"Yes, m'ija. I see." Lina's words were quiet, her eyes holding Miguel's, reading the new-found discovery, searching for his response. He did not back away from the scalding acknowledgement in her steady stare. Yet, she wasn't condemning him for the past. She seemed to wonder what he would do with this discovery.
His breath came out in a rush. Surely, she would understand he couldn't stay here. Such a ridiculous idea, yet, for a moment, he saw the formation of it in her dark eyes.
"Mama, do you think I might get my other wish, now that Papa is here?"
Miguel heard Maria's childish question in one detached part of his brain, but he couldn't look away.
It was Lina who looked down at their daughter, a soft smile curving her lips in tenderness. She came forward and sat on the side of the bed. "The ribbons?"
Maria's smile brightened Miguel's world once more, making his thoughts stumble. "Ribbons?"
"Scarlet ribbons, Papa." Maria's voice softened. She put a finger out to touch the piped edge of her coverlet. "Beautiful silken ones. Soft, like this—" She reached to grope for Miguel's hand, and pressed the edge of the cover to his palm. He knelt beside the bed once again.
In that instant, he despised everything about his life. If he could have changed his past he would be able to offer this child and her mother his name; a name unsullied with bygone events he could not reverse. Maria and Lina were everything good in the world; everything he wasn't. Yet, a part of his mind balked. He had helped create this miracle. Maria was half his.
He looked up questioningly at Lina, and this time, there were tears in her eyes.
She took a deep breath, regaining her composure, before she answered. "Maria lost her sight a little more than a year ago. She had a high fever, and—it left her blind." She forced a smile. "She remembers her colors, though. Scarlet was always her favorite."
Miguel's chest felt heavy. He could grant her wish; the scarlet ribbons he'd bought from the street vendor were waiting in his saddlebags. But what a bittersweet gift! Beautiful ribbons for her hair—ribbons she could never see. A chill raced up his spine as he remembered the vendor's words. I'm sure you will find a better use for them, he'd said. Coincidence? It had to be. The hair prickled at the nape of his neck.
You won't be sorry.
The odd man had had a subtle knowing in his voice that Miguel hadn't understood or fully recognized—until now. Yet, how had he known?
He stood up swiftly, the sudden urge to make sure the ribbons were safe overwhelming in its intensity. If he never did another thing in his life, he would do this; bring a memorable bit of joy to his daughter, who had lost so much. Her birthright, her eyesight—how could she be happy? How could she ever smile again? It filled his heart to overflowing to remember he was responsible for granting one of her fondest hopes—to 'see' her Papa.
"Miguel?" Lina questioned as he turned to leave the room.
"Un momento, por favor, querida," he muttered, his hand on the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Are you all right?" Lina's eyes were wide with worry.
He nodded. "I'm fine. Just give me a minute."
Chapter Six
Miguel hurried down the hall, then the stairway. His long strides ate up the front room and the hallway, until he reached his bedroom door. He threw it open violently and was inside in two steps. He reached for the saddlebag, opening the side pouch. His clean clothes were inside, along with a small packet of medical supplies. Wrong side.
Impatiently, he opened the other side and began to rummage about inside the deep interior of the leather pocket. His fingertips brushed the brown paper of the parcel the street vendor had wrapped up for him. He pushed aside all the other items and pulled the paper out. It felt lighter than when he'd tucked it inside the pouch earlier, still tied with twine; the edge of the small parcel was suspiciously flat.
Panic rose in his chest, but he pulled the twine, releasing the knot. As the twine fell away, he pushed the edges of the paper back to reveal what he had feared. The package was empty. The ribbons had disappeared.
* * * * *
It was several minutes before Miguel could believe what he was seeing. The empty parcel mocked him, and he dropped it to the floor in disgust. This was no magic. Somehow, the street vendor had tricked him. He probably sold those same two scarlet ribbons again and again. But this time, he would pay. This time, it meant more than it ever had at any time before. This time, the vendor caused disappointment to twist Miguel's insides into knots. How could he have performed such a trick, though? Miguel ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He'd stood there and watched the old man wrap those ribbons. He'd felt the slight weight of them, spooled inside the brown paper. His gaze dropped to where the twine and empty paper lay on the floor. He bent and picked them up slowly, laying them on the festive coverlet.
He needed answers. He would excuse himself and take care of this before dinner. With cold, detached fury, he thought of how he would walk right back down the street, find the vendor, and tell him he wanted the two ribbons he had already paid for—once. He'd have to hurry. He glanced at the window. When had afternoon become evening?
Snatching the paper and twine from the bed, he stuffed them into his back pocket, then took his hat from the bed and put it on firmly. He closed the door behind him, and retraced his steps down the hallway to the front room.
Lina peered down at him from Maria's half-open door. "You're leaving?"
He shook his head. "No. I mean…just for a while. I have an errand."
Lina's steady stare moved to the gun he wore strapped to his thigh. "That kind of an errand?"
This time, a smile curved his lips. "No. It won't take long. I'll be back soon. I promise," he added.
Lina glanced away from him, back inside the room toward the bed.
"Lina."
She looked at him once more.
"I promise." He nodded toward the door. Relief flooded her features, and Miguel felt ashamed again. He was what he was. But she would understand that he would keep his word. This time, he had promised. He walked to the front door and turned the knob. And he only looked back once.
Lina disappeared inside their daughter's bedroom. She wasn't going to watch him leave a second time.
Chapter Seven
Purposefully, Miguel strode down the main street, his long strides eating up the distance between Lina's boarding house and the place where he'd spoken to the vendor earlier that day.
The streets were all but deserted. Most of the vendors had packed up their wares and gone home, their shops closed and shuttered. An old man led a burro down the street, and Miguel hurried to him, touching his arm. "Hola, senor."
The man stopped and looked at him, fear in his eyes.
"I only want some information. I'm looking for a merchant. Short, heavy, with eyes that are as blue as the ocean. A mestizo…"
The man shrugged, his gaze shifting to the dirt road. "I know who you mean. But I don't know where he lives. His name is Luis."
Miguel bit back his frustration. "I need to find him."
The man shrugged again, pulling on the burro. "Lo siento, senor. I can't help you."
Miguel turned away, scanning the darkening village for someone else who might tell him Luis' whereabouts.
Christmas Eve. Miguel noted bitterly that the streets were completely bare. Everyone had gone home to their families.
Slowly, it occurred to him that for the first time since he'd been a child, he, too, had a family of sorts waiting for him to come back.
"Luis!" he called suddenly in desperation. "Luis the vendor! Show yourself!"
Up and down the street, he saw several people glance down from upstairs windows, or peek out their front doors, then go back to their family activities and meals.
Lina would be ready to put dinner on the table. He shook his head at the absurdity of the situation. He was going to be late for dinner. The one night he and his "family" could sit down to eat together—maybe in his lifetime�
��and he was not going to be there unless he abandoned this mission to find Luis and his damn ribbons.
But how could he, knowing what they meant to Maria? His little girl.
He started back down the street, calling for Luis as he went. No one answered. Finally, he had reached the church. He stopped, looking at the arched doorway that seemed to invite him in.
He wasn't far from Lina's now. Maybe he would go inside quickly—just for a moment. He would light a candle for his mother, and see if the priest knew where Luis lived. Why hadn't he thought of that sooner?
Just as he came inside the welcoming doors of the church, he remembered he was wearing a gun. Regret filled him. He'd never worn a gun into a Holy Church before, and he understood it for what it was; the honest mistake of a man who'd lived too long by weaponry and the skills it took to survive in a godless world.
Yet, the priest met him halfway down the middle aisle, with his arms outstretched in welcome. "Miguel Rivera! I would know you anywhere!"
"Esteban?" Miguel's voice was hoarse with disbelief. "Esteban Montoya?"
"Padre Esteban, now."
"I never believed…you—"
Esteban laughed. "I know. We were cut from the same cloth for many years, eh? And now, I am a man of the cloth and you wear…that." He kept the smile as he gestured at the gun riding low on Miguel's hip. "Things change, my friend."
People don't, Miguel had replied earlier to that same remark. Yet, here was proof which reflected that, as well. Esteban had changed, remarkably.
"Come," Esteban said, taking his elbow. "I have some time before mass. What is it you seek?"
When Miguel told him the impossible story of Lina, of Maria, and then finally, the ribbons, Esteban sat silent for a moment. "You've been gone a long time," he said finally. "Five years."
Miguel smiled caustically. "That's all you have to say? A comment about how long I've been away?" He shook his head, looking at the floor, and said slowly, "I know how long I've been gone, 'Steban. I know—now, I should never have left. Not with Lina being pregnant. I wouldn't have gone, if I'd known."
"Yes, you would."
Miguel's head came up swiftly, his anger surfacing at Esteban's soft spoken certainty that he would have done the unthinkable. But looking into his old friend's face, he found understanding rather than the condemnation he expected. After a moment, he nodded in mute agreement.
"I was young and stupid." He stood up to go. Lina would be worried and angry all over again.
"You've changed, too, Miguel." Esteban rose. "Why? What happened?"
How could he explain what he had no words for? How could he tell his old friend how nothing else mattered when he looked into Lina's face, and saw the traces of love still remaining—even after what he had unwittingly done to her? Or how, when his little girl laid her soft cheek next to his, he felt his heart move, expand, in his chest? There were no words.
"You love her, don't you?" Esteban's words were quietly spoken, but Miguel knew that Esteban understood everything he was at a loss to explain. And hearing him say it made it real. Miguel could not deny it any longer.
"Yes, I love her. But what good does that do anyone, Esteban? She's suffered enough because of—having my child; not being married." There was a bitter taste in his mouth as he spoke. The loss was his. It had been, already, for five years—but knowing what he had missed started a wellspring of longing inside him that he could not ignore. It threatened to consume him.
"Hmmm. And what of your daughter, Maria? Have you thought of what your leaving will do to her?"
Miguel heard the edge of anger in Esteban's tone. No. He hadn't wanted to think of the disappointment and loss that separation would bring, because he'd seen just how much she'd loved him, how desperate she was for a father. No, not any father. Her own. Him. His daughter loved him unconditionally.
He met Esteban's sharp gaze again.
"How can you think of leaving her, Miguel?"
The air crackled with tension, and Miguel remained silent.
"You won't," Esteban spoke with certainty now. "Not even you can ride away from a love so strong, my friend."
"I have to. Don't you understand? Tonight is all I have. My reputation—"
"Oh, yes. I almost forgot. El Diablo—a man to be feared." Esteban leaned close to Miguel. "I think you are the one who is afraid—afraid you are unworthy."
Miguel took two steps away from Esteban. He didn't want to do something he'd regret, but his friend was driving him to it. And he still needed to find the vendor. He couldn't return empty-handed, no matter how worried Lina might be. Plainly, he was wasting time here. "I am unworthy, Esteban," he murmured softly. "Lina and Maria are the only good things that ever came into my life."
"Yet, you're determined to let them go. You won't fight for them."
"Look at me! I have nothing to give! Not even a decent name."
Esteban remained unruffled. "You could change that, if you wanted to."
Miguel let go a sharp bark of laughter. "You don't know. You have no idea. I want it, Father, more than anything I've ever wanted."
Esteban raised his brows at Miguel's mockery, then looked at the rough tile floor. "You can have what you want most."
Miguel shook his head. "How? I can't go back in time."
A glimmer of sadness passed over Esteban's dark features just as Miguel looked at him again. "No. But Christmas Eve is a night for miracles."
Miguel pressed his lips together. "My faith is not strong, Esteban. I don't believe in miracles. I've never seen one." Immediately, he thought of Maria, and knew that wasn't true.
Esteban's smile was melancholy. "Miracles happen all the time, Miguel. You have to open your eyes. Expect good things—"
"Where can I find the vendor? Do you know him?" Enough talk of miracles. The miracle would be finding scarlet ribbons to replace the ones he lost.
Esteban turned away. "No. I'm sorry. I can't help you." With no further word, he walked toward the back of the little church, and seemed to disappear into a small doorway.
Chapter Eight
Miguel sighed, fighting back the urge to curse the air blue around him. He was, after all, inside the church. He strode quickly for the front door, trying to put Esteban's words from his mind.
Miracles happen all the time. Expect good things.
He stepped into the cool night air, breathing deeply. Didn't Esteban understand the first thing about all this? He ran a hand through black hair before putting his hat back on. He was not going to find the vendor in time. It seemed like such a small thing, those ribbons. Now, they were everything. He'd had them in his saddlebag. He'd seen the vendor wrap them, tie them—felt the slight weight of them resting in the brown paper.
Some miracle. The one thing his child wanted. He'd had them. How could they have disappeared? His steps grew slower, and he finally stopped a few yards from Lina's boarding house.
He should have been back an hour ago. He smiled at the thought. He was thinking like a man who had a woman waiting for him.
But…didn't he? She'd waited for years, and she still waited. How long would it take for him to come to his senses? She wanted him. God only knew why. Esteban said things could be changed. With a startling realization, he knew Esteban had been right—he doubted himself.
He squared his shoulders, and once again started for the house. No scarlet ribbons, but perhaps he could bring some happiness to Maria's heart—and Lina's—just by spending Christmas here with them.
Lost in thought, he came up the walkway and onto the front porch. The door opened as he raised his hand to knock. Light spilled from the foyer, washing over him, pulling him out of the darkness.
Lina smiled at him, and Miguel's heart melted. He stood uncertainly for a moment, removing his hat, lost in the warmth of her presence. How could he ever have left her? How would he do it again?
"Come inside. We've waited for you."
"I went to find someone. A man." Suddenly, it was important that he tell h
er why he left in such a hurry.
"It doesn't matter. You're back now. That's the important thing."
"Lina—I wanted to find the vendor." He shook his head in frustration, knowing he wasn't making sense. "To buy the ribbons—scarlet ribbons for her hair. I had them, but…"
Lina's eyes softened and she took his hand, rubbing her thumb along the tenseness of his knuckles. "Oh, my darling," she whispered, "she can't see the color—"
"But I would know, Lina. I would know." He stepped inside, aware suddenly of the rawness of the wind at his back. Lina closed the door, and he turned once more to face her.
When he did, tears shimmered in the depths of her dark eyes, along with a sadness he knew he could never take from her. She was remembering their little girl as she'd been before the fever, when she could see.
Miguel opened his arms, enfolding her, holding her close to his heart. He soaked up her warmth and the love she'd kept for him all these years, smiling against her dark hair as he thought of Esteban's words.
This has to be the beginning of a miracle, he thought. The fact that she still loved him—and he knew she did—amazed him. As his frozen heart began to thaw, he realized he had tried to hide his love for her from himself. His heart had been playing games with his mind. "Where is she?"
Lina swiped at her eyes and drew a deep breath, and he held her away from him for a moment.
"I let her go ahead and eat. She wanted to wait up for you, but it was getting late."
Miguel sighed. "I've disappointed her again."
Lina laid a finger to his lips. "No. You were only trying to buy her something she wanted, Miguel. You were trying to make her happy—and for that, I'm so grateful—"
He pulled her to him, interrupting her words as his lips closed over hers. She put her arms around him hesitantly. The sweetest kiss Miguel had ever known was quickly tempered by Lina's uncertainty. He had no right to expect any forgiveness from her…yet, as the kiss deepened between them, he knew it was already his. A gift he had not asked for.
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