by Donna Alward
When she’d first arrived, she had felt a kinship with the tree—it too seemed lonely and out of place. But as she looked at Tomas, and then at the sweeping branches, she wondered if maybe it wasn’t more like him. Solitary, standing guard, looking after the Rodriguez family. She didn’t know why he felt such responsibility to them, but clearly he did. Sophia felt protected, too, but she also felt sadness for a man who had suffered such a loss that he had withdrawn to the pampas.
“Goodnight, Tomas,” she said quietly, looking up at him. His jaw was set, his lips a thin line. He turned his head slightly and looked down at her. For a moment their gazes caught and her breath stalled.
“Goodnight, Sophia,” he said quietly, so low that she knew it was meant for her ears only. “Sleep well.”
Instantly she was transported back to the previous night and sleeping in his arms. Tonight she would be in her own room. It was the way things needed to be.
But as she walked away from him, she couldn’t help being a little bit sorry. It looked like anything that was blossoming between them was over. And despite the extra company and chatter in the house, Sophia went to bed feeling lonelier than ever.
As Carlos and Tomas worked outside, Sophia helped Maria in the house.
The large meal today was asado, the Argentine version of barbecue, and Tomas had told her over breakfast that it would be unlike anything she’d ever tasted. Maria explained the different dishes as Sophia finished up her coffee and fresh bread and butter.
Already Maria was bustling about the bright kitchen. Once the estancia started taking bookings again, Maria would be cooking for them, too. But for now it was just the two of them in the quiet, comfortable room.
Carlos would start the grill around noon, and the women would make the accompanying dishes. Dessert, Maria explained, was a particular favourite of Tomas’s, cookies called alfajores. When Sophia asked if she could help, Maria said she would show her how to make them.
Sophia imagined taking the sweets to Tomas later, a way to thank him for all he’d done for her so far—and one that would perhaps go over better than yesterday’s painting. She wanted to see the look on his face when he realized she had baked them. She knew she could cook—at least that was one thing she’d accomplished just fine in her old life. Other than the pancakes yesterday, Tomas had done most of the cooking. But the asado seemed to be a group affair, and Sophia was determined to have fun.
Maria put milk to heat on the stove while Sophia washed up the breakfast dishes. “These days it is faster to buy dulce de leche in the store,” Maria explained. “But I like to make my own.” She showed Sophia how to whisk in sugar and vanilla and baking soda. “Then I simply let it cook for a few hours.”
“It’s that simple?” Sophia had eaten the caramel treat from a jar in Canada. She’d had no idea that it took so few ingredients.
“Dulce de leche takes time, but the alfajores will take more effort,” Maria smiled. “Tomas always told Rosa that he would only marry her if she came with my alfajores recipe.”
The light went out of her face for a moment, and then she brightened again. “I still try to make them on special occasions.”
Sophia averted her head, making a show of drying dishes. “Rosa was your daughter, Tomas said.”
Maria’s youthful face looked weary and Sophia held her breath, waiting. “Si, Rosa was our daughter.” Maria’s hand paused on a cupboard door, but then she opened it and took out a container of flour. “She and Tomas…they were going to be married.”
Sophia made herself move, retrieving butter from the fridge for the cookies, trying to keep things conversational while inside everything seemed to be churning. The picture on the wall seemed to stare at her. “Is that your daughter? The photo of the girl on horseback?”
Maria nodded proudly. “Oh, she knew how to sit a criollo like she was born in the saddle.” She laughed suddenly. “Tomas was a polo player, but she rode circles around him, our Rosa.”
Tomas and polo? It felt like a key to the missing gap in Tomas’s life. “Tomas played polo? I thought that was a rich man’s sport.”
Maria handed Sophia a bowl. “Tomas is sort of the rogue Mendoza. He chose here over the family business. Even after our Rosa…” Maria sighed, and made the sign of the cross before wiping beneath an eye. “I apologize. I’m afraid you don’t get over losing a child.”
“No, Maria, no,” Sophia said, going to the woman’s side and putting her hand on her arm. “I shouldn’t have pried. It’s none of my business, truly.”
Maria nodded towards the picture on the wall, the one that had stopped Sophia many times during her stay. “She was beautiful, don’t you think?”
Sophia’s throat closed over and she tried not to gawp at the picture. This was their daughter and the woman Tomas had loved. The kisses, the night spent in Tomas’s arms…it all felt wrong. It felt as though she had intruded. And to think she had looked at the image in the photograph and had wanted to be like her. She had wished for the happiness, the confidence in Rosa’s face. It gave her an unsettled feeling; she felt like a thief, when all along her intentions had been innocent.
“I would have thought Tomas had told you about his family,” Maria said, greatly recovered as she patted Sophia’s fingers and moved to measure out butter, sugar and flour.
But Tomas had told her nothing about his former life.
“We didn’t talk about that,” Sophia replied numbly, trying to make sense, trying to apply what she’d just learned to the conversations she’d had with Tomas. Reconciling that with the man who had kissed her, who had said he wanted her…
She closed her eyes, remembering the gentle way he’d touched her, the way he’d thought she was afraid. And she had been. She’d been afraid of Tomas from the moment they’d met. Afraid of the intensity of her own reactions and feelings, too.
“Sophia?”
She turned her attention back to Maria and pasted on a smile. “What are alfajores?” she asked dumbly, not sure what else to say without giving herself away. And the last thing she wanted was Maria reading more into the situation than there was. If that were possible. What would the woman say if she knew Sophia had spent the night in his room? She was nice enough now, but it had the potential to be incredibly awkward.
Maria handed her a wooden spoon, adjusting to the change of topic smoothly. “Cookies. We will bake them and when everything is cool, sandwich them together with the dulce de leche.”
The earlier excitement about making Tomas’s favourite treat was slightly bittersweet now. She’d wanted it to be something from her, but now she knew the sweets would come with a reference to Rosa built in. Had Rosa made him these same cookies in the past? She must have, if what Maria had said about them being Tomas’s favourite was correct. There were so many questions Sophia longed to ask and she knew she had no right to the answers. Maria spoke and Sophia pulled herself out of her thoughts and started creaming butter and sugar together, the sweet smell now repulsive to her.
“I worry about him,” Maria said, going to a cupboard for a baking pan.
“Who?”
“Tomas, of course. We love having him here. We couldn’t run the estancia without him. But he has closed himself away from the world. He needs to find a good Argentine girl to make him a home. Sometimes I wonder if we made a mistake, going into partnership. It ties him here too much.”
Sophia struggled to keep beating the batter. She would say no more, at least not to Maria. Partnerships and dead fiancées. Tomas had told her that only he’d gone to university and that he had chosen the estancia instead. But it looked as though there was much more to him than met the eye. To think he’d let her believe he merely worked here. Heat crept into her cheeks as she realized she’d been played. She could probably find out all she needed from Maria. But she wanted to hear it from him.
“I am very sorry about your daughter, Maria.”
Maria sniffed, but then lifted her head and smiled. “Thank you, Sophia. She was tak
en from us so suddenly, so young. But God works in mysterious ways. We gained another son anyway. I couldn’t love Tomas more if he were my own.” She patted Sophia’s hand and then reached for an egg. “I see a difference in him this week. It is good to see him happy.”
Sophia’s head came up sharply and Maria laughed. “Don’t be so surprised. He is more alive. Carlos noticed it, too. When you are in a room together, the air changes.”
“But I’m…I mean…” What did Maria think had happened between them? She’d expected disapproval, not encouragement. “I’m going back to Canada in a few days.”
“Of course you are,” Maria replied, adding flour to the bowl and taking the spoon from Sophia’s motionless hand. “But I am glad you came. He has punished himself long enough.”
Sophia could only hold out for so long, and this latest revelation pushed her over the edge. “Punish himself? Whatever for?”
But Maria suddenly became quiet, refusing to elaborate. “If you want to know more, you will have to ask Tomas.”
“But she was your daughter.”
The alfajores dough was a smooth ball now and Maria began to roll it out. “No, I think you should ask Tomas. He should be the one to tell you. It will be good for him.”
“And if he won’t?”
Maria looked at Sophia, her gaze sharp. “I think he will.”
Sophia felt a blush climb her cheeks as Maria turned back to the baking. Maria had mentioned how obvious the attraction between the two of them was, but Sophia thought she was seeing what she wanted to see.
“Maria, I can see you want Tomas to be happy. But that can’t be with me. I’m only on vacation, and then I’m going back to Canada and my life there.”
Maria gestured for the cookie cutter and Sophia handed it to her. “Oh, Sophia. You young people. You plan everything out and how it is supposed to work. Everything on a schedule. You’re on vacation. Don’t worry about it, let it go. There will be time enough for life to ask its price later.”
Maria suddenly seemed weary and Sophia wondered if her words had more to do with Rosa and Tomas, maybe even Miguel. It seemed to Sophia that perhaps life had already exacted its price from Maria, and she still met the day smiling.
She stepped up to the counter and took the spoon from Maria. “Okay then.” She smiled brightly, determined to dispel the cloud that had suddenly fallen over the kitchen. Perhaps she’d felt sorry for herself before, but her troubles now seemed minor, distant. Right now the only thing that was supposed to matter was butter and sugar and flour. She looked at Maria and forced a smile. “What’s next?”
They moved on to the other preparations, but a cloud hung over Sophia. Did she really want to unlock the rest of the mystery that was Tomas? And how on earth could she find the time and place to ask?
Sophia sighed, feeling lazy and contented in her chair by the fire. She couldn’t remember ever being this full. The fire blazed as the remnants of the asado lay about. There had been beef, so many different cuts, so mouthwateringly delicious, and potato salad, fresh vegetables and Maria’s crusty fresh bread. There had been bottles of the ruby-red Malbec that Tomas had picked up in town during their trip. And just when Sophia was positive she couldn’t eat another bite, Maria brought out the platter of alfajores.
“I should have known,” Tomas said approvingly, and with a boyish smile he reached out and took two. He grinned up at Maria. “Madre Maria never fails when it comes to alfajores.”
Sophia took one, unable to resist, but couldn’t bring herself to try it yet. She leaned forward in her chair, toying with the sweet as she waited for Tomas to sample his, hoping they would meet his approval.
“You’re an easy mark, Tomas, if you can be won with cookies,” Maria teased.
Tomas forced the smile to his lips as he looked up at the woman who had mothered him during his rebellious years and beyond. “The cookies did not bring me here,” he explained as he bit into one. He felt Sophia’s eyes on him and he winked up at Maria, trying to keep things light, though his heart was suddenly heavy. “But they go a long way toward keeping me here.”
Maria grinned back and said something in Spanish, then turned to Sophia. “Tomas is one for flattery, isn’t he, Sophia? You have passed the test.” She laughed at Tomas and ruffled his hair. “Sophia made the alfajores, Tomas.”
Tomas ran his fingers through his hair, straightening it after Maria messed it. Sophia had made them? It had been impossible to keep her from his thoughts today, knowing she was indoors working side by side with Maria. Something twisted inside him at the thought.
He smiled stiffly at Sophia. “You made these?”
She nodded proudly. “Maria showed me how.”
“They are very good,” he admitted as the buttery treat melted on his tongue. Sophia nibbled on her cookie as Maria put the plate on the table. Sophia stole a shy look at him and his body tightened unexpectedly in response. Instead he forced a laugh at something Carlos was saying.
This was crazy. It had only been days. How had she wiggled her way into his life so completely? For heaven’s sake, he’d held her in his arms all night and now he was complimenting her cooking while thinking about kissing her again. Her innocence did nothing to deter him, except perhaps make him understand he needed to be cautious.
She was watching him and he took a third cookie from the platter, something, anything to keep his hands busy as he tried very hard not to look back at her. He didn’t want Maria or Carlos to see what he knew would show in his eyes. Desire. More than that. Caring. He cared about her now. He licked the dulce de leche from the side of the cookie before biting into it. Joining the real world again was a bit painful, but perhaps good. For the first time, he felt as if he could leave his past behind him.
He brushed the crumbs from his lap and stood, stretching. Sophia watched him, and he felt his pulse leap beneath her appraisal. Maybe he was feeling the effects of the generous helpings of Malbec. Maybe things were finally waking that had been slumbering too long. And who safer than Sophia? She was only temporary in his life and they both knew it. She would not expect more of him than he was prepared to give. Right now all he wanted was to be alone with her. He had missed her today. He’d missed it just being the two of them.
But first there was another tradition to uphold. He went over to her and held out his hand. “Sophia. Maria has made mate. You must try it. It’s practically our national drink.”
Maria was at the table pouring hot water into a gourd. “Oh, Sophia. I have made us some mate. Have you tried it yet?”
Sophia shook her head, looking curiously down at the gourd. Tomas watched her, amused at her skeptical expression. He’d seen that look before during the asado whenever she’d been offered something new and different. She’d pressed to know what some of the selections were and he’d laughed when she’d politely—but definitively—passed. But the mate was safe. “It’s tea,” he explained. “Nothing sinister, I promise.”
She looked up at him and wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t look like tea.”
He couldn’t help it, he smiled. There it was again, the childish innocence that was so refreshing. “It’s an acquired taste,” he admitted. “But you should try it.”
“Come,” Maria called, and led the way over to the campfire where they all sat, looking into the flames, relaxing.
“Sophia, I checked my books today. I thought you would want me to get to the bottom of your reservation.”
To her left, Tomas accepted the gourd from Maria and drank of the tea. “Yes, of course! I totally forgot to ask you today.”
“It does seem we refunded your…perdón, Señor Doucette’s money when he cancelled.”
Sophia’s face flamed. “Oh,” she said, suddenly embarrassed as she realized she had spent the week here without paying for it. “I see.” She tried a smile but it felt false on her lips. “Well, I’m glad to know. Perhaps we can look after the details in the morning, Maria?”
“Of course. And there is no rush, Sop
hia. Don’t give it another thought.”
Tomas drank his tea and Sophia couldn’t meet his eyes. She’d been wrong all along, and she remembered how bossy and horrid she’d been to Tomas that first day. She’d been wrong about so many things—the reservation was the least of it.
Then he passed the gourd to Sophia. “You drink it from a straw, see?” He said it quietly. “A bombilla.”
“Bombilla,” she repeated, staring down at the straw and feeling foolishly adolescent as she realized his lips had been the last on it. She took the gourd and put her lips on the bombilla. She sipped the hot brew, slightly bitter but somehow pleasant.
“Now you pass it back to Carlos. And we pass it around until it is gone.”
As the mate made the rounds no more was said about her unpaid bill; it was as though it didn’t even matter. What was important to the Rodriguezes tonight was being together. She saw it in Carlos and Maria as Carlos reached over and took his wife’s hand, and in Tomas, who sipped the mate and reached for another cookie. She was beginning to see how many things here centered around family and community. It was a far simpler approach to life than she was accustomed to and she found she preferred it to rounds of air kisses and handshakes.
And it was something she didn’t dare get used to. Now that she knew her reservation at Vista del Cielo had been cancelled, she knew she needed to leave. She had started to care about Tomas too much. What was left for her here? Nothing. Nothing but getting more accustomed to Tomas, and to Maria’s friendliness and Carlos’s quiet ways. Used to more sunrises over the pampas and listening to the birds call goodnight through the open window of her room. More pretending that this was her life when it wasn’t. Not even close. When the mate was gone Tomas leaned over, his quiet voice warm in her ear. “Would you like to go for a walk?”
She nodded, shivering both from the cool air on her arms and from the intimate whisper. “Yes, I think I would. I need to walk off some of this food.”