He needed a miracle, he thought, as he entered the old mint. “Any word?” Daniel asked. He was waiting on the stairs. Dark circles intensified the young man’s green eyes. Lack of sleep had aged him.
“Yes, Winn will live. It will be some time before he is poking his head around again. He had been following Catera and Jim Mainland, he said. When they disappeared into the mountainside, he fell into the hands of the soldiers. He was lucky the General did not keep him better guarded. The men got him out. He is on his way home.”
He shook his head, and sank into a chair. “We should have been better guards of the women. I have been to every part of this town. No one has seen Señora Morelos or Señora Davis.” He looked at Daniel. “Or Gena.”
“They have to be somewhere in Real.”
“I know. And we must find them soon, or it may be too late. From what Winn said, Catera and Mainland are working together, and they are here, somewhere. General Ruiz will give Max to the miners to parade through town, to dangle in front of Catera, hoping to draw him out. He won’t care what happens to the boy.”
“You do not really think they will release Max back to Jorge and his people, do you? Not after the beating they gave him. It is a miracle he survived.”
Only the young, the innocent, can doubt the cruelty of men, Miguel thought. “The act of sacrifice is ancient, mi amigo. Think of Pontius Pilate. The Indians have a great tradition of it. When men have greed or power behind them, sacrifice becomes an accepted ritual. Even today.”
“What would the Army gain?”
“Not the Army. General Ruiz. He’ll go anything to bring Catera down. And Chief Guterriz. An evil, vain man, Catera. Whatever deal he has made with Jim Mainland, he knows it will not stand. Unless he is rid of Max and his mother. He will let Jorge and his men do his dirty work. He is just here to see it done. I am sure his men are posing as some of the miners, telling them what to do. It was his men that whipped Max.” He looked again out the window. “If Ruiz brings Max into the open today, he will be the sacrifice.”
From this vantage point, he could see the platform that was now completed. An image of a young man being carried up the stairs to a sacrificial altar burned his eyes. Not that they would see such a gruesome sight. A cleaner, modern lynching would be more likely. He turned away.
“If they would just let me see Max. Talk to him.” Miguel sighed. “There must be a way he could convince the people that his mother has not sold the mines to Catera.”
A shout came from downstairs.
“Si!” Miguel answered, and went to the landing.
“Señor Miguel!” A man stood in the doorway, half-supporting a woman covered with a dirty blanket. In his uplifted hand was a picture of Patricia. One that Miguel had given the people of Carlos Randel.
Miguel’s heart pounded, as if a fist squeezed it. He took the steps two at a time. When he reached them, he slipped an arm around the woman and pulled back the blanket. The fist strangled his heart at the sight before him.
“Gracias Dios!”
He helped Patricia up the stairs and onto the mat he used for a bed. The man told all he knew. Miguel remembered the old woman in the street. Now he knew what had upset her.
Daniel brought a basin of water and a cloth. Miguel gently washed Patricia’s face and her blood encrusted hands.
She cried out in pain as one of her torn fingers caught in the cloth. She tried to sit up, but Miguel pushed her back and said, “Lie still.”
“Max?” she asked, biting her lower lip.
“He is safe.” It was the truth, for the moment. She gave out a deep breath as if she had held it for days.
“Why were you in the tunnel beneath the church? Where have you been hiding?” He tried to keep his voice tender to match her need, but he wanted to yell at her, to scream outrage at her foolishness. If Daniel and the man were not in the room, he would take her in his arms and kiss away all her pain. He combed her hair with his fingers while she talked.
“We’ve been in the house above the old church. A man told Rachel and me that he would take me to Max. We went . . . through the tunnel, but Max wasn’t there. Jim was. He tried to make me sign some papers. I think the man . . . Catera. I think he must have been there. When I came back, someone had closed the tunnel and, I don’t know, maybe tried to cause it to cave-in.” She sat up. “Rachel. Gena. They were going to the church. It might collapse.”
Miguel would have had to hurt her to make her lie back down. Instead, he cradled her in his arms. “We will send someone for them and make sure it is okay,” he said.
Daniel moved closer to her. “Gena? She found you?”
“Yes,” Patricia whispered against Miguel’s shoulder.
“They will be okay,” Daniel said. “Señora Davis has a special power. And Gena, she is smart.” He smiled.
Voices filtered through from below the windows. Loud, angry voices. All morning there had been processions of the faithful coming to the church, loud music and singing, but this was different. Miguel nodded. Daniel looked out.
“Miners. Many of them,” he reported.
Miguel left Patricia on the mat and joined Daniel.
Men marched up the hill, carrying picks and shovels. Shouting. They cried out, “Morelos. Morelos. Muerta á Morelos.”
Miguel felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at a portrait of pain. How she stood, he did not know. To his amazement, she straightened her back and set her jaw.
“They will not kill my son,” she said.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Miguel turned Patricia toward Daniel. “Keep her here,” he ordered, and headed for the door.
“Wait!” She tore loose from Daniel and pulled at Miguel’s arm. “I’m going with you.”
“No.” His dark eyes were like bullets shooting at her, staying her.
“You can’t stop me, Miguel. Haven’t you learned that?”
His hands went around her upper arms, squeezing the flesh until she cried out.
“You’ll have to do worse than that,” she said through clenched teeth. “To keep me here.”
“Can I reason with you? Will you be so stubborn?” He walked her backward, hands still on her arms. They moved like two stiff forms in a strange dance. He pushed her down into a chair. Knelt in front of her, his hands holding both of hers.
“These men who shout “Muerta á Morelos” do not care if it is death to señora or señor. They have heard so many lies, from Catera, Mainland, from Tomas. They have been told lies for so long. They will not believe you. A Morelos. A woman. You go out there, tell them who you are, and you will say no more. No one will listen.”
“I can tell them I didn’t sign over the mines. If Catera is caught, I can prove I didn’t. I will give them the mines. They have to believe me.” She struggled to free herself, but his eyes bound her to the chair as firmly as the pressure of his hands.
“They have to?” he asked.
Tears stung her eyes. She was so tired, so spent. His sarcasm cut her. The dark eyes that had once sparked with love, now bored into her like cold flint. Her drained body, slumped. She was defeated. If Miguel could free Max, nothing else mattered. She lifted her head to him. “That night, in the hacienda, you promised to find my son and bring him out of here. You said you would take care of my son. Have you forgotten?”
“No. I have not.” His eyes left hers. He looked at Daniel. She held her breath, frowned at him. He looked back at her. Her stare pleaded. Inhaling deeply, he turned toward the window, then back again to her. She thought a tear glimmered in his eye.
“Max is safe for the moment. And you must stay here. I will try to quiet these people. Then I will go to General Ruiz. He wants Catera. We know now where he is. I will use him to bargain for Max.”
She leaned forward as if falling slowly. He caught her head on his shoulder and held her. After a moment, he pushed her back into the chair and went to the window.
“I made a promise to you. I will keep it. And see my brother
’s son safely out of Real.” He turned on a heel and was out the door before she could recover from the blow of his words.
She pulled herself away from the chair as if she had become rooted to it and looked out the window. Miguel was shouting something at the men. Several of them came forward and argued with him. Finally, they turned away and the voices died down. Miguel disappeared up the street. The men were quieter now. Mingling with the festival crowd around the fountain.
“Why do you want to hurt my child?” She cried out, pounding her fist against the wooden frame, welcoming the pain that edged her hand. Daniel grabbed her arm and held it still.
“That will do no good, Señora.”
“Then you answer my question,” she shot at him. “You’ve been in on this from the start. You must know why these people want to harm Max.”
Daniel flinched at her words. She looked into his eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry. I just need help, please. Someone must have answers. If I knew why this was happening, maybe I would know what I can do.”
Daniel looked at her with a compassion that softened his features. “Do you still not know it is because of Tomas Morelos, your husband? It is the hatred built by years of oppression, death, of cave-ins and Tlantoloc, of promises and betrayals.”
“But Tomas is dead, why blame him now for this cave-in?” “Señor Jim Mainland worked with Señor Tomas.”
“But—”
“He is still alive. He works with Catera now to get the mines and to build the buildings at Tlantaloc. If Catera owns the mines, more die. The people know their fate at his hands and they rebel.”
“But I, I didn’t—,” she stopped herself. “I should have known. I should have made it my business to find out. She shook her head in disbelief at the betrayal she felt.
“The people of Real de Catorce have always been kind, good.” Daniel went on. “Now there is hate. You must not blame them.”
“Even if they kill my son?” She stared, daring him to answer. “An eye for an eye. Is that your philosophy, Daniel?”
“No, Señora. But a man who lost his eye does not see the world as he did. He makes mistakes.” He shifted his feet and looked out the window.
His words swelled in her mind, crushing all other thoughts. Mistakes. God, she had made so many. Tears fell on her cheeks and she shivered deep inside.
Daniel stood close enough for her to touch him. His presence filled the room as if it had shrunk. She had been so engrossed looking for Max that she had tried to push Daniel from her mind. Logic fought with her. He was just a stranger. A young Mexican who had been caught up in this hated drama of her son’s kidnapping. She thought she had accepted the impossible, but could it really be?
Daniel’s hand hung by his side, inches from her face. She hunted for familiarity along the lines of his fingers. The nails, curve of the joints, raised veins. She looked down at her own and saw no resemblance. Then she lifted her head and studied his face. The evidence was there. The lines of his cheek, cut of his chin, shape of his nose. They were her father’s and hers. She thought of the little silver boy she had placed in the church. Would St. Francis have the last laugh? Give her the miracle of finding the son she didn’t know she had, while losing the one she sought?
She stared at the grains in the wood floor as if studying a map of her life. The roads led here. Ended here. These people wanted to end the Morelos line here. They would take their revenge for Tomas’s evil deeds out on his son, Miguel had said. So many lies had been told. Jim. Catera. Tomas. But she was the greatest liar of them all. Her eyes followed the elliptical pattern of a tree’s growth rings on one of the boards. She began to visualize the tree itself. In its leafy glory of spring. Its shivering skeleton of winter. It was so clear. This tree had good years and bad years. Now they were all laid open for everyone to see.
Like the tree, her own life began to take shape. Her life had no true ring. No one knew her. Not really. She had taken the events that had made up her days and done whatever she wanted. They had been manipulated, changed, forgotten, lied about. She had shrouded her whole being in disguises. Even Max had told her, “I don’t know who you are.”
How simple it seemed. She would just lay it all out in the open. Then she would be able to save her son.
“Tomas is not Max’s father,” she said aloud. They were just words, but she doubled over at the pain of voicing them. The saw had made its first cut.
“What did you say?” Daniel asked.
Her eyes met his. She turned away. There were many other cuts to come. But not now.
“Max is not Tomas’s child.” She tried this different way of saying it. She felt no additional hurt.
Daniel moved closer to her. A frown drew his brows together. “Is this true?”
Would she be doubted even when she told the truth?
“Who is his father?” Daniel asked.
One name. One more word. This secret out in the open would call for all others. She felt no fear, only hope. She would face the consequences of her actions and her father’s. It was the only way. As determined as she was, she could barely breathe the name. “Miguel,” she whispered.
“Miguel is the father of Max?” Daniel whirled around as if propelled by the force of his statement. “Yes.” He hit a fist into his palm. “It is true. Max is like him. His hair and eyes, and chin.” He scratched his head as if trying to think of other similarities.
“You’ve seen him?” Patricia was on her feet, pulling at Daniel’s arm. “When? Was he hurt? Why didn’t you tell me?” She struck his arm with her fist. He turned and held her hands.
“Mi Dios!” he exclaimed. “Miguel does not know this! He has never seen Max. Never seen the mirror of his face. This is why you wanted to find him, so Miguel would not see him. But why? Why keep him from his son?”
She pulled free of his grasp. Turned her back. She was not willing to say more. Not until she talked to Miguel. The gravity of the plan she had put in motion began to pull her down.
“We must tell them, Señora. I did see Max. Yesterday, they let me. He is okay. I promise. There are only a few men who want to harm him. The others will listen to them. You must tell the leaders.” He started for the door.
“Wait!” She turned away when he stopped. “I want—.”
“What? Why do you wait?” In the dark rims of his green eyes she saw her father and trembled.
“You don’t understand,” she almost shouted. She could not say his name. She could not think of Daniel. It was more than her heart could take. She sobbed once from her depths.
“Verdad! I do not. Do you want to save Max or not? The decision is yours, Señora,” Daniel spoke calmly.
She looked out toward the church trying to compose herself. Suddenly there was movement in the crowd. Arms raised, pointed toward the street above the church. The commotion drew Daniel to join her at the window. Patricia had no idea what was happening, but her heart swelled in her chest.
Several blue-coated men hurried down the steps of the Palacio Municipal. They held their arms high and confronted the first men leading about fifty or sixty others down the hill. A cloud of dust floated above them. Voices filled the air. Men from the back of the group came around the flanks and mingled with those near the fountain.
A skirmish broke out. The blue coats, evidently policeman, were pushed aside. Two of them ran back into the building. For reinforcements? Weapons? The crowd drew together, like a spring wound tighter and tighter. Their attention was drawn to something in their midst. Three men struggled. A fight? No. Two were holding one. He struggled. They thrust him forward. He was taller than the others. His feet dragged the ground as they lifted him by his arms, carried him toward the platform. His black hair flopped across his forehead. A red cloth hid his dark eyes.
A keening came from Patricia before she knew what she was seeing. She placed her palms against the dusty window pane. The glass reverberated with the force of her cry. She screamed Max’s name loud enough for the men to hear, but no
one looked her way. It was as if she were watching a movie.
The door opened with a jerk. “Come,” Miguel motioned for Daniel. “You stay,” he pointed at her.
Daniel’s eyes met hers. His mouth opened just slightly, as if wanting to say something. Her head ached with the echo of her scream. No time to think, to consider. Her mind was fixed on the scene out the window. Still looking at Daniel, she spoke. “I have to go with you, Miguel. What I can say to them will save Max’s life.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Miguel stared at Patricia. She was calm, determined. He had no time to deal with her. He had reached General Ruiz too late. The boy had been turned over to Jorge Morelos and his miners. The General had made a show of standing up to them, at least he said he had, but since his main interest was in apprehending Catera, it was to his advantage to let the miners create a diversion. Max Morelos was only a pawn in the game.
The best Miguel was able to get from Ruiz was a promise to come to their aid in return for the whereabouts of Catera and Mainland, but only after he had arrested them. Miguel had shown Jorge the illegal document that Mainland had drawn with Catera, but Jorge would not listen. The paper only angered the miners more. He hoped Daniel could help convince them.
“You can not go, Patricia. I have said all you could say. These men are not interested in anything but letting the blood of Tomas Morelos fertilize their soil. And they are trying to bend that mob to their desire. Daniel knows some of the men. Maybe they will listen if he is with me.” He grabbed at Daniel, but she stood between them.
“Daniel will agree, Miguel.” Her voice was a calm in the storm. “¿ Que dice la Señora, Daniel?” He asked, even though it did not matter what she would say.
“Ella salvará a su hijo. Créala. Es la única manera.”
Miguel fought with logic and fear. Daniel would not interfere unless he knew something. But how could he know Patricia would be able to save her son? Why believe her or him? The moment was desperate. The police were too few. They had sent for more. God help them, but it may be too late. If he could talk to the crowd, there may be enough who knew him and Daniel to listen to reason, even if their leaders would not. Perhaps it was only fair to let Patricia do whatever she could. It was the life of her son at stake. His heart melted with the agony in her eyes. He grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. “Are you sure? I do not know what they will do when they learn who you are.”
THE SECOND MILAGRO (n/a) Page 29