It would have been effortless reflex to remember the oppressive patriarchy of the Catholic Church, to see its expression in the very ceremony playing out before her. Easy for Grady to remember she and Leigh would never have been granted a church wedding, even if they’d wanted one. That was all true and it all still mattered, but now she was watching this pageant through Elena’s eyes, and she was able to lay grievance down for the day.
It was their faces. Not just Sylvia’s and Cesar’s, but every face Grady could see from their centrally located pew. The couple’s parents, their friends. The simple happiness in their expressions. This community took such pure pleasure in the joining of their two children. Elena had said most of Mesilla’s residents were good-hearted and sensible, and Grady was finally seeing that side of them.
Elena sat quietly beside her, listening to the homily. Grady felt a faint thrill of hope that both Inez Montalvo and her stubborn daughter might be more welcome in this small town now. Elena cared a great deal for Mesilla and for the afflicted here who came to her for healing. Grady wanted that for her, a community, friends, trusting neighbors. No more shot-out windows or sullen street mobs for this lady.
For my lady. Grady’s sore throat tightened.
Janice watched the ceremony with tears in her eyes, but Grady saw more happiness for her friends than longing in her features. Janice glanced at her and smiled, apparently embarrassed by her tears. Grady winked at her. Janice was finding her home in this community, too.
“We’re very, very, very glad to see you.” In the reception line, Sylvia went up on her toes and kissed Grady’s cheek. Her face was flushed with excitement, but she pushed back her mantilla to look closely at Grady and Elena. “You guys must have the wildest field trip report ever. When do we get to hear it?”
“Well, after you’ve been married for a few days,” Grady said.
Sylvia hugged Janice. “I’ll drag you to the ladies’ room, Janice, you have to fill me in.”
“What they’re saying is true, Elena?” Cesar folded Elena’s small hand in both of his large ones. “La Llorona is gone?”
“Not gone,” Elena said. “Maria might walk rivers for centuries to come, until she finds divine grace. But yes, it’s true that she’ll never kill again. Now, put all these ghost stories to rest, and enjoy your wedding day.”
“Come on, Janice, you have to come to our party.” Sylvia was already being pulled aside by other well-wishers, and she grabbed Janice’s hand. “We’ve got an entire plank of tres leches cake. And the sangria will flow like a mighty river. I can’t wait.”
“Me either,” Cesar said.
“Our best to you both, Sylvia.” Grady steered Elena covertly through the crowd toward the doors. The lack of sleep was catching up to her, that familiar dry-lidded malaise. Elena had to be just as tired, and emotionally wrung-out, given their night. She was hoping they could stay awake for just a few more hours, though. She wanted them to make one more stop before they rested. Grady touched the small shape in her breast pocket to make sure it was still there.
The sun bombarded them as they stepped out of the cool shadows of the vestibule.
“Sheesh.”
“Ay.”
They both pulled sunglasses out of their pockets. Grady was now enough of a New Mexican never to be caught without them. They walked past the marble statue of Mary, who still held patient vigil over the church. Elena stopped and made a tsking sound. She went to the statue, untied her white scarf, and scrubbed at a spot of ash on the stone base. She glanced at Grady coyly. “Look, darling. It’s just like our first date.”
Grady chuckled. “Can I talk you into going home and changing into some pants?”
Elena laughed and shook out her scarf. “Silly gringa. You’re supposed to want me to take my clothes off, not put more on. I have to teach you everything. Why do I need pants all of a sudden?”
“Well, I would get to see a lot of thigh if you tried to climb mountains in that lovely dress. Okay, skip the pants.”
“We’re climbing mountains?” Elena brushed the back of Grady’s hand with one finger. “Okay, mountains it is. I don’t care where we go. It just has to be someplace I can touch you.”
Grady nodded. “I think I know just the spot.”
Chapter Twenty-four
The Heart of the Mountain might have resembled a heart from Las Cruces, but it looked nothing like one when you were sitting just above its left ventricle. It looked like a straggling, random field of red rock, dotted with small barrel cactus and clumps of wildflowers in every color imaginable. Anatomically correct or not, it was an extraordinarily pretty spot, and Grady hadn’t even banked on its loveliness. She simply knew Elena liked the Heart, and that’s why they made their way up there after the wedding. But Grady admitted she also liked the imagery involved. Stone hearts finally flowering, and so forth.
“Shade,” Elena panted.
“Shade,” Grady said. Her truck had gotten them higher into the Organs’ foothills than Elena’s decrepit Ford could have, but it still took the better part of an hour to hike up here. The sun overhead baked them with unrelenting glee. “Over thar.”
She led Elena to a patch of sandy ground cast into comparatively cool shadow by the sloping wedge of red granite and shale that formed the top of the “heart.” The view was spectacular from this perch, which looked out over the stone field to the distant rock formations dotting the high hills of the Organs to the south. “Bueno?”
“Perfect.” Elena sighed and flopped down. She was wearing frayed denim shorts that revealed the sexy curves of her legs, and a sleeveless cotton shirt that revealed not nearly enough of other interesting curves. Grady grinned, marveling at how little power her exhaustion held over her lust. Every muscle she had was creaking and sore, but every hormone in her body yearned for Elena.
“Why are you smiling at me like that?” Elena eyed her, unscrewing the top of her canteen. “You look ready to pour salsa on my head and eat me alive.”
“I love it when you talk dirty.” Grady brushed a curl of dark hair off Elena’s damp forehead. “I’m smiling at this curandera who knows so much about healthy natural remedies, swigging her warm root beer on a mountain hike.”
“Ooh, keep your mouth off my root beer, gringa. My root beer is a gift from the Goddess.” Elena extended her canteen to Grady as if inviting her to drink, then snatched it quickly back to her own lips. “You’ve got your tasty water, drink that.”
Grady uncapped her water bottle and obliged. They drank in unison, then leaned against each other with such deep sighs, Grady laughed. “You’re running on less sleep than me, honey. At least I got in a nap last night before all the excitement began.” She remembered her dream of a dancing little Max with poignant fondness.
“I can catch up on my sleep now.” Elena rested her head on Grady’s shoulder. “I’m not going to have to spend most of my nights sitting in rivers anymore.”
“Hey, just because we’ve seen Maria doesn’t mean we have to stop sitting in rivers. I kind of like river-sitting.” Grady hoped Elena might doze off right now. It was so sweet to hold someone while they slept.
“I like it, too. And now we can sit in rivers for fun, instead of keeping watch for a forlorn ghost.” Elena played with the buttons on Grady’s shirt. “I wonder if she will remember me, Grady. If she’ll find any lasting comfort in my forgiveness. Maria has so much sorrow, such remorse.”
Grady thought about it. “It seems to me, if a woman can feel remorse, then forgiveness can bring her comfort. She’ll remember you, Elena. You eased some of her pain.” She realized she believed that. “But you told Cesar that Maria will still haunt rivers for centuries?”
“Until she finds divine grace.” Elena nodded against her shoulder. “Haunting rivers is the punishment Maria imposed upon herself, and no mortal forgiveness will release her from that fate. But I believe that when she’s ready, her God will offer her a chance to atone.”
“How can a spirit atone for so ma
ny deaths?”
“A good question. I’m not sure. But divine grace can be tremendously creative, and it speaks to us in many different ways. A path will be found for Maria, when she’s ready for it.” Elena lifted her head, and her smile faded. She touched a tender spot on Grady’s throat. “You have some bruising here. That pendejo Acuña really hurt you.”
“He really tried, anyway.” Grady yawned, then felt her throat gingerly. “We probably both have bruises we can brag on for weeks. Do you know of any anti-bruising herbal teas?”
“There’s a wonderful salve I can mix, and spread lavishly over your entire bruised body.” She patted Grady’s face. “Have I thanked you? For hurling yourself like a freight train into that big, loco bully last night? The bully waving a gun, might I add. You should have seen your eyes. I was half scared of you myself.”
“As well you should have been. I am much woman.” Grady happily took advantage of this butch moment by drawing Elena into a kiss, a playfully passionate kiss at first, and then simply a passionate one. Elena’s lips were soft and yielding against her own, and Grady felt a still-alien happiness shiver through her. She made herself sit up, and slipped her fingers into her breast pocket. She drew out a small twig of petrified wood.
“Hey.” Elena’s eyes lit up. “Isn’t that your prayer stick?”
“This is my prayer stick. I’d like you to have it now.”
“You want to give it up?” Elena looked troubled. “But, Grady, it was a gift. When we were in your office, I could tell by the look on your face that this stick is very important to you.”
“It is. Do you remember its story?”
Elena nodded. “An old holy man from one of the Indian tribes you studied gave it to you, many years ago. You said he breathed a prayer into it—some kind of wish for you? A good wish.”
“Yes, I’ve always trusted it was a good wish. But I’ve never known what that Cayuse holy man wished for me, until today.” She handed the prayer stick to Elena. “I believe he wished that I’d find love, an honest, lifetime kind of love. He wished that I’d find you.”
Elena stared at Grady, then down at the small stick in her hand, and her eyes filled with tears. She swallowed visibly, looking as moved as if Grady had just handed her a diamond engagement ring. Which in effect, she had. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, Grady. I’ll always treasure this.”
“You’re welcome.” Grady leaned in for another kiss, but to her consternation, she yawned enormously instead.
Elena laughed softly and cupped her hand around Grady’s neck. “My poor professor, you’re so tired. Here, rest for a few minutes.” She tugged gently, and Grady stretched out on her side and laid her head in Elena’s lap. “I’ll be sure to warn you if any more big, loco bullies happen by.”
“Or tarantulas.”
“Sí, or tarantulas.”
“Or one of those niño earth-things.”
“Or one of those. Hush, querida. Rest.”
Grady felt Elena’s fingers drift through her short hair, and she loved the sensation so much she beat back the lead weights threatening to close her eyes. She felt her body relax against the ground, muscle by sore muscle. A sip of cool breeze reached them, bringing with it the light, fresh scent of the wildflowers.
She had been right to insist they hike all the way up here. She knew she was right about the prayer stick’s wish, and she was right about Elena. But Grady’s bleary eyes focused on a distant rock formation, and she realized she wasn’t right about everything. She wasn’t right about never seeing ghosts again.
It was a small, craggy plateau, brightly lit by the sun, but too far distant to reveal much detail about the three figures on it. Grady saw what appeared to be two elderly men sitting on the rocky ground, several yards apart, facing each other. One of them had a long shock of white hair, like a certain old Cayuse holy man Grady had once met. He was rocking back and forth, laughing, clapping his hands rhythmically.
The other man’s face was hidden behind a worn hood, but Grady recognized him too. She wasn’t sure how she knew Elena’s beloved Hermit, as he had been dead for 150 years, but it was him. He held some kind of wooden flute to his lips, and though they were too far away to allow its sound to reach her, Grady heard its light piping notes clearly.
Between the two old men danced a small boy.
“Elena,” Grady whispered. “Are you seeing this?”
After a moment, Elena spoke softly above her. “No, my love. Whatever you’re seeing is here for you alone.”
The child spun and danced between the two old men, twirling to the music of the flute and the clapping hands. Joy was written in every line of his sturdy little body.
“Remember divine grace.” Elena’s fingers drifted through Grady’s hair again, and her eyes began to close. “It can find creative ways of giving comfort, and forgiveness. I love you, Grady.”
“Good,” Grady mumbled. “I love you back.”
Nestled in Elena’s lap, Grady slept and slept and slept.
About the Author
Cate Culpepper is a 2005 and 2007 Golden Crown Literary Award winner in the Sci-Fi/Fantasy category, and a 2008 recipient of the Alice B. Toklas Readers’ Choice Award. She is the author of the Tristaine series, which includes Tristaine: The Clinic, Battle for Tristaine, Tristaine Rises, and Queens of Tristaine. Fireside and River Walker are her first two offerings beyond the world of Tristaine’s Amazons. Cate lives in Seattle, where she supervises a transitional living program for homeless young gay adults.
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