The fire had gone out when Paco came back to crawl under the small cart, which was the only shelter they had.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But they’ll think it strange if I don’t.”
“That’s all right,” she whispered back coolly. “I can manage to control myself—if you can!” But he noticed that she laid the baby between them, and grinned to himself.
When they started out the next day, very early in the morning, they were able to converse in quite a friendly fashion.
She asked him about Steve, of course. She couldn’t resist it.
“Paco—tell me, has he changed a lot? Does he hate me? Does he ever talk about me?”
He glanced sideways at her, and decided to tell her the truth. After all she deserved some sort of warning—and he was really beginning to admire her quiet stamina.
“He’s changed. I think those months in the prison did it—although he won’t talk about it much. But you know his damned stubborn pride—I think what he can’t stand is that they broke it—for a while, anyhow.”
“Oh God! Does he blame me for it?”
“I don’t know, niña. He’s rather more silent than usual these days. But I must warn you—he’s still got that temper. Look—” Paco went on quickly before she could interrupt “—why don’t you change your mind about all this? I can take you straight on to Vera Cruz—you can see him after all this is settled, when he’s had time to get over whatever’s eating at him right now, turning him into a devil. I don’t trust you with him—dammit, he’s my friend, I know him, as much as anyone does! He’s been riding with one of the roughest, toughest bunch of dirty fighters you can imagine—those guerrilleros don’t give anyone any quarter—they’re out for revenge now. Steve’s one of the worst of them, I could tell you things—” He cut his speech off abruptly when he saw her stubborn, closed face, and gave a fatalistic shrug. “I can see that you’re not even listening to me! But I tell you, you’re making a mistake. Give him time, Ginny! He’ll come to his senses in the end.”
“I’ve wasted too much time as it is! Oh, Paco—you can’t imagine how—how horrible it’s been. Like a nightmare—all those months of thinking him dead, of not caring what happened to me, or what I did! I existed, that’s all. And I didn’t even know why! Then, when I heard—it was like coming alive again—like discovering something I was meant to live for. Can’t you understand? I must go to him, I must find out for myself, once and for all, if things are still the same between us.”
“Thank God I’m not a woman!” he said gruffly. “All I can say is, I never did understand feminine logic. I still wish you would come to Vera Cruz with me!”
“I promised Mr. Bishop that if Steve didn’t want me to stay I would go directly to Vera Cruz. In any case, he said he couldn’t promise to get me a passage on an American ship until at least the sixteenth of March—it seems everyone is running away! But don’t you see, Paco? That gives me time.”
“I see that you’re a stubborn, pigheaded female! Think, Ginny. Even if Steve is happy to see you, what the devil do you expect him to do with you right in the middle of a war? You know he’s an officer in Díaz’s army—pretty soon he’s going to be recalled to his official duty, and I’ve no doubt the regular discipline will do him good. But for God’s sake—what about you?”
“I’ll meet that problem when the time comes,” was all she would say, and in the end he gave up trying to reason with her.
Their journey seemed painfully, unbearably slow, and the crowded state of the roads did nothing to help. On several occasions they had to pull off to the side, while heavy baggage convoys lumbered past.
“So at last it’s really goodbye, los Franceses,” Paco muttered. “Their ships have started to take them away already. They’ll be all gone by the end of the month, and the war will end more quickly.”
“The emperor’s going to Queretaro, with his generals—they say he insists on being in the forefront of the battle himself, now. And Queretaro has always been loyal. So has Puebla. Do you really think it can be finished off that quickly? There are still thousands of loyal Imperialist troops.”
“Yes, and there are some of them now! I think they pay more attention to the cut of their uniforms than they do to fighting!”
Ginny saw a troop of Cazadores ride past, and with them, some bearded men in a familiar gray uniform that made her heart pound with terror, even though all that was so far behind her now.
“Counter-guerillas!” she said in a low, choked voice that caused Paco to shoot her a questioning glance.
“Yes, that’s right. American mercenaries—still fighting on the wrong side, it seems! They seem to be going in the same direction we are—perhaps they’re going to try and stop Díaz!”
Paco seemed to think this very funny, but she did not. She was thinking of Steve, who was probably somewhere in the vast province of Oaxaca. Or perhaps he was even closer now—every day brought new rumors of the steadily advancing army of the south.
The route they were taking was almost painfully familiar to Ginny now, although the conditions under which she travelled were vastly different. There was no smart carriage with its escort of handsome officers—no picnics along the way. They skirted Puebla, its church spires etched against the background of twin volcanoes, still capped with snow. The tricolor still flew over the heavily barricaded twin forts, but for how long? There were still French soldiers everywhere here, and all along the road that led to Orizaba, but they all looked jubilant instead of menacing. They were going home!
Swinging around Orizaba, they followed a low-lying, humid valley that led southward, and Paco at last confided to Ginny that they were going to a small hacienda near Tehuacan, the town that bordered the province of Oaxaca.
By now there were fewer travellers on the road, and Paco hid a rifle under the seat. “There are still bandits in these parts,” he confided, “although it’s unlikely they’ll attack such poor and unimportant people as we appear to be. If we do come across anyone, don’t forget that you’re very shy. Pull a corner of your rebozo across your face, look down and giggle. And if there are questions asked, remember that we are from near Orizaba—I have been working for the Condesa de Valmes—” Here he shot her a sly look. “And we’re on our way to visit my mother’s younger sister, Sancia Rodriguez. Her husband is the manager, if you can call him that, of the Hacienda de la Nostalgia. They have only three children,” he added, “and will be glad to take that one—” jerking his head at the baby in Ginny’s arms.
But she had seized on the name. “The Hacienda de la Nostalgia! What a quaint and unusual name! Is it as beautiful as it sounds?”
“‘The place of longing.’ Perhaps its former owner felt it was a place one would always be homesick for. Who knows?”
“You said its former owner. Who owns it now? Won’t they mind our going there?”
“I really don’t think so.” Paco gave her a strange look. “You mean that Bishop didn’t tell you? I must say, this is rather awkward!” He clicked his tongue at the oxen and she put her hand on his arm impatiently.
“Paco! Why are you suddenly being so mysterious? What did Mr. Bishop omit telling me?”
“I suppose you might as well know. As a matter of fact it belongs to you, niña! You probably won’t remember, but before you married Steve his grandfather drew up a property settlement for you. Do you recall it now? There was not only a considerable amount of money involved but land as well. He deeded this little hacienda to you. I believe it was part of the dowry he intended for the Dona Luisa. Well, in any case—it’s yours now. And very convenient, I must say, for our purposes!”
She was staring at him, lips parted. “I don’t believe it! It’s too much of a strange coincidence! Mine you say?”
“Yes, niña, all yours! But of course, since Steve is your husband, he’s been using it. Don’t look so hopeful—he doesn’t live here, you know! As I said before, it’s been convenient. Few people come here, there’s only an old man who
’s worked for the Alvarados for years to take care of the house. And the peons are fanatically devoted to Steve since he freed them. They elected to stay on and work the land—everything has been neglected for years, I’m afraid, but they make quite enough to live on comfortably.”
“And he comes here?”
“Yes. Quite regularly, just as I do. If we miss each other, old Salvador takes care of the messages. We use a code, of course, to be perfectly safe, but I rather doubt that this place will ever be bothered!”
Ginny could hardly contain her excitement now, until they reached the hacienda. Her land. Her property. Already, she had fallen in love with its name. Yes, it would be beautiful—and it was in some way fitting that she should first meet Steve here of all places, after they had been parted for so many months.
As they travelled closer, and Paco began pointing out landmarks, Ginny’s sense of anticipation grew so that she could hardly bear the slow pace at which they were travelling. A few times she jumped off the seat of the slow-moving carreta and walked beside it, to stretch her legs, she told Paco.
Finally, about an hour before noon, Paco told her they had just reached the border of her land. The path they travelled now was little more than a grassy, rutted track, winding amid thickly-leafed old trees, hung with vines. Here and there a cane brake, the tall, thin stalks growing close together, testified to the neglect that showed everywhere.
Small, cleared patches of land showed occasionally through gaps in the trees, but there was not a sign of anyone—only the distant barking of a dog and the plaintive mooing of a cow gave evidence that people lived here.
“It’s too close to the time of siesta to find anyone working,” Paco explained. “In any case the peons here don’t need to turn in a daily quota to the manager. I believe they work just hard enough to feed themselves and their families.” He lifted his arm suddenly to point through the trees.
“Look—there’s the old warehouse. I doubt if they keep anything in there now. Only all those vines keep the bricks together, looks like. But you’ll find that the distillery is still in pretty good shape—they make some really good aguardiente here. Down that way,” he pointed again, “is the small store—the tienda. There’s still an old sawmill down by the river—the usual collection of buildings you’ll find on any hacienda.” They had turned rather a sharp bend and were now passing by a small cottage, set some way back, with a tiny flower garden bordering a neatly kept path leading to a painted door. At Ginny’s inquiring look Paco said, “That’s the Rodriguez house. He’s the estate manager—technically that is. The place seems to manage itself these days, that’s the trouble with absentee landlords like you!”
But Ginny was, by this time, far too filled with excitement to respond to his teasing.
“Oh, Paco! Everything is so beautiful, so old—I feel as if time has stopped here, as if one could feel detached from everything unpleasant and dream one’s life away.”
“Wait until you see the old mansion. It’s badly in need of repair, like everything else around here; in fact only one wing is at all liveable. Still, you’ll probably like it. At first sight it is really quite pretty—the flowers grow almost as thickly as a jungle in front, and the trees that surround it are very old.”
They moved along what had obviously once been a wide, tree-shaded avenue. Now grass had overgrown the carriage drive, and the trees were draped with moss and brightly flowered parasites.
“There it is,” Paco said suddenly, as they emerged from beneath the gloom of the trees and out into a small clearing. “Your own estancia, madam. What do you think of it?”
She was speechless, at first. The house itself was quite large, built in a style that was typically Spanish. It nestled like a jewel in its own grove of trees that seemed to enclose it on three sides. In front, as Paco had warned her, everything had gone to seed, except for a cleared-off section directly in front of the wide stone steps that led down from a covered verandah that extended across the whole front of the house.
On the left, and a little to the side, a small herd of goats milled uncertainly about in an improvised corral—chickens ran squawking everywhere, scattering wildly as they approached and Paco called out loudly through his cupped hands, “Hola! Where are you, el viejo? Is everyone dead around here?”
“I love it already,” Ginny was murmuring as her wide eyes took everything in. “I can hardly imagine it’s really mine! And look, Paco—look at the goats, there’ll be plenty of milk for the baby! I hadn’t expected…”
She broke off abruptly as a girl came flying down the steps, her bright red skirts whirling around slim, bare ankles.
“Esteban! Querida—is it really you at last? I have been so lonely!”
She stopped suddenly, hand shading her eyes, to stare at the small cart.
“Oh Lord!” Paco groaned softly, “believe me, Ginny, I hadn’t expected this either! Now—don’t you fly off the handle, just let me handle this.”
“Oh, it’s only you!” the girl was saying in a sulky voice. “I thought…”
Paco heard Ginny’s smothered exclamation of rage beside him and winced.
“Now listen to me, Ginny—” he began, but he might as well have been talking to air.
She pushed the baby at him unceremoniously, forcing him to take it, and the next minute she had jumped down off the wagon to confront the girl who stood there with her mouth open—surprise written all over her face.
“What are you doing here?” Ginny flung at her in a cold, hard voice that shook with rage.
The girl gave her an amazed look that slowly turned to one of contempt. She looked beautiful as she stood there, so sure of herself—her vivid gypsy coloring seeming to glow like a rose in the sunlight.
Deciding to ignore Ginny she looked over her head at Paco.
“Paco, who is this woman you have brought with you? I think she is insolent.”
“This is too much! It’s you who are insolent, and if you know what’s good for you you’ll leave my house immediately—before I lose my temper!”
All but stamping her foot Ginny snatched the rebozo from her head and flung it aside. She stood there reminding Paco of an angry Fury, with her coppery hair gleaming in the sun. Her eyes, although Paco could not see them from where he sat as if spellbound, were narrowed like those of an angry cat. Concepción! Ginny was thinking. To find her here, cosily ensconced in Ginny’s own house—waiting for her husband—
The stunned expression on Concepción’s face had slowly begun to change to anger as she regarded Ginny.
“You! How dare you come here? Traitress—French whore! It’s you who had better get out of here in a hurry, for if Esteban ever sees you he’ll kill you—if I don’t do so first!”
“Ramera—if you don’t take your offensive self from my sight it is I who will do the killing!”
All the vilest words and phrases that Ginny had learned during the time she’d been a soldadera came back as she planted her feet astride and glared warningly at Concepción.
It was plain that the other girl had again been startled by Ginny’s command of the vernacular and her attitude of fearlessness. Concepción wasn’t used to being taken lightly—not by anyone.
By this time an old man, slightly stooped over, his hair snowy white, had appeared at the top of the steps where he stood as if rooted to the spot, staring stupidly at the two women.
“Madre de Dios—a gringa!” He muttered and crossed himself. Concepción and Ginny seemed embarked on a screaming match of bitter vituperation as they circled each other warily. Paco, suddenly recovering his senses, jumped off the cart and ran up the steps to hand the baby to Salvador.
“Here old man—take it, for God’s sake! There’ll be murder done here in a minute if I don’t do something.”
“How dare you come here looking for my man?” Concepción was yelling. “In whose arms did he sleep on your wedding night, gringa puta? Into whose eyes did he look for comfort when the French soldiers tortured him and
you stood laughing on the balcony with your fat lover?”
“Hija de putana!” Ginny hissed. “My husband may have used you—particularly if you offered yourself to him and there was nothing better available; but don’t forget that he married me!”
“A marriage that was never consummated? Don’t worry, puta—I’ll see he gets an annulment quickly; that way he’ll be safe from French knives in his back!”
“And a knife in your black witch’s heart is exactly what you’ll be getting if you don’t get your carcass off my land!”
Paco leaped between the two women just as they advanced on each other, their fingers like claws reaching for each other’s eyes.
“For God’s sake!” he yelled, “have you both gone loco? There’s no reason why we can’t all discuss this matter in a civilized manner in the house. Do you realize your screeching has brought you quite an audience?”
This much was true, for several men had suddenly appeared and now surrounded them, muttering to each other in amazement, their eyes staring curiously at the sight.
Ginny and Concepción both burst into speech almost at the same time.
“I won’t have this filth in my house!” Ginny flashed as Concepción screamed, “she shan’t dirty the home of my man, after all she’s done to him! Gringa traitress!”
It’s just like Steve to leave such a mess for me to have to settle, Paco was thinking wildly. What on earth am I going to do with the two of them? They seemed oblivious of his presence between them—like a pair of angry cats they kept circling him, trying to get at each other’s throats. To Paco’s dismay, Concepción had pulled a knife, and its long blade was glittering in the sun. Before he could say a word he saw Ginny pull up one side of her skirt, tucking it into her waistband as she snatched a knife from the sheath that was snuggled against her thigh. So along with the other bad habits she’d picked up she’d taken to carrying a knife as well!
Sweet Savage Love Page 59