When the Heavens Fall

by Gilbert, Morris

  The thought discouraged him, but he went on to the stables, where he found Mateo, the Mendozas’ horse master

  “I’d like to try out that stallion I was looking at the other day. The bay.”

  “His name is Capitán, señor. A fine horse.”

  “He looks like he’s big enough to carry my weight.”

  “He is one of the prizes of Señor Mendoza’s herd. I don’t know if you would be willing to pay the price he is asking.”

  “If he’s the horse I want, I’ll pay it. I’ll come back a little later.”

  “I’ll have him saddled, señor.”

  “Thank you, Mateo.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Brandon moved around the compound. He was somewhat discouraged, for he could not think of a way he could break into the house, obtain Eden, then get her all the way to the coast. If he did get her out of the compound, there would be an alarm, and a troop of these ruffians working for Mendoza would be on his trail, all mounted on the fastest horses he’d ever seen

  He stopped at a beautifully arranged garden and admired the flowers. They made a colorful display in the bright morning sun. He had hoped to see Dolores Mendoza, and he was pleasantly surprised a few moments later to see her come out of one of the large oak doors. A servant bowed as she passed through. Brandon saw at a glance that she was wearing a riding outfit. He pulled his hat off and approached her

  “Good morning, señorita. A fine day, is it not?”

  “Are you here again to look at horses, Señor Winslow?”

  “Yes. I thought I might. I’m going to take one called Capitán out for a ride.” A quick thought came to him and he said, “I wish we could ride together, but as I learned from our first meeting, you can’t accompany a man without a duenna.”

  “I think you’re a man who doesn’t pay much attention to rules.”

  “Why, señorita, you wound me! I always keep to the rules—unless I want to break them.”

  “I sometimes feel the same way, Señor Winslow.”

  “You do not know a man’s confinement.”

  “No,” Dolores said, tossing her head as a rebellious light came to eyes, “I know worse. You are a man, and you have no idea how a woman is bound by a thousand rules. I think sometimes I’m in a prison.”

  “What would you do if you were not bound by rules?”

  “I’d do what you and all men do—I’d be free.”

  Brandon studied the woman. Her face was a mirror that changed often. He had seen her laugh a few times and knew that she had a great deal of pride. That much was obvious. Yet sometimes a sadness seemed to touch her like a cloud. Impulsively he said, “Ride with me, señorita. Break one of the rules.”

  “It is up to you,” she said with a shrug. “If my father catches us, he may have you whipped.”

  “It’s worth the risk.”

  Mateo saddled both animals. Hers was a mare. She gave Brandon a slight smile but did not speak. Brandon followed her to the big stallion, who bucked a couple of times, then settled down to accept his saddle

  As soon as they were outside the gate and away from the walls of the compound, Dolores smiled at him. “Would you like to race? I always like a race. You see that big tree out there? It’s about half a mile from here. Are you ready?”

  “Any time you’re—”

  Brandon blinked as Dolores touched the mare with her spurs and gave a sharp cry. The mare shot ahead as if propelled from a cannon, while his big stallion, startled by the action, bucked and turned sideways. Quickly Brandon got him under control, but by that time, Dolores was fifty yards ahead. He kicked the sides of the big horse, and the animals sped over the terrain. It was impossible to catch her, and when he reached the tree, she watched him approach with a triumphant smile

  “You are slow, señor.”

  “I think you have the better animal.”

  “Yes. She’s the fastest horse on the place. She’s won many races. Come along.”

  She did not say where they were going. She led him down a well-worn path and then they climbed a gently rising slope that grew sharper as it rose. When they reached the crest, Brandon saw a beautiful valley on the other side, with a clear stream running through it

  “That’s the prettiest thing I’ve seen in Spain.”

  “Do they have nice scenes like this in your country?”

  “Oh, yes. Many of them. But this is beautiful.” A thought came to him, and he asked, “What was your life like—as a child, I mean?”

  Dolores didn’t answer at once; the question seemed to trouble her. Finally she said, “I never knew my real parents.”

  “Señor Mendoza isn’t your father?”

  “No. He saved me from a wreck at sea. He took me as his daughter.”

  “Do you remember anything about your real parents?”

  “I—sometimes dream of them.” Dolores turned her eyes on him, and he saw a longing and a sadness there. “Of course, I can’t really remember what they look like, but I wish I could have known them.”

  “Forgive me. It must be very hard.” If I can take her back to her parents, it will benefit her as much as Uncle Quentin. She’s miserable here, and she’ll be even worse off if she’s forced to marry an old man. “Shall we go on?” he asked

  She didn’t answer but led him down a path. When they got to the river, she let the horses drink. She did not speak for a time. Then she lifted the mare’s head and walked her slowly along the river. When they came to a grove of trees, she dismounted and tied the mare to a tree. Brandon tied his horse and followed her into the trees. The shade of the trees made the air cool. She sat down on a fallen tree

  “I come here to fish sometimes.”

  “Do you catch any?”

  “Oh, yes. The river’s full of fish. I let most of them go.” She turned to him and asked, “Tell me about your life in your country.”

  Brandon cast about for something appropriate to tell her. “Well, I was a soldier for quite a while.”

  Her eyes lit up. “That’s what I would be if I were a man. A soldier. Tell me about it. The battles and the adventure.”

  Her eyes were wide open, and she seemed to be hungry for something—what? “Well, it’s not as romantic as most people think. As a matter of fact, I had rather romantic notions when I joined the army. Mostly it’s days of tedious boredom broken by short periods of sheer terror.” Brandon laughed and said, “That’s not very romantic, is it?”

  “Tell me, were you truly afraid in battle?”

  “There’s hardly time for it, at least for me, but I found out I was afraid after the action stopped. Once we had a terrible battle with some Irishmen. There were dead people all around, and I had a couple of wounds myself. I didn’t even think about dying or getting hurt while it was going on. There was no time for it. But when it was over and everything grew quiet, I started to walk away.” He shook his head at the memory. “My knees suddenly got weak as water, and I had to lie down flat on the ground.”

  “What were you afraid of, Brandon Winslow?”

  “I realized I could have died and I would be in no condition to meet God in judgment. It frightened me.”

  “I never heard of such a thing as that. Tell me some more about the battles.”

  As the cool breeze touched his face, Brandon told some stories of battles, but finally he shook his head. “War is a terrible thing.”

  “What about your family?”

  “Oh, you would like them, Dolores.” He forgot to add señorita, but she seemed not to notice. “They’ve been married for years and years, and they love each other like a pair of youngsters falling in love for the first time.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. My mother is miserable when Father’s gone, and he’s miserable when he’s away from her.”

  “Do they ever argue?”

  “Oh, yes, they argue. They make each other laugh, and they make each other cry.”

  “Why should you cry if you love someone?”

  “My fa
ther says to love is to put yourself into the hands of another person. Sooner or later they’ll fail you.”

  “Your mother cries sometimes?”

  “Not very often. Father’s very careful. He brings her flowers and he tells her how beautiful she is. But once he paid a little too much attention to a pretty woman, and Mother got jealous. She cried then. I was just a child, but I asked her why she was crying, and she couldn’t tell me. But then when Father came in he saw her crying. He ran over and fell down and held her, and they made things right. I was just a child, but I saw that there was magic in my parents’ relationship.”

  There was silence for a moment. Brandon listened to the sibilant murmur of the river as it flowed by. He was trying to figure out what she was thinking

  “Do you know any more poems like the one you quoted for me the other day?”

  “Well, I know one that’s been a favorite of mine for a long time.”

  “Would you tell it to me?”

  “All right. I’ll tell you some of it. It’s about a man and a woman who are in love, and the first thing she says is, ‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for our love is better than wine.’”

  “I’m not sure this is appropriate.”

  “Oh, it’s a good poem. They love each other dearly. She describes him. She says, ‘A bundle of myrrh is my wellbeloved unto me. He shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.’ And he says, ‘Behold thou art fair, my love; behold thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes.’”

  He continued to quote the poem and said, “I told you that lovers cry. That’s in the poem too. They had a quarrel. The man came one night when the woman was asleep. He whispered, ‘Open to me, my love, my dove, my undefiled.’ But she would not. She said, ‘I have put off my coat. How shall I put it on? I have washed my feet. How shall I defile them?’”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t say anything, but when she left her bed and she saw he was gone, she said, ‘My beloved has withdrawn himself. My soul failed when he spoke.’ And then she began looking for him, and she couldn’t find him.”

  Dolores said, “This isn’t a fit poem for a man to say to a woman.”

  “Why, Dolores, it’s from the Bible.”

  “That can’t be!”

  “But it is. It’s called the Song of Solomon and it is in the Bible. You can read it yourself.”

  “I’ve never read the Bible. I never thought such a thing would be in it.”

  “Well, señorita, as a matter of fact, it’s about the only part of the Bible I know well enough to speak of. I thought like you the first time I read it. I couldn’t believe such a passage was in the Bible.”

  “I’ve never even seen a Bible. The priests tell us what it says.”

  Suddenly Brandon laughed. “I bet they don’t talk about this poem too often, but it’s a beautiful love story. They love each other so much that he says, ‘O, prince’s daughter, the joints of your thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman. Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor. Thy belly is like a heap of wheat set about with lilies. Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins. Thy neck is as a tower of ivory, thine eyes like the fishpools in Heshbon. How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights.’”

  “That—that can’t be in the Bible!”

  “Well, my uncle is a preacher, and he has studied the Bible a lot. He says that it’s probably a true story about Solomon and his lover, but it’s also a story of Christ and the church. Jesus is the bridegroom and we are the bride, and we are to love each other. We are to love Christ as a woman loves her husband.” He smiled. “My Uncle Quentin said someday I would quote those verses for some reason other than seducing women.”

  “Is that what you’re doing?” she said, lifting a hand to her breast. “Seducing me?”

  “God help me, I don’t intend to do that. Not that you aren’t quite beautiful and tempting. No, today I think I spoke those verses to you because you should know there is something so wonderful within the Scriptures. My uncle would be happy I told them to you.”

  Dolores suddenly stood up, and when he joined her, he saw that she had tears in her eyes. “Don’t be sad,” he said in confusion. “It’s a beautiful poem. It tells how God loves his people and how we’re supposed to love him, but it’s also about a man and a woman. Someday, Señorita Dolores, you’ll find a man who can make you laugh and cry.”

  She looked up at him, and faint color stained her cheeks. For a moment they stood like that, something whirling rashly between them, swaying both of them in violent compulsions that neither of them really understood. He sensed her vulnerability and suddenly he realized there was more to this woman than he had thought. She was still, waiting, staring up at him, beckoning, so sweet. .…He put his arms around her and felt her lips come up to meet his, quick and eager. It was like falling into layer after layer of softness. There was never any completion to the kiss. Never the full giving of those things in him and never the whole receiving from her. Never enough. She caught her breath, and he knew that she had felt the power of their connection as much as he. He held her loosely, stirred by the fragrance rising from her hair, and it was then that he knew that this was a woman that he could truly love. How cruel! She would hate him once she knew his goal had always been to steal her away, not win her heart.

  Dolores stepped back and stared at him. Her cheeks were flushed and she was angry. “How dare you take such a liberty!”

  “Dolores,” he said in surprise. “Forgive me for offending you.” His heart beat quickly. Had he destroyed everything? She seemed truly furious.

  “I’m angry with myself for being so easy.” She turned and walked away quickly to her horse, mounted, and rode away at a fast clip. Brandon stood looking after her. I can’t steal her, but I might make her fall in love with me. She’s the kind of woman who would run away to England with a man she loves.

  Shame came on him as he thought of how he would have to use deceit, but his mind responded with justification. She was not happy here. She’d have a good home with the Fairfaxes, everything she wanted. And she could find a man to love truly before she married. He went to his horse and slowly led the animal along the river, thinking, thinking.

  Why had her kiss so shaken him?

  16

  Morning clouds had gathered and poured a cooling rain over the terrain, then had passed away in the late afternoon. The sun had come out, and as Dolores sat looking out the window, she was conscious once more of the beauty of the countryside during the month of April. The grass as the sun struck it looked like diamonds flickering and glittering. But as her seventeen-year-old maid Juanita brushed her hair, she was aware that she was unhappy. There was something in her, a discontent, for which she could not account.

  Juanita was chattering on about her usual subject, a young man named Antonio.

  “Are you two engaged to be married, Juanita?”

  “Oh, not yet, but I’m sure we will be soon.”

  “Is he acceptable to your family? A proper young man?”

  “Well, they are a little disappointed that I don’t aim to marry higher, but I love Antonio.”

  Juanita was a pretty little thing with dark eyes and thick, dark hair. Her eyes glowed as she began to speak of her suitor.

  “He is so handsome, lady! Very handsome indeed.”

  “Does he ever kiss you?”

  “Oh, yes. Many times.”

  “That would not be permitted for a woman of my station.”

  “Well, there is some advantage in being only a poor girl. We don’t have to have a duenna watching us like a hawk.”

  “That must make Antonio very happy.”

  “Oh, he’s very persistent.” Juanita flushed and said, “He is sometimes impertinent, señorita.”

  “Oh, he does more than kiss you?”

  “Well, he tries.”

  “I trust you have discouraged such behavior.” Dolores saw the confusion in the gir
l’s face and asked, “I suppose he wants to make love to you.”

  Juanita looked even more flustered. “Yes. He says we’re going to be married anyway so we can love each other—in every way.”

  “And what do you think about that?”

  “I don’t know. When he puts his arms around me and holds me and kisses me, I feel so helpless, and I—” She broke off and looked down at the floor. “I must confess. I would like for him to make love to me.” The girl looked up and said, “Is that wrong?”

  “You know it is wrong, Juanita.”

  “Have—have you ever felt like that about a man, señorita?”

  The simple question stirred something within Dolores. She had felt the same stirring when Brandon held her. She could not admit this to a servant, however. “You must be very careful. Men are selfish, Juanita. They will take what a woman has, then walk away and leave her after they’ve had their way.”

  “Oh, Antonio would never do that.”

  “He’s a man, and men are greedy. A woman has to guard herself.”

  Juanita blinked and then blurted out. “Were you ever in love as I am?”

  “No,” Dolores snapped, “and we don’t need to be talking like this. I just warn you that you need to be careful with Antonio.”

  Juanita had no chance to respond, for the door opened and Dolores saw that her father was there, accompanied by Don Pedro Varga.

  “Ah, we need to speak to you, my daughter. I have good news.”

  “Yes, Father?” Dolores stood up and waited with some trepidation. What was welcome news to her father might not be good news to her.

  “It is the best of news. I rejoice that my good friend Don Pedro Varga,” he said, sliding an arm around the man’s shoulders, “has asked for your hand in marriage. Is that not wonderful?”

  It took everything in her not to scream and run away. She straightened, smoothed her bodice, and said, “Don Pedro, you do me great honor with your offer.”

  Vargas stepped forward. He was a small man, not as tall as Dolores herself. His voice was that of an old man. “It will be my honor, señorita. I will do my best to make you happy.” When Don Pedro reached forward for her hand, Dolores gave it, and when he kissed it, she had to suppress a shudder. His lips were dry. She had a moment’s dreadful thought of what it would be like to have such a man for a husband. She knew little enough about the intimate side of marriage, but the idea of this man touching her and kissing her was abhorrent to her.