Raul adjusted the guitar case in his hand.
‘Maybe leave it,’ she said. ‘I can get you another one. It’s too big, it will slow you down.’
‘There is no way I would leave the second most precious gift of my life behind.’
She looked up and took in his beautiful, dark eyes, those long lashes … ‘What’s the first?’
‘You are.’ Raul gently ran his hand down the side of her face as he locked eyes with her. ‘Word is out they’re looking for four adults and a child so it’s better if you and Claudia and the baby go ahead. Salvador and I will follow. That way we have your back. People are used to seeing women travel together while their husbands are away.’
‘I know but …’
Raul stood and reached for her hand. When she stood, her legs shook. He said, ‘You’re scared.’
‘More than I’ve ever been in my life.’ She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss him.
‘I love you, fuego de mi alma.’
Katarina smiled—fire of my soul.
‘See you on the other side.’ Raul’s forced smile did nothing to allay her anxiety about what they were about to step into. Unwillingly breaking their embrace, Katarina picked up the painting wrapped in an old shirt and moved over to where Claudia stood clutching Salvador.
‘We need to go,’ Katarina said gently. Turning to Salvador, she said, ‘Salvador, I—’
He held up his hand, his smile as strained as Raul’s. ‘Save it for when we see each other in France.’
Nodding, she adjusted her headscarf, picked up Claudia’s bag and together they walked to the edge of the forest, scouring the valley for any signs of life. It remained quiet and Katarina, Claudia and the sleeping baby stepped onto the grass, their eyes focussed on the lights in the tiny village in France.
‘Ready?’ She wrapped her arm protectively around Claudia who couldn’t stop shivering, despite the unusually warm night. They took one step, then two, and shortly after their hesitant footsteps grew to quick strides as they focussed on the French village ahead. All they had to do was get across the bridge then they would be in France and, hopefully, free of any threat from the Franco regime. Once established in their new country, she could set to work with the remaining Maquis to ensure their fight against Franco would succeed.
Katarina put her hand under Claudia’s elbow as they rushed through the dark, their feet finding unseen stones and dips. Her throat burned as her feet battled to stay balanced on the rocky ground.
‘Argh!’ Claudia stumbled forward and Katarina grabbed her friend’s hand, stopping Claudia from falling face first and injuring her son. Claudia crashed to her knees and a shout echoed in the distance.
Shocked by the rude awakening, Paulito howled, his terrified cries bouncing off the valley walls. Katarina hurriedly lifted her friend, who tried to calm the screaming child.
‘Come on.’ Katarina placed her hands on her Claudia’s shoulders and ushered her towards the bridge, but Claudia kept fussing over the baby, trying to get him to be quiet. ‘It’s too late, they’ve heard. We have to get out of here!’
Her feet hit the slats on the bridge and she bolted across, the village so very, very close. Claudia ran beside her, the frightened baby’s screams growing louder.
Stepping off the other side of the bridge they rushed up the embankment, officially in France and technically out of reach of Franco’s men. They ran to the shed Javier had described and once inside they bent over trying to catch their breath.
‘We did it. My god, we did it.’ Claudia breathed heavily as she held Paulito with one arm while loosening her top. She placed him on her breast, the baby finally soothed and quiet as he nestled into his mother.
‘You have done well,’ Javier stepped out of the dark corner.
Katarina gasped, then relaxed. ‘You scared me.’
‘I am sorry, but I must remain hidden. For me to pass between the borders I cannot risk being seen by Franco’s men. To them I am but a humble farmer.’
She shoved her shaking hands in her pockets, finding paper she hadn’t expected. Her travel document was in her other pocket so what was this? Pulling out the paper she unfolded it to reveal the letter she’d written the day before. She’d finally found a way to thank him for all he’d done, to express her appreciation, to say what she’s always wanted to. The letter was long overdue, but it would prove once and for all that she was now more than capable of saying how she felt and he surely deserved to know. She looked forward to seeing his look of surprise when she handed it over.
They waited nervously for the arrival of Raul and Salvador and when they didn’t appear immediately she figured they were being cautious, given the noise Paulito had caused. Time dragged by and with it, Katarina’s nerves frayed around the edges.
She didn’t move from her station, peering between the gaps of the wood nailed against the window. A rustle of trees across the river caught her attention and her heart raced.
‘They’re coming,’ she whispered and Javier and Claudia quickly came to her side.
Raul and Salvador broke free of the foliage, bolting across the clearing, close to the bridge. The guitar case banged against Raul as he ran, slowing him down just as she’d suspected it would. Why didn’t he leave that damn guitar behind? That could be replaced, but not her Raul.
‘Come on, come on!’ Katarina said between gritted teeth.
A shot fired in the darkness.
The noise shook her to the core and she gripped the slats so hard splinters entered her skin. ‘Oh God!’
Salvador took the lead with Raul following closely. Not far behind ran two Spanish soldiers, guns at the ready.
Every nerve in her body urged her to run out and help, but she stayed under cover, scared of exposing their hiding place and putting Claudia and the baby at risk. Although the countries had agreements between borders, there were no guarantees Franco’s men would adhere to the rules if they had a chance to capture Maquis supporters.
‘Hurry. Hurry!’ An intense pain shot through her temples.
Javier crossed himself and mouthed a prayer.
‘Please, please,’ muttered Claudia, holding Paulito to her chest.
‘They’re close. So, so close.’ Katarina kept her eyes trained on the men as they dashed through the field, leaping over potholes lit by the full moon.
‘Come on. Come on.’ Her head ached from the tension but she paid it no heed. ‘Come on. Come—’
Two flashes of light in the distance and one of her men fell face forward, body limp.
‘Jesus, no!’ Turning to Javier she yelled, ‘Get her out of here!’
Without questioning, he grabbed Claudia’s arm and yanked her through the back door as she desperately held onto her baby.
‘No!’ Claudia yelled.
‘Go!’ Katarina screamed, then yanked open the door and bolted down the embankment, across the bridge and back into Spain, her legs burning with every step.
‘Go back! Go back!’ yelled Salvador as he bent over to pick up Raul.
A shot whizzed past her ears and she ducked, turning to find half a dozen men standing on the French side of the river, their guns aimed directly at the Spanish soldiers. Bullets flew from both sides and she crawled on her knees to Raul, who lay unconscious, his leg bent strangely, his fingers wrapped around the guitar case handle. She tried to pry his fingers away but it was no use. Placing shaking hands under his armpits, she half crawled, half dragged his limp body towards the bridge.
Gunfire and shouting exploded around them as Salvador grabbed Raul’s legs and she bore as much of Raul’s weight as she could, her gut clenching with terror as the man she loved left a trail of hot, thick blood. The wound to his head looked deep and she prayed it was only a graze but it was impossible to know in the mayhem.
‘Hold on, Raul, hold on.’ Her raspy voice could barely be heard above the gunfire.
‘Katarina?’
‘I’m here, hold on.’
&n
bsp; Katarina and Salvador wove a crooked path, trying to avoid the flying bullets, the air thick with shouting in French and Spanish.
‘We’re nearly there, my love.’ The exact moment her foot hit the bridge a sharp, burning pain pierced her lower abdomen and she lost her grip on Raul. Landing heavily on her side she rolled onto her back, excruciating pain radiating from her stomach and towards her shoulders. Clutching her belly, she lifted her blood-soaked hand.
Salvador dropped to his knees, letting go of Raul’s legs. ‘Jesus.’
Katarina rolled on her side again, her eyes level with Raul’s. The agonising pain of her wound registered, but it was her heart that hurt the most. Raul’s glassy eyes studied hers and for a precious moment the world stopped and a rush of pure love filled her body while her head spun.
She couldn’t make her voice louder than a whisper. ‘Duende of our hearts.’
‘Always.’ His lips turned into a slow smile. A moment later Raul’s eyes rolled backwards as he took one last, desperate gasp, then fell silent.
A guttural scream tried to escape, but caught in her constricted throat. Every muscle in her body let go as pinpricks of bright lights clouded her vision.
‘He’s gone,’ Salvador whispered and in that moment, a dark wave engulfed Katarina and she lost consciousness.
CHAPTER
25
Charlotte stood in the front of the library and checked her phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. It wasn’t unusual for Mateo to be late—she’d be surprised if he arrived on time—but this was by far his worst effort. She dialled his phone and it went to voicemail again.
‘Mateo, can you please call me the minute you get this message? If you’ve been delayed, I understand, but I just want to make sure you’re all right. I still worry you have concussion. I know you said you were fine this morning, but I’m worried, okay? Call me as soon as you can. Or if you get to the library within the next hour I’ll be here … there … here … I’ll be at the library.’
She ended the call and rolled her eyes, wondering why she always felt the need to ramble every time she left someone a message. Even her texts ended up being the length of a novella.
Entering the building, Charlotte marvelled at the magnificent architecture that had survived the ravages of time and war. Not a day went by in Granada when she didn’t stand in awe, surveying the beauty of this city, its classic Spanish buildings mixed with breathtaking Moorish designs. It was difficult to believe that these neighbourhoods were once in turmoil, that family members had turned against each other, and a once-loved neighbour could no longer be trusted.
Charlotte made her way over to the computer. Doing research on her phone had proved pointless because of the cruddy connection and the most logical place to find a decent computer was the library. Scanning the vast expanse of the main room, she found an empty seat at the long table of computers and pulled out a pencil and paper. Ready to start her mission, she kept glancing at the phone sitting beside her, waiting for it to vibrate with an incoming call.
Earlier she’d considered going to the Ministerio de Justicia to access death records, but if it was like any other bureaucratic place in the world, she’d have a long wait to speak to someone in her very average Spanish then a longer wait of days, or weeks, to receive the information she needed.
She wished Mateo would get back to her but given his behaviour this morning, she suspected this no-show and lack of communication had everything to do with the call he’d received. Whoever was on the other end had changed his mood dramatically and he’d spoken gruffly to the caller. After hanging up, he’d barely uttered a word while she grabbed her stuff and arranged to meet him at the library later. She’d left his apartment, her heart leaden and her inner voice chastising her for thinking she and Mateo might have a chance at … something. She’d been so excited about returning to Spain and seeing him, but their encounters had been awkward—like they were lovelorn teenagers too embarrassed to acknowledge their feelings with each other.
Then there was the Jax palaver and the whole DNA versus loyalty to the clan thing, then the mysterious phone call …
Shaking her head to dissipate the apprehension building within, Charlotte pulled out the sheet of paper Abuela had given her. When she’d opened it last night it was just a name written in Abuela’s beautiful swirly letters, but now, as Charlotte was about to commence research for the resting place of this person who meant so much to her grandmother, he became more real. Raul José Sierra Abano was a man with a history, a man who knew her grandmother, and she owed it to both of them to deliver this letter.
Since last night, she couldn’t help wondering who this Raul was and why he’d had such a significant role in Abuela’s life—obviously he was significant enough to send her granddaughter to the other side of the world with a letter. Was he the reason she never talked about Spain? Casting her mind back to the conversation she’d had with her grandmother, Abuela had never once mentioned any romantic links to this Raul person. But why would she hold onto a letter all these decades if there hadn’t been a strong connection? Did Charlotte’s grandfather know of his existence? What would he have thought?
Charlotte stifled the indignation on behalf of her grandfather because, without knowing the full story, she couldn’t cast any judgement on Abuela or Raul or even her grandfather. Abuela had promised to tell everything upon Charlotte’s return to Melbourne and so she had to accept this for now.
Logging onto the search page, Charlotte raised her fist in victory when the page gave an offering in English. Carefully typing in the first name, date of birth and place of birth she waited while the database did its thing. The stupid connection timed out and she tried again. And again.
‘Bloody idiot computers.’ Charlotte squeezed the pencil in her hand, supressing the urge to stab something. She refreshed the page and had another try. This time, the rotating wheel spun rapidly and she held her breath, not daring to breathe in case it stopped again.
It didn’t.
The screen flickered and the details filled the page.
Full name – Raul José Sierra Abano
Occupation – Small business owner
Date of birth – 04/12/1919
City of birth – Moclín
Date of death – 09/08/2015
City of death – Granada
Burial place – Cementerio de San José
Spouse – Lucia Gracia Baez Abano (deceased)
Children – Felicidad Hermina Baez Abano
Charlotte blinked and read the information again, not quite trusting her eyes.
Date of death – 09/08/2015
Grabbing her phone she checked the date. Raul had died not so long ago.
‘No way,’ she said as she scribbled down the details then double-checked she had them correct. Keying in Cementerio de San José on the computer, she realised it was right near the Generalife and Alhambra. Images of her time there with one lovely Spaniard rushed before her. Oh Mateo.
Refusing to get distracted by reminiscing, she pulled out the letter in her satchel and studied it through the ziplock bag, wishing she knew what was written on those pages. The envelope had yellowed and Abuela’s swirly writing had bled into the parchment. The way Abuela spoke it had sounded like he’d died when she was in Spain, so how could it be that he passed away a short while ago? Perhaps Charlotte had the wrong person.
She entered the information again and the same details came up.
‘This does not make sense,’ she mumbled as she typed the name of Raul’s surviving daughter into the search window. She smiled as the page filled with newspaper articles written by Felicidad Baez Abano for Fuerza, one of Granada’s digital newspapers. Some of the stories contained a photo of the journalist, who looked to be in her early fifties. Charlotte jotted down the address of the newspaper and found it on the digital map, and she made a note of where to go.
Gathering her things, she shoved them in her handbag then closed the browser. Charlotte slun
g her bag over her shoulder and hurried out the front door of the library and as soon as she got to the top of the steps, she pulled out her phone and dialled Mateo.
‘I’m leaving the library and have a few errands. I hope you’re doing okay and, please, call me as soon as you can.’ She didn’t mention again that she was worried—she didn’t want to sound like a mother or, worse, a possessive girlfriend, because she was neither. She had no idea what her relationship was with Mateo and today’s lack of communication made it even more confusing.
Tapping out a text to Steve, she wrote:
Have found out information for Abuela but makes no sense. Am off to find the sense. C xxx
A moment later, Steve’s name flashed up on the screen and she answered the call. ‘What are you talking about? What sense? You’re not making any sense!’
She hesitated, realising she’d almost broken Abuela’s confidence. ‘Never mind. Abuela asked me to look into a couple more things.’
‘Listen,’ Steve said, breathing deeply through his nostrils, ‘Abuela’s memory appears to be affected now. It’s like something’s switched off and can’t be turned back on.’
‘And her hip?’
‘Mending well.’
‘What about her heart?’ she asked, scared about the answer.
‘Strangely, it has improved rapidly so they want to move her into respite care now. And then after that …’ Steve cleared his throat. ‘Dad thinks it’s time.’
The minute she heard his words she knew what that meant. The idea had been bandied about these past few years but Abuela had steadfastly refused because, after all, she was more like a woman in her sixties, not nineties.
‘You can’t do it. She’ll wither in a nursing home.’
‘We’re not doing it yet but it’s not far away. Dad wants to wait until you return. You’re the only one she’ll listen to so you better get back here quickly so you can break the news.’
‘I’m not breaking any news until I speak with the doctors. She’s still coherent. Why can’t she stay at home and have nurses visit? If need be I could move in for a while and look after her until she gets better.’ Leaning against a brick wall, she adjusted the handbag strap on her shoulder.
Under the Spanish Stars Page 27