What light there was reflected off of a badge held up close to my face, the policia. After letting out a deep exhale, I invited the officer inside. “What’s happened?” I asked before the door was even closed behind us.
“Juanita.” He removed his hat and holding it with his hands crossed in front of his stomach. “I’m sorry to have tell you this…Francisco ha muerto.”
“¿Muerto?” I asked. I had expected to hear he was in jail or wanted for some stupid crime, but never dead.
My knees went soft and I desperately looked around for somewhere to sit, but wasn’t capable of seeing the furniture in the room. A hand grasped my elbow and I was guided to a wooden bench by the front door.
“How?” I asked.
“A fight broke out at the cantina.” I nodded, knowing where since there was only one bar in our small town. “The fight escalated and he was shot.”
I blinked back tears and ran my hand across the crown of Mariella’s head, smoothing glossy black curls that were so much like her father’s. My brothers had warned me something like this would happen. I thought that after Mariella was born, he’d change.
“Is there someone I can contact for you? Your parents?”
With a population of four hundred, our town was small and Officer Peña knew everyone. He also knew Francisco wasn’t one to stay home with his wife and daughter on a Saturday night.
I attempted to smile at his kindness, but couldn’t. “Si por favor. Gracias,” I added as an afterthought.
Officer Pena glanced around the room. There wasn’t much to see. The sofa was lumpy and worn. A bookshelf contained a few pictures and books, but was otherwise empty. A radio that only received one station sat in the corner of the living room, a layer of dust coated the top. His brown eyes, heavy with the weight of his job, met mine. “I’ll go get your parents, Juanita,” he said and gently patted Mariella’s head.
After he left, reality hit. My body shook with sobs and Mariella woke up screaming. I was inconsolable and so was she. This was how my mother found us.
“Mama!” I cried when I saw her standing in the doorway.
She immediately took Mariella out of my arms and began singing to her. Within minutes Mariella had dozed off and my mom placed her in her crib. She turned and hugged me. I started crying all over again; my sobs muffled by her shoulder.
When I had calmed down enough she led me into the kitchen and got me a glass of water. She sat down across from me at the table.
“Juanita, I knew this would happen.”
“Mama, don’t. Please. What am I going to do now?”
Francisco didn’t make a lot of money, but it was enough to support us, barely. Mariella started to cry again, triggering pressure in my breasts. I retrieved her and brought her back to the table. I lifted my shirt and Mariella latched on to a nipple, sucking greedily. There was no way I could work while still breastfeeding. Also, men earned more than women and my income wouldn’t replace Francisco’s. Mama reached over and patted my knee. I looked at her and saw the love in her dark brown eyes. I wasn’t truly alone, but the full burden of taking care of my daughter weighed heavy on me.
“Come live with your father and me.”
“Mama, I can’t. We’ll be too much for you.”
“No. You’re my child and grandchild. You need this.”
She was right and now wasn’t the time to argue with her. It was only a matter of weeks before I’d get evicted from the villa.
“Okay,” I said.
“Good, now give me niña.”
Mariella had dozed off mid-feeding and I passed her to my mom. I didn’t have the energy to follow them into the bedroom. I watched condensation drip down the side of my glass; the slow progression almost hypnotizing.
“Juanita.” I jumped at the sound of my mom’s voice. “Come, you need to rest too.” She led me into the bedroom and past Mariella’s crib. I lay down and stared up at my mom.
“Gracias, Mama. I’m glad you came.”
“Shhh, that’s what mothers do.” She smoothed my hair back and kissed my forehead.
It took me two weeks to bury my husband and move in with my parents. During this time, I learned about the events leading up to Francisco’s death. The more he drank, the more persistent he had become in trying to get a woman at the bar to dance with him. Turns out she was married and her husband didn’t care for Francisco’s attention.
Left with practically nothing, I turned my focus to Mariella and to healing. Moving in with my parents was a blessing. When sadness overwhelmed me, my mom was quick to pick up Mariella and keep her occupied. At night, when papa came home from work at the copper mines, he’d bounce his giggling granddaughter on his knee, which was more than Francisco ever did.
Money was never mentioned, but I couldn’t justify living there and eating their food, without being able to contribute. My mama ensured me that helping to keep the house clean was enough.
About two months after Francisco’s death, an opportunity came along I couldn’t pass up. My two brothers came over for dinner with their families. They knew about my money concerns and were both getting ready to head to Arizona to help with the harvest. Since the Rio Mayo had been dammed, farming became a big industry in Sonora, which is what my brothers did, but in America they could get paid three times the amount; enough to support their families for six months.
We talked about me joining them now that Mariella wasn’t breastfeeding, it would be possible. My mama was worried that the trip and the hard work would be too much. I told her I was young and strong. Pedro and Enrique assured her they’d watch out for me.
“But you’re going over illegally. What if you get caught?”
“They haven’t caught us yet,” Enrique said; his confident smile brilliant white against his dark skin.
“Mama, we’ve done this before. We know where to go and what to do,” Pedro added.
“I need to do this…for Mariella.” I didn’t tell them I had dreams of one day moving to the United States. That was the one dream Francisco and I had in common. America was the land of opportunity and that’s all I wanted for my niña.
Laughter from my nieces and nephews, who were playing outside in the courtyard, drifted in through the open windows. Mariella sat on my lap and tugged at the braid draped over my shoulder. Everyone around the table was quiet as we waited for my parents to agree. They’d have to take care of Mariella the two months I’d be gone.
“Dios dame fuerza, I can’t believe I’m allowing this!” my mother said as she threw her hands up towards the heavens.
“Really?” I asked, glancing over at my father.
“Si, but you need to stay with your brothers and,” then he turned to face them, “you keep her safe.”
Chapter Eight
Enrique left a week ahead of us to get us jobs. Pedro and I were busy getting ready for our trip. He thought it best if I cut my hair as being identifiable as a woman from a distance could attract trouble. I shuddered at the thought of the “trouble” Pedro referred to and quickly snipped my braid off.
When I put Mariella to bed the night before we left, my tears frightened her and I squeezed her a little too tight. I decided it was better for me to leave before she woke. Our Uncle Felipe, my father’s brother, had offered to drive us as close to the border as possible. The moment the beat up old truck pulled in front of my parent’s house, I almost changed my mind about the whole trip. Pedro reassured me everything would be fine and mama hugged me. “Be safe and don’t worry about Mariella, we’ll take good care of her,” she whispered in my ear.
The ride was long, bumpy and hot. The further inland we traveled the humidity that clung to the coastline gradually faded, replaced with dusty, dry air which made the skin on my face feel tight. The sun hung low and heavy in the sky, a deep reddish orange, casting long shadows across the desert when Uncle Felipe pulled onto the shoulder of the road and turned off the truck.
“Why are we stopping?” I asked.
“W
e walk from here Juanita,” Pedro answered. “It’s better to cross at night.” He held his hand out and helped me down. I followed him to the back where he handed me my bag, which I slung over my shoulder. Pedro tapped the side of the truck with his hand. The engine roared to life and Uncle Felipe turned around to head back home. He waved at us before stepping on the accelerator. I watched him drive away until Pedro tugged on my sleeve.
“We need to move,” he urged and led me into the underbrush. I couldn’t make out a trail, but had faith that Pedro knew where he was going. The earth was hard under my feet. My boots, borrowed and a little too big, rubbed against my heels making them burn. Still I pressed on, silent behind Pedro, crouching when he crouched and listening to his whispered instructions. When night fell, my eyes adjusted to the light of the full moon and I became wary of the sounds around us. Unseen things scurried away from our footsteps. Coyotes could be heard in the distance, their barks more like laughter when they called to each other. Spider webs glistened on top of Pedro’s head in the moonlight. I reached up and felt the sticky material in my hair too. I took a steadying breath and gripped the back of his shirt, his closeness helped to ease my fear.
“We’re getting close to the border,” Pedro said. “We’re in between two checkpoints. Stick close to me and when I tell you to run, I mean it.” The brush had thinned out so we didn’t create a lot of noise as we moved forward, but we didn’t have as much cover either. We walked in silence for what seemed like forever. I concentrated on stepping exactly where Pedro did to avoid any rocks or holes which would trip me. We passed a tower of rocks stacked largest to smallest and there was movement to our left plus the sound of a twig breaking.
Pedro’s whisper was harsh. “Run!” He sprinted off ahead of me and it took a second to get my feet moving. I ran behind him, my bag bumping on my backside. Pedro kicked up dust and it burned my throat. I picked up my pace and ran alongside him. Our breathing grew ragged and my lungs ached. I couldn’t hear if anyone was behind us because of the blood pounding in my head. Finally, Pedro slowed to a walk and then stopped. He unhooked his canteen from his bag, took a swig then handed it to me. Even though the water was warm, it was wet and hit my parched mouth like rain hitting the desert. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and grit smeared across my cheek. I gave the canteen back.
“Welcome to the Estados Unidos, Juanita,” Pedro said and gave me a lopsided grin before taking another sip.
“Really?”
“Si, the rocks back there are a marker for the border. I think we’re about a half mile in now.”
I glanced around, not sure what to expect. “It’s just like Mexico,” I said and Pedro laughed.
We took a few minutes to catch our breath before continuing on. I had no idea what time it was, but judging by the canvas of stars overhead, I guessed it was late. The journey was wearing on me, my eyes felt full of sand and I fell into a zone, focused on keeping up with my brother.
My calves began to cramp and I asked Pedro to slow down. “You need more water,” he said and handed me his canteen. I sat down on a rock and took a few big gulps. “Are you hungry?” he asked. I nodded and he took a brown paper bag out of his backpack. We each ate tamale. I savored every bite. It had been less than a day since we began our journey, but it already seemed like I’d been traveling a month. I missed my niña.
“How much longer?” I asked Pedro.
“We’re almost to Bisbee and Enrique arranged for someone to drive us just north of Phoenix.”
“I didn’t think it would be so hilly.”
“It’s almost all uphill. At least we have a ride.”
It hurt to stand, but I did and brushed off the back of my jeans. Pedro offered to carry my bag and this helped. We walked for about another hour and the sky started to lighten to the east. What was once black turned a dusky gray. I began to see signs of civilization; a wooden electricity pole in the distance, a roof top in between the trees, and piles of cow dung. We passed a small herd of cattle; they regarded us with disinterest and continued to chew in their lazy way.
Next we passed an abandoned house. The warped wood siding had long ago faded to gray and its ends curled up in some places. Broken windows reminded me of hollow eyes. I hurried past and moved closer to Pedro. Uneven terrain gave way to a dirt road, which led to a single lane paved street. My brother pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and surveyed the area around us.
“What is that?” I asked.
“A map and address for where we’re supposed to meet this man.”
“Oh.”
We passed another house, this one in better shape and lived in. All the windows were dark. About a hundred feet later we stood a small ranch with a pick-up truck in the gravel driveway. Pedro studied the paper again and nodded. “This is the house.”
I started to walk up to the front door, but Pedro grabbed my arm and hissed, “No!”
“Por qué?”
“We can’t be seen here, we just need to climb into the back of the truck.”
I circled around to the bed of the pickup and noticed a tarp had been tied down across the top. The tailgate was open. Pedro tossed our bags in first and then we climbed in. It felt so good to lie down, even though I was on wood boards. With my backpack as a pillow, the moment I shut my eyes, I was asleep.
Chapter Nine
A loud bang startled me awake. I sat up and my head hit the tarp. The tailgate was now closed and the engine rumbled to life sending vibrations through the bed that tickled my skin. Pedro was awake too.
“It’s okay Juanita, he’s taking us north.”
I rolled onto my side, facing Pedro and drifted back to sleep. When the engine cut off I woke again. It was uncomfortably warm and there was no breeze. Footsteps crunched outside and seconds later the tailgate flipped down. I squinted into bright sunlight. Part of it was blocked by a man standing at the end.
“Time to go,” Pedro said and grabbed our bags.
We slid out and my feet protested being back on the ground, every blister seemed to burst at once. I hadn’t taken my boots off, partly because I was too tired, also because I was afraid of what I’d find. The warm pus soaking into my socks confirmed my fears.
Our driver stood by the open tailgate, his back was hunched and twisted with age and his white eyebrows were the bushiest I’d ever seen. I wanted to touch them, but just peered around Pedro’s shoulder at him instead.
“Gracias, señor,” Pedro said.
“De nada,” he said in a gruff voice. “Here.” He handed Pedro a Thermos and paper bag then without saying another word, turned around and got back in the truck.
“What did he give you?”
Pedro twisted the top off and sniffed. “Coffee,” he answered, handing me the bag. I opened it and the scent of blueberries wafted up. Inside there were two fresh baked muffins. My stomach growled.
Even though it was early morning, the sun beat down on us. Pedro found a shaded area away from the main road. We sat under some trees and ate breakfast.
I lay on the ground, using my backpack as a headrest and enjoyed not walking. “Where are we?”
“Black Canyon City, just north of Phoenix,” Pedro answered.
“How much longer until we reach Prescott Valley?”
“It’s about another day and a half walk to Cordes Junction. We’ll get picked up there. We’ll rest here and wait for the sun to set. It’s too hot for us to walk during the day.”
The sun hung low in the west when we started moving again. We stuck to the shoulder of the road and in the less hilly areas, we moved further away from the highway. The hike was all uphill and I struggled to keep up with Pedro, my blistered feet burned with each step.
“Vámonos, slowpoke!” Pedro called over his shoulder. I stuck my tongue out at his back and jogged until we were walking side by side. As the night wore on, traffic slowed considerably on State Route 69. We could see downhill at headlights coming around a curve, even though the cars were still mil
es off. Taking advantage of the light traffic we walked along the shoulder. After the rough terrain, I appreciated the even surface and when we passed a sign that said Cordes Junction was seventeen miles away, we picked up our pace.
Pedro and I were arguing over the last tamale when I tripped and landed hard on the palms of my hands. I was so absorbed with the sting of sand lodged under my skin that I didn’t hear the snake until it was too late. Fangs sunk deep into my wrist.
I cried out and managed to get up on one knee placing my other hand on the road for balance. The snake struck again and bit my forearm. Pedro pulled me out of the way before the snake could strike again. He supported me as I leaned against him. I weighed less than a hundred pounds, but the exertion took its toll on him, especially once the tremors started jerking my body all over the place. We traveled maybe two miles and had to stop.
Pedro lowered me down onto a clearing on the side of the highway. Venom was coursing through my veins and blanketed my body in a fever. The pain was worse than childbirth. I screamed up at the stars for God to help me.
My cries went unanswered.
Pedro wanted to give me the last canteen of water. I told him no, I cursed at him and made him swear to go on without me. He stayed until the sun started to glow behind the mountain range to the east. I was delirious and almost unconscious when Pedro moved me under a mesquite tree for shelter. The last thing I heard my brother say was that he loved me and he promised to take care of Mariella.
The venom took me when the sun was high overhead and all the spit in my mouth had turned to dust. I remember the very moment my heart stopped beating. It had been pounding erratically, a constant background rhythm to my suffering so when it stopped and the pain went away, I was at peace.
Chapter Ten
I became aware of sounds around me; cars driving nearby, wind rustling leaves and birds singing. My idea of heaven didn’t include traffic, so I focused hard on my surroundings. The desert landscape suddenly appeared and the color plus the bright sunlight were jarring after seeing nothing but white. I blinked and took a few steps back. This movement didn’t feel right, like I wasn’t connected to the solid ground. I glanced down and that’s when I saw my body.
End of the Road (Ghost Stories Trilogy #1) Page 4