A Bride's Agreement

by Elaine Bonner

  A look of panic crossed Tomás’s face. Eduardo reached over and squeezed his shoulder. Tomás tried to smile, but only grimaced. “That cow, she hit him hard. I think the only thing that saved him was that she knocked him clear across the gorge so she couldn’t follow.”

  Eduardo nodded, seeing in his mind the steep gorge, only two feet wide, but about thirty feet deep.

  “I jumped my horse across and got to him right away. That mama kept bellowing, running back and forth along the edge on the other side.”

  “Where did she get him?”

  “Her horn caught him below the shoulder on the right side. If she’d caught him low or on the left, he would probably be dead right away.”

  A twinge of pain lanced through Eduardo’s chest, as if he could feel Lucio’s suffering. “Did you get the bleeding to stop?”

  “No señor.” Tomás shook his head, his face pale. “I took off my shirt and tore it to make a tight bandage. I don’t know if Lucio was able to stay conscious. He was losing a lot of blood. We have to hurry.” Tomás urged his horse to a faster pace.

  The rest of the trip, they rode in silence. Despite his concern for Lucio, Eduardo couldn’t help thinking about what had happened at home. Once more, his anger had gotten the best of him. He’d just made the determination to change because of Chiquita, then he’d gone in and thrown a fit over a piece of pottery that didn’t really matter. Yes, his mother had prized the object, but he hadn’t—at least, not until Chiquita had broken it.

  He knew he’d scared her, yet she was willing to stand her ground. Admiration welled up once again. When this emergency was taken care of, he would have to sit down and talk with her. He frowned. How was he to do that? She couldn’t talk. Could she read and write? He knew better than that. Very few ranch people were educated. His parents insisted he go to school in Tucson, making him one of the few learned people around here.

  He would see. Maybe Chiquita would want to learn. In the evenings, he could teach her the letters. When she knew enough, they could communicate through writing, even though she couldn’t verbalize anything. Surely she would want to do that.

  “We’re almost there.” Tomás pointed ahead.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Eduardo could see Rico on the wagon, far below and behind them. He must be pushing the team to even be in sight. Rico would come up a longer route to be on the same side of the gorge as they were. The trip home could be a little slower, but getting to Lucio fast could be the difference between life and death.

  The cow lowed, a threatening sound, as she stood over her calf. Lowering her head, she shook her sharp horns at them, as if warning that they would get the same as Lucio if they dared to come close. Urging his horse to a canter, Eduardo jumped the narrow cleft, Tomás just behind him. Lucio lay on the ground, still and limp.

  Swinging from the saddle, Eduardo ignored the angry sounds coming from the heifer across the gorge. He knelt beside his ranch hand. The ground around Lucio still looked damp and stained from his blood.

  Eduardo’s breath froze. He placed a hand over Lucio’s heart, then bent over to place his ear on the man’s chest. A slow, faint rhythm made him sigh in relief. Lucio still lived. Eduardo strode to his horse and retrieved the bundle Pilar sent with him. Untying the corners, he pulled out what he needed.

  “Bring me a canteen.”

  Tomás, who had knelt beside him, jumped to obey. Eduardo ripped Lucio’s shirt, exposing the wound so he could get a better look. The hole appeared enormous. The edges were ugly and torn. Lifting Lucio, Eduardo could see the place in the back where the cow hit him with such force that the horn went completely through. He’d lost a lot of blood, and it still seeped from the wound. Pulling the shirt away caused the flow to increase a little.

  By the time Rico arrived with the wagon, Eduardo had done as much as he knew how to help Lucio. He was still unconscious, pale, and sweating. He’d moaned a few times as Eduardo worked, but he hadn’t wakened. The bleeding had stopped and hopefully wouldn’t start again on the trip home. Rico would drive as carefully as he could over the rough terrain.

  Time would tell if the man would live. They needed to get him back to the ranch as quickly as possible, where Pilar could take over. She had considerable skill patching up wounded ranch hands. She even helped care for the injured animals. If Lucio lived through the journey home, he would stand a good chance of surviving.

  “Should we chance the trip home or wait until morning?” Rico glanced at the late afternoon sun. They wouldn’t be able to make it back before dark. “I threw in some bedrolls. We could make Lucio comfortable. Maybe by morning, he’ll be able to travel better.”

  Eduardo frowned. “By morning, fever could set in. If we get him back tonight, Pilar can start treating him for infection. I put on the leaves she sent to draw out the dirt, but that may not be enough.”

  Rico nodded. “You’re right. If that wound gets infected, he’ll never make it. Let’s go.”

  By the time the lights of the ranch came into view, Eduardo’s anger had long faded. Exhaustion and guilt weighed heavily on him. Hunger, too, gnawed at him. He hadn’t eaten the food Pilar sent them earlier, although he hoped Chiquita had taken the time to eat. He wasn’t sure how he could tell her he regretted his earlier actions, but he had to try. As soon as Lucio was settled, he would go home and face his bride.

  When the door slammed shut, Fealdad felt the concussion throughout her body. She began to shake. Would Eduardo get over his anger, or would he beat her when he came home? Sometimes Papa told her he would beat her, then waited, as if the anticipation added to his satisfaction. He seemed to delight in making her agonize before he began to pummel her. Was Eduardo the same way? His anger had been strong enough.

  She watched from the window as the horses and wagon disappeared from the ranch. The woman—Pilar, Eduardo called her—glanced at the house. Fealdad stepped to the side so Pilar wouldn’t be able to see her. Right now, she didn’t want to have this woman coming to the house. She felt as ugly and stupid as her name. Chiquita. Eduardo might call her that, but she didn’t feel any different.

  The smell of food tickled her nose. She walked to the table and lifted the cloth from the tray there. Her mouth watered as the appetizing smells wafted up. Reaching out, she brushed her fingertips against a warm tortilla. How she longed to eat just a little, but she couldn’t. Eduardo would be even angrier to know that she was eating his food when she hadn’t done her work. Brushing the cloth back into place, she turned to see if the water was hot enough to begin washing.

  Hours flew by as she did the dishes, cleaned the floor, and gathered clothes to begin washing them the next day. Eduardo’s house was much bigger than her parents’ with its tiny area that barely held the family. Here, the rooms were spacious and plentiful. Besides the kitchen, main area, and bedroom, there were two other rooms with beds—evidently for company. She wondered if Eduardo had a lot of people who came to visit. Did he have family near here? She didn’t know anything about her husband.

  Much of the house was in a state of disorder, like it hadn’t been given a good cleaning in a long time. Dust, thick enough to draw pictures in, covered most of the furniture. The unused bedrooms were the worst, but Fealdad knew she couldn’t clean everything in one day. The rugs felt gritty as she walked across them. Tomorrow, she would have to take them outside and beat them, along with doing the laundry.

  In the bedroom that must be Eduardo’s, Fealdad found a treasure: books. A shelf along the wall held more books than she thought were in the world. Glancing around to make sure she was alone, she crossed the room to stand before them. Reaching up to touch one, her fingers trembled. She stopped short of making contact. Does Eduardo know how to read?

  For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted to learn to read. Her mother could read a little and had taught the other girls what she could. Fealdad never had time for the lessons, although her mother constantly scolded her for missing them. Once in a while, she would hear the girls
recite some of their letters and she would try them out, silently rolling the sounds across her tongue.

  Heart pounding, Fealdad rested her hand on the shelf next to the books. How many were there? She gazed up and down the long row. More than she could count from the few numbers she’d picked up here and there. It would take her a week just to look through all of them.

  A bold idea tempted her. Her heart began to pound. She brushed her hair back from her eyes. Glancing at the door, she made a decision. Trotting back to the kitchen, she peered out the window. There was no sign of wagons or horses returning in the gathering dusk. If the hurt man was far away, Eduardo could be gone all night. Even if they came back soon, surely she would hear the noise of their arrival.

  Creeping back to the bedroom, she took a deep breath and tugged one of the precious tomes free. Opening the pages, she lifted it to her nose. The smell of paper and dust made her sneeze. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth for a brief moment. The letters were grouped together in tight rows, marching in two columns down each page. How did anyone decipher which letter was which? How could she ever sort them into words? Running her fingers over the print, she couldn’t help wondering what message the writer wanted to convey.

  Putting up the first book, she eagerly drew a second from its perch. This time, she gasped as the pages opened. Pictures greeted her. Drawings of animals, mostly birds and wildlife, captured her. She sank to the floor, held spellbound as she turned one leaf after another. The drawings looked as if they could walk out of the book at any moment, they were so lifelike.

  Dark settled in. She went to find a lamp so she could continue with her discovery. Eduardo and his men hadn’t returned. She assumed they’d traveled too far and wouldn’t be back tonight. She knew she should decide where to sleep, but the magic pictures wouldn’t let her go. Time flew past, and she ignored the sounds in the background because she was so caught up with the book on her lap.

  A loud thump vibrated the floor. She jumped. Her heart began to hammer loud enough to drown out any other noise. She clutched the book to her chest. The bedroom door swung open. Eduardo stood there, his face haggard and grim.

  “What are you doing?”

  She knew he would swagger across the room in a moment and begin to strike her. She had to protect the book. She stood and backed away, fumbling for a place to put the volume of drawings. Eduardo began to stride toward her. For a moment, she felt a whimper of fear, then she straightened, waiting for the inevitable.

  CHAPTER 4

  Tiny flames of fury sped through Eduardo’s veins as he approached Chiquita. If Diego were standing before him, he would wring the man’s neck. How could anyone treat a child so poorly that she lived in fear of his every action? This had to stop now. He’d seen her flinch as he started across the room. She was waiting for him to begin hitting her.

  Lord, help me say this the right way. I don’t want to instill more terror. Eduardo took the book from Chiquita and set it on the edge of the bookshelf. Taking her hands in his, he could feel the trembling she couldn’t control. He wanted to draw her into his arms, to let her know he wouldn’t hurt her. She’d been wounded so many times—most likely by Diego—that Eduardo knew she wouldn’t trust him.

  With one hand, he swept back her tangled locks and lifted her chin. Her eyes were closed, her lips compressed so tight they were nearly colorless. He could tell her teeth were clenched tight, as if she was ready for him to do his worst. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to calm his wrath at Diego, lest she think his anger was directed at her.

  Letting out a deep breath, he traced the curve of her jaw with his thumb. A single tear welled up at the corner of her eye. Had Diego done this, too, just to torment her before the violence began?

  “My father bought a horse once.”

  Her eyes snapped open, studying him, full of fear. Her breath came fast and ragged.

  “He didn’t need the mare, but he saw the owner mistreating her. The man would get her on a lead and beat her for no reason. Dad said he heard from others how the man would take out his frustration on the poor beast.” Eduardo continued the soft caress along Chiquita’s jaw.

  “You would think that horse would be grateful to be away from such a terrible master.” He frowned at the memory. “Instead, she would bare her teeth when we came near. Whenever we groomed her, she had to be well tied, because she would always try to bite or kick. That mare was ruined because some man thought he could treat her as mean as he wanted. I worked with her for a long time before I could get her to trust me a little. She never could relax around anyone else.”

  A tear trickled down Chiquita’s cheek. Eduardo caught it with his thumb, brushing the moisture away. She didn’t seem to notice.

  “A horse is an animal. You can’t explain to an animal that you’re different. We kept her for the rest of her life, treating her the best we could.

  “I’ve seen the signs, Chiquita. Someone hasn’t treated you right, but I want you to know that you’re safe here. Maybe you can’t talk, but I know you can hear.” He sighed. “I know I have a temper, but I promise you I’ll never hit you. My parents raised me to respect others, especially women.”

  Lowering her gaze, Chiquita turned her face from him, trying to hide. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here, with him.

  Eduardo released her hand and stepped back. He knew she was still scared. He wanted to give her some room. How can I make her understand? She’s terrified, Lord. Help me make her see that I’m different from Diego.

  “I see you like books. Do you know how to read?” He motioned at the bookshelf.

  Chiquita glanced at the volume he’d taken from her. Her fingers curled in her skirt, clutching the worn material. She gave her head a quick shake.

  “Would you like to learn?”

  Her eyes widened. Her gaze sought his for a moment, the golden depths glinting in the lamplight, before she looked away again. Eduardo wanted to grin in satisfaction. For that moment, he’d seen such a longing that he knew this was something she wanted without her telling him so.

  “Maybe tomorrow evening, we’ll try learning some of the letters. I’ll see if I can rustle up a slate to use. For now, I’d like to get something to eat. It’s been a long day.”

  The haunted look returned to Chiquita’s eyes as she edged around him to the door. Once past, her steps continued, quick and determined. Eduardo followed her to the kitchen more slowly, wondering how he could make her understand she was safe here.

  A crash reverberated through the air, followed by a small sob. Stepping into the kitchen, Eduardo noticed the slump of Chiquita’s shoulders. The door of the stove hung askew. He groaned. He meant to fix that before getting married, but he hadn’t had the time.

  “Here, let me help.”

  Chiquita jumped. She whirled around, backing away from him. The embers from the fire in the stove flickered to life, flaring as Chiquita moved.

  “Stop!” Eduardo leapt forward. He grabbed her up. She weighed almost nothing. He whirled her around. Greedy flames attached themselves to her skirt. The crackle and pop from the stove echoed like shots in the panicked stillness surrounding them. He beat the flames with his hand, hoping he wouldn’t burn Chiquita. The heat stung, but he paid no attention.

  Rolling the folds of the skirt over on the fire, Eduardo squeezed, smothering them out. Chiquita had stiffened like a board. Tremors ran through her body. Eduardo almost pulled her close, then realized she must be afraid.

  “I’m not mad. Your clothes caught on fire. I was only putting them out before you got burned. Are you all right?” He frowned at the ragged skirt with the blackened hole down the length of it. Chiquita clutched the edges together.

  “I’m not sure those clothes shouldn’t be burned anyway. Let’s eat. Afterwards, I’ll see what I can find for you to wear, since you didn’t bring other clothes.” Turning back to the stove, Eduardo stirred the fire, then maneuvered the door closed. “This thing has been giving me fits. I’ll
try to fix it in the morning before I leave so you won’t have to worry about the door falling off.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. Chiquita seemed frozen in place—a waif so thin and frail, he wondered how she could stand. She must have thought he was angry about the stove and was trying to beat her. All he wanted to do was save her from the fire.

  “Did you have some of the food Pilar sent over earlier? I left the platter on the table.”

  She shook her head, her hair once again covering her face. Smelling the spicy scent of chilies, Eduardo opened the door of the warming oven to find the mounded plate of food. Grabbing a towel, he pulled out the dish.

  “The plates are in that cupboard.” He indicated the shelves nearest the sink. “I’ll bring in some fresh water from the well while you get the table ready.” Striding from the house with the bucket swinging from his hand, Eduardo could feel his frustration mounting. Lord, how am I going to do this? I’m carrying on a one-sided conversation. She’s terrified of me. I’m gonna be walking on eggshells to keep from startling her. I don’t think I can do it.

  When he carried the sloshing bucket back into the house, Chiquita waited at the side of the table nearest the head chair. The table had one plate, fork, and cup resting where he usually sat.

  “Where’s your plate?”

  Chiquita kept her gaze lowered. She shook her head.

  “Did you eat earlier?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head again.

  The bucket clanked as he set it down and dropped the handle. Chiquita winced. Eduardo crossed to the cupboard and brought out another plate. In silence he readied a place for Chiquita so she would be seated close enough that he could fill her plate. The girl had to get some meat on her bones. Filling two glasses with the cool water, he plunked them down on the table.

  “Sit down.” He hadn’t meant to growl, but he was getting fed up. Wasn’t she used to eating with the family? Did she have to eat scraps like a dog?