again and again until the peasant lay still and bloodied. It effectively quelled any possible resistance by others.
Christ, just my luck to be in the middle of one of their roundups! Steve thought. He slid one hand down his side, skimming the heavy outline of the .45 in its holster and rearranging the heavy woolen folds of the serape he’d draped over his shoulders.
One of the soldiers paused beside Steve, waited for a moment, his very presence menacing. Steve didn’t react, even when the man nudged him.
“You are from San Luis Potosí?”
Steve shook his head and answered in the same rough dialect, “No, I am from La Junta.”
The soldier moved on, but returned in a few moments, this time with two other men. “You will come with us.”
Appearing to accede, Steve accompanied them without comment, but when he reached the doorway, he hung back to let them clear the opening first. He expected to be ambushed as he stepped outside, but was ready, the butt of his gun already filling his palm.
As he moved to the open doorway, muscles tensed and ready, a shadow detached from the wall and lights exploded behind his eyes before he could evade the blow. His pistol fired, the bullet slamming into the dirt at his feet, and he was only vaguely aware of boots and rifle butts slamming into his head and body as he curled into a knot to protect his belly.
When Ginny awoke, it was dark and Steve was gone. Light filtered in through an open shutter, along with the drone of flies and a barking dog. Somewhere, music played, a guitar lending soft melody to the night. She lay there a while, listening.
Where was Steve? Gone for food, probably, or a drink. She should get up, wash her face and hands. The pitcher and basin were cracked, but serviceable. When she finally rose and lit the lamp, a pool of wavering light showed her that there was no water in the pitcher.
Wearily, she searched for her shoes by the bed, and grabbed up the pitcher. Surely there was a well close by, so she would not have to go to the village well they had passed on their way in. Damn Steve, he should have seen to this, and not left it up to her to go out on her own in a strange place.
But it was a small village, after all, and it was unlikely that she would get lost. There was only the main street, and a ramshackle collection of mud huts with thatched roofs. The posada was the most elaborate building she had seen, boasting a patio as well as rooms built at an angle to the main structure.
Squares of light dotted the street, streaming through windows left open. Shadows darkened the street at this end, and the well was a bulky dark silhouette against the glow of distant lanterns. She crossed the dusty courtyard and street to reach the stone well. Water trickled from an iron spout in the shape of a lion’s gaping mouth, collecting below in a shallow basin of stone.
The cantina music grew louder now; a burst of laughter was shrill. Clutching the empty pitcher, Ginny’s head came up, and she frowned. It sounded odd.
Then her hand tightened on the handle of the pitcher as she saw the horses bunched in front of what must be the only cantina. So many horses! A uniformed soldier stood guard, obviously unhappy as he slouched against a wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
Soldiers. From Lerdo’s army, no doubt. Ginny stirred uneasily. None of her experiences with Mexican soldiers had been pleasant, though she had lived with Colonel Miguel Lopez
a long time ago.
As she stood there, uncertain and listening, there was a volley of gunfire followed by screams and shouts. Her heart began to thud erratically and she dropped the pitcher with a crash. Oh God, not again, not again…Where was Steve?
Panic set in, and she ducked into the shadows behind the well, her spine pressed against damp stone as men spilled out of the cantina and into the street. Feeble bars of light slanted across unmistakable uniforms and shouts of anger filled the night.
Hiding in the dark, crouched down so she wouldn’t be seen, she watched for Steve. As more time passed and there was no sign of him, only the chaotic milling of soldiers rounding up citizens and shoving them into a line, linked by chains that she could hear clinking heavily, she had the rending thought that he might be among them. Oh God, no!
No, she told herself, Steve’s too smart to get caught like that. He’s hiding somewhere until the soldiers are gone and it’s safe to come out….
A hand descended upon her shoulder, startling a scream from her that she quickly muffled with one hand. Relief flooded her, and she rose to turn, knees weak with reaction. Of course he was too wary to be taken….
But the dark face that loomed out of the shadows was not Steve at all. Instead glittering black eyes pinned her like a helpless insect. Recognition dawned slowly, then she blurted, “You were in Ojinaga! We danced….”
“Señora, an unexpected pleasure to see you again. But I am afraid that you are in danger.”
“I…who are you? And what is happening? Are you with the soldiers?”
Gently but inexorably, he pulled her with him, ignoring her resistance. “Come, come, do not be afraid, for I will see that no harm comes to you.”
He spoke in the same flawless Castilian Spanish as before. It was incongruous. What was he doing out here, in this isolated village far from everything?
“No, I will not come with you!” She jerked free, taking him by surprise, so that he wheeled around and reached for her, his fingers a hard vice on her arm.
“You are being foolish, señora.”
“Hardly! I don’t know you at all, and I have no intention of going anywhere with you. My husband will be back soon, and he will see to it that I am kept safe. Now be so good as to release my arm.”
“Ah, I am afraid I cannot do that. And your husband has been unavoidably detained, I think, or he would already be here with you, is that not so? Don’t be foolish, Señora Alvarado. It will only make things worse.”
Trembling, Ginny managed to keep her voice steady as she asked again, “Who are you? You know my name, but I have not been told yours.”
He escorted her back to the posada, and she glimpsed the posadero’s face peering at them from the door as she was halted. Lanterns had been lit, and crimson and gold light illuminated a strong face, with defined mouth and high jutting cheekbones—the features of a criollo—one of the Spanish aristocrats.
“Many pardons,” he said with an exaggerated courtesy that grated on her temper. “Allow me to present myself to you. I am Rafael Luna de Gonzalez, Adjutant General to el presidente Lerdo de Tejada.”
“What do you want with me?”
“El presidente requests your presence in Mexico City, and I have come to escort you to him.”
20
It was happening to her again. Ginny sat stoically in the closed carriage that rocked over rutted roads leading to Mexico City. Luna had forced her to accompany him, and if he knew where Steve was—or if he was even still alive—he would not tell her. How infuriating that this should happen to her again!
“I will tell el presidente exactly how rude you have been,” she told Luna, who did not seem a bit bothered by the threat, “and he will see to it that you lose your commission in the army!”
He merely lifted a dark brow and smiled. “Such a fiery woman you are, señora. It is most remarkable that your passion has not faded with time.”
He knew things about her, even lovers from her past. He was subtle, casually mentioning Miguel Lopez, even Michel Remy, as if he knew them, when it was obvious he was only trying to intimidate her. She’d quickly learned that silence was the only way to deal with him, and she retreated behind a wall of indifference.
Today he had told her, they would reach Mexico City.
“It has been some time since you were last there, I understand.” He sat directly across from her in the black lacquered carriage, his long legs deliberately brushing against her knees. Occasionally, he allowed his knee to push her legs apart, suggestively subtle.
Ginny eyed him coldly and refused to rise to the bait.
“You are very lovely, Señora Alvarado,” Luna said, and smiled when she merely looked at him. “Can it be that you do not like me? But why? I have done nothing to you. I have been only courteous and respectful. Did you not have a room to yourself? I have not attempted to force my attentions upon you.”
Turning her head, she stared out the window. Her pointed silence should be enough to dissuade him, but it wasn’t.
“Tell me,” Luna said when the silence dragged on for a time, “when you were known as Madame du Plessis, did you also sleep with Maximilian? I had heard he was one of your conquests. But then, you seemed to prefer the lower caste to the more aristocratic lovers. It was said you were even once married to one of those dirty Juaristas, a half-breed mongrel like a mad dog.”
She faced him then, green eyes narrowed and sparkling with anger. “He has more nobility in his little finger than your entire family has ever possessed, I am certain. Please excuse me if I don’t care to continue talking to you. I feel quite nauseous suddenly. There seems to be a noisome stench in the carriage.”
Luna laughed, but behind the smile his black eyes glittered with fury and menace. Ginny stifled a sudden shudder. He would not dare harm her! She had already reminded him that her father-in-law was the very influential Don Francisco Alvarado, and that she was well-acquainted with both Sebastian Lerdo and Porfirio Díaz. They would definitely take it amiss should she be insulted.
By the time they reached Mexico City she had developed a loathing for the handsome officer.
It was obvious to her that Lerdo was losing control of the country; Mexico City showed all the signs of an imminent invasion. Troops were scattered and looting was rampant. Those loyal to Lerdo were taking what they could while they could, for once Díaz came into power, they would be lucky to escape with their lives.
This beautiful city was a sad reminder of the doomed emperor and his wife. Poor Maximiliano…he had not deserved to die for only doing his duty, but perhaps that could be said of every soldier, even those who were elected president of the country.
And what on earth could Lerdo want with her?
Luna offered no clues to the reason for her summons, save the implication that her father was involved. That would be one reason, of course; wasn’t he backing Lerdo in order to keep his Mexican properties? No doubt he had sent him money as well.
But Lerdo de Tejada wanted more from her than her intercession with the senator; he wanted an escape route.
“It seems that my term as el presidente is coming to a rather precipitate end,” he told her dryly, “and I must make my plans. I wish to go to New York, and Senator Brandon has very graciously agreed to lend his assistance.”
“But el presidente, how can I help?”
“You are also acquainted with Díaz, and your husband was once a captain in his command. I wish to get a message directly to the general, and there are few I can trust to deliver it for me. Every man thinks only of himself at a time like this, and I admit that I am doing the same. When I heard that you were in Mexico again, I implored General Luna to find you for me and ask you to come here.”
“I wasn’t asked, I was abducted,” Ginny said sharply, “and I don’t even know where—where my husband is or if he’s still alive. Luna will tell me nothing. He is detestable.”
Shrugging, Lerdo said, “He is a Spaniard, and they are all very arrogant. I would not
have allowed him to be here were it not for the fact that he has high connections in Madrid. Ah, I had thought to make a difference in Mexico, to see my country become wealthy again, as she was long ago.”
Ginny remained silent. She had heard different tales of Lerdo’s rule, of his squandering tax money on personal vices instead of the reforms he touted so highly.
But eventually she found herself agreeing to speak to Porfirio Díaz for him, to secure a safe escort for his retreat from Mexico.
21
A steady pounding thud penetrated slowly into his numb brain. It sounded like the slam of metal against metal, loud and heavy. Steve tried to move, but was pinioned as if by a large object, his arms and legs splayed.
Gradually, he surfaced from the prolonged sleep that had rendered him unconscious, his brain struggling to assimilate the noise with the cause. Panting, he lay still.
Thick, noxious fumes clouded the air, stinging his nose and eyes. He blinked against it. Something struck him on the arm, and he realized that he could move after all, though it was slow and painful.
“It is time you woke up.”
The voice came at him from the darker shadows, a casual observation. He blinked again, and his vision began to focus better, distinguishing between the shadows around him.
“What…where the hell am I?”
“Don’t try to talk yet. Just listen.”
A familiar darkness broken by wavering patches of light from creosote torches…the stench of urine and sweat…the rattle and clink of chains…a steady moaning like that of a wounded animal…
Suddenly he knew where he was, and an irrational panic rose up in a choking wave. He’d worked in a mine once before and knew that smell, knew those sounds….
“Christ! No, I’ve got to get out of here!”
“Por Dios, stay down,” the voice muttered, urgent now, “or you will leave here bent over the end of a sword!”
It took all his will not to leap up, and a cold sweat broke out. Bile rose in his throat, memories suddenly stark and real. The doctor…
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