by Carla Kelly
“Dios mío,” Marco whispered into her neck.
“I felt safe there,” she whispered back. “That is why I don’t begrudge a moment sitting with my brother. I wish someone had sat with me.”
She lay still now, debating whether to get up—morning wasn’t far off now—or sleep as long as she could. She knew this early-morning meditation would be her only free time all day, because that was the nature of life on the Double Cross. Soon she would be outlining daily tasks for the house servants, tending her children—thank God for Graciela’s help—and helping out where Marco needed her. Better to lie there and just enjoy the comfort of food enough, shelter enough, love enough. Too many had far less than she.
She thought about her children in the next room. Sometimes at night before they slept, she heard their drowsy conversation, their giggles, their shared secrets, even with their still-rudimentary language. Marco usually went into their room to remind them that night was the time to sleep. She had to laugh into her hand when he thought he spoke quietly and told them to whisper if they wanted to talk, so Mama wouldn’t hear. “She needs her sleep,” he whispered on more than one occasion. “Why, Papa?” Soledad had asked, and he had replied, “You’ll know soon enough,” which seemed to satisfy the child.
At peace with herself, she rested her hand on her belly. Her waist had not yet begun to expand, and most mornings started with her kneeling over a basin, but she felt the same serenity she had known with her first pregnancy. This side of love was one of God’s great mysteries.
She knew her husband’s body well. In a moment of candor—she who was modest—she had told him how she loved to look at the two of them joined together. He had smiled and sat up from her body. “Look all you want,” he had said, gazing deep into her eyes, then down to where they were still coupled. “I like it, too.”
At moments like that, she thought of her parents, and hoped they had been as happy as she was now. We cannot know, reason told her, but her heart disagreed.
She lay still, thinking of the day’s tasks ahead. Thank goodness all the candles were made for the coming year, and the wool they were keeping for household use had been spun and balled into tidy skeins. When winter’s bitter cold and blowing snow made the Double Cross seem like the last Christian outpost in the world, she would stay warm by the fire, a child on each side of her, as she knitted caps and mittens and socks. By then, the baby would be moving. She wondered what Soledad would do when she put the child’s hand on her belly to feel movement within. I’ll find out, she thought. And what will I tell her, this no-daughter-but-so-daughter of ours?
Paloma decided this would be a good day to walk with Graciela and the children beside the acequia. She had noticed how Graciela seemed to start with every sudden sound, and how she continually looked over her shoulder. More than two men in the kitchen at the same time nearly reduced her to tears.
Paloma understood, thinking how frightening it must have been to be at the mercy of women demanding her labor during the day, and men claiming her body at night. Only God’s mercy had spared Paloma that indignity.
Sancha had also whispered that food was disappearing from the bread safe, something that hadn’t happened before Graciela arrived. Paloma understood this, too. She had tried to squirrel away little scraps of food in the Moreno house, but all that earned her was humiliating exposure and a beating. Paloma thought back to those days. Even knowing she would be thrashed, she felt compelled to steal, because she was eleven and on her own in the world, and a girl had to eat. And so she understood how her brother cried out for their mother.
“Patience and time,” she said out loud, which woke up Marco.
He turned sideways, light brown eyes looking into blue ones. “Eight years, I shared my pillow with no one.” He touched her cheek. “Now, mostly it’s just you, but sometimes it’s Soli and Claudito as well. Do we need a bigger bed?”
“No. We’ll just crowd together like pine nuts in a basket,” Paloma said.
“Patience and time, eh? Who are you worrying about now?”
“Graciela. Sancha tells me she has been stealing food. I am reluctant to chastise her, because I know something about her fears.” She inched closer, because the morning was cool. “Claudio’s wound is better, the wound we can see, at least.”
Marco sat up. “I’ll give him something to do today. I was planning to ride to Santa Maria with Toshua. I will invite him.”
“You’ll be careful?”
He nodded and got out of bed, dressing quickly as she lay there watching him, enjoying just another few minutes off her feet. She swallowed because the basin was starting to summon her. She must have made some noise, because Marco grabbed the basin, pulled her into a sitting position and set the basin in her lap. He held back her hair as she vomited, then poured her a glass of water. She sat cross-legged as she drank.
“Better?”
“In a few months,” she joked. “Must you go to Santa Maria?”
“I must. I hate to leave little Santa Maria at the mercy of that garrison. I should have been there sooner, especially since we do not know what mischief Great Owl has done in the village.”
“Ah! You tell me not to worry, and you worry about Santa Maria,” she said, getting out of bed. She pulled on her camisa and was looking for her petticoat, when Marco came up behind her and pulled her close.
“As juez de campo, I get paid to worry,” he growled into her neck, which made Paloma laugh, then cover her mouth, not wanting to wake the children.
Once dressed, Paloma followed Marco into the kitchen and then the garden beyond. He stood there and she looked where he looked, to see Toshua standing on the parapet, facing north.
“He has been doing that all week,” Marco told her. “He won’t say why.”
“He tells me not to worry, and yet he is worried. Is it for Eckapeta?”
“I think not. He knows how resourceful she is. I think he knows there is trouble in the north, from the land of the Utes.”
“They will harry us, too?”
“Hard to say. The Utes were our allies when Governor de Anza led us against the Comanche Cuerno Verde in ’79,” Marco said. “Does Great Owl seek to gain their trust, or does he plan to work carnage among them? I should find out.”
“Why you?” she asked.
“That has always been Governor de Anza’s special charge to me, since we form the eastern boundary of New Mexico.” He put his arm around her and walked toward the acequia. “We’ve done well, thanks to Kwihnai, but now we have trouble.”
“Very well,” she told him. “Enlist Toshua and ask my brother. He is well enough, and I can tell he is bored.”
Claudio perked up immediately when Marco invited him along to Santa Maria. In answer to Marco’s question about his shoulder, Claudio patted it and didn’t make a face, although Paloma couldn’t overlook the sudden sweat on his forehead.
“Are you certain?” she asked.
“Claro,” he replied promptly. “Can I help it if you keep your house too warm?” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I need to ride.” He stood back and looked around the high-walled plaza where she felt secure. “I’m not used to being enclosed, Paloma. In fact ….” His voice trailed off.
She knew what he was going to say. Only five days with him after years certain that he was dead, she realized that she did not know this man. They had both grown up. She said it for him. “In fact, you are not so certain that you belong here.”
Claudio gave her a look of surprise mingled with relief. “Claro.” He kissed her cheek and hurried toward the house. She watched him go, noticing with dismay the extra spring in his step.
Graciela watched her children in the kitchen garden, where Sancha had set them to work picking beans. “No one is too young to help a little,” Sancha had told her. Paloma went into the horse barn, where she had last seen Marco. He was saddling old Buciro, so she came up behind and put her arms around him.
“Something bothers you,” he sa
id.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“Because you’re quiet.” He chuckled and it was the kindest sound. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but does my back feel just a little wet now? What’s the matter, dearest heart?”
“Claudio doesn’t think he wants to stay here,” she mumbled into his shirt, feeling like a disagreeable child. “All these years, and he isn’t sure!”
Marco turned around and took hold of her hands. He kissed each palm, then set her hands against his chest. “Give him a little room, Paloma. Where has he been these past years?”
“On the plains, traveling here and there with smelly traders, pretty much living the life that every man would enjoy, I suppose,” she said. “Even you! Don’t deny that you like stripping down to a loincloth.”
“It’s pretty comfortable, Paloma,” he teased. “You should try it.”
“I would flop and not be so comfortable,” she said, which made him throw back his head and laugh. “Oh, stop it! Does no man ever really want to be domesticated?” She pointed to herself. “But I am here!”
“To my great satisfaction,” he told her, and gave her the look she remembered from the first time she saw him, something he probably wasn’t even aware of: an appraisal, followed by a slight nod, as though he had found something that had been missing.
“You’ve seen me when I return from a trip. I never ride my horses hard, do I?”
“Never,” she agreed.
“Why is it that I pick up my pace when I see the walls of the Double Cross?”
“You love your home?”
“I do. I always will,” he admitted. “Mind you, Paloma, those long eight years after Felicia died and before you and I … I rode slowly because there wasn’t anyone waiting for me. Now I hurry up because I know you will be standing at the gate, practically jumping up and down, but holding your hands so tight together because you are a Spanish lady.”
“Oh, I don’t …” she began, then blushed. “Well, yes, I suppose I do.”
“I know I’ll hear about puppies, or Soledad’s cough, or Claudito’s new tooth, or what damage the hail did to your peas. You’ll scold me because I look tired or too thin, or smell bad, though not as bad as your brother, and—”
“That is so unimportant,” she began, but he put his fingers to her lips.
“Then why do I crave it? I know that I will hear the latest news, that Soli and Claudito will sit on me and demand horsey, that you will have my favorite meal cooking—”
“I have that meal ready for days, because I’m never sure when you’ll arrive,” she said.
“I will pray that night in my own chapel, kiss my children goodnight, and lie down in my own bed with the finest wife a man can have.” He put his hand on her waist and started walking her out of the horse barn. “I do like to ride the plains with Toshua, but Paloma, I know where I live, and I know who I love. Let’s just let your brother be Claudio.”
“All those years—”
“We can’t change them.” He stopped walking and put his hands on her shoulders. “You can do one of two things, Paloma, as I see it: you can whine and cry and hang onto him, or you can give him a kiss goodbye and assure Claudio that he is always welcome here.”
“Put that way, you make it simple,” she told him, but with reluctance. She threw up her hands. “I know! I know! You are only going to Santa Maria, so why am I behaving this way?” She put her hands on her hips. “When did I turn into a problem?”
“Probably the morning after we started this baby,” he said with a grin, then put up his hands and laughed harder when she slapped his head. In another moment she was laughing, too.
Chapter Seventeen
In which Paloma soothes and Marco insists
It pained Paloma’s heart to watch them ride away, even if it was only to Santa Maria. She smiled and waved at her husband, brother, and Toshua only because Claudito was in her arms and if she cried, he would start to wail, and then Soledad would join in. She remembered how gentle and dignified her mother was, the perfect Spanish lady, and wondered if she would ever approach such perfection. She felt cross and hot, wanted to throw up, and her breasts were so tender.
There was Graciela to consider. In the excitement of Claudio’s return, Paloma knew she had neglected to acquaint the slave with her role in the greater scheme of life on the Double Cross. What better time than now, with the servants busy about their tasks. The day was warm enough for her little ones to splash in the acequia, after Emilio dammed it to allow water onto the crops beyond the walls. What remained flowing into the courtyard would safely entertain them for hours.
The matter was quickly accomplished. “I had been planning to water the peppers one final time this very morning,” Emilio said. “Let them play.”
Paloma smiled at Claudito’s eagerness to discard his clothes and leap into the shallow irrigation ditch. “You are so much like your father,” she said, as she tossed in wooden boats. She helped Soledad from her clothes and took the more cautious child by the hand, raising her own skirts and settling her into the cool water. In a few minutes, she was splashing Claudito and chortling about it.
The water did feel good. Paloma tucked up her skirts and sat on the brow of the ditch, letting her bare legs dangle in the water. She motioned to Graciela. “Sit with me.”
The slave did as she was bid. What else could she do? Paloma thought a long while before speaking. She had grown used to her role as wife of the hacendado, but her years of near-servitude would never allow her to injure anyone with either words or blows. There was no need to mince words with a slave, but she did, anyway.
“Graciela, I value your help,” she began. “Marco teases me about never asking for anything, but believe me, I did ask him to find me help with the children, when he went to Taos. True, we have servants, but they already have other tasks.”
“Señor Mondragón surely did not know what a high price he would have to pay,” Graciela said, and Paloma heard her remorse. “I will never be out of his debt.”
“He did what had to be done.”
“No one else came forward,” Graciela told Paloma. “To see those people staring at me, and to know in my heart that I would be the next to die ….” She shuddered, unable to continue.
“This is why I thank God every night for the goodness of the man I married,” Paloma said, blushing because she was raised to be circumspect, especially around servants. “He gave all because he was not about to take a chance that it would not be enough.” She laughed. “Between you and me, this is the same man who paid an entire peso for that little yellow dog over there.”
Graciela gasped in surprise. “Surely not!”
As the children splashed each other and squealed over water bugs, Paloma told Graciela her own story, including the part about the meddling priests of San Gabriel making sure that the dog was let loose, which meant that she would have to return it to the rightful owner.
“Those two priests plotted and planned that I would do exactly what I did—start to walk to Valle del Sol from that place where Rio Chama meets Rio Bravo,” Paloma said. “I was already in love with that man with the light brown eyes. I’ll admit it now.” She touched Graciela’s shoulder, saddened as the slave flinched. “Here, in this place, we help each other.”
Graciela sighed and looked away.
“Until you do believe it, let us do this: tonight, you may take as many tortillas as you like to bed.”
Graciela began to weep, which made the children look up in surprise. Paloma put her finger to her lips, and they returned to their play.
“I … I can’t help myself,” the slave whispered.
“I did the same thing in the house of my uncle, when I was sent there at the age of eleven after my parents died,” Paloma said. “I was beaten for thievery. We don’t do that here. Take as many tortillas as will make you feel safe.”
“No one will mind?”
“Not a single person.”
* * *
&n
bsp; Marco knew he would never dare tell Paloma how happy Claudio looked to be in the saddle again. The smile started on his face as soon as the gates of the Double Cross closed behind them.
“If it’s too much for your shoulder just yet, you can turn back.”
“No, no, I am fine,” Claudio assured him. “Paloma would never understand how nice it feels to be out from behind walls.”
“No, she would not,” Marco said, amused. He grew serious quickly. “There was a time when your sister was adventurous, but not with babies now. And that’s the way I want it, too. We have far more at stake.”
“I do understand,” Claudio said. “I thought maybe someday I would find some land and a wife, but the longer I lived the horse trader life, the less I considered it.”
“Do you intend to go with the horse traders?” Marco asked, wondering just how Paloma would manage news like that. Please tell me no, he thought.
“I wish I knew,” Claudio replied. His expressive face, so like Paloma’s, showed his amazement at the events of the past few days. “I was just going to follow you here, get the money and rejoin my compadres. Now I have a sister again, and apparently the Comanches want to kill me.”
“Are you so certain?” Toshua said from Marco’s other side. “If they had wanted to kill you, they would have.”
“I have wondered about that myself,” Claudio said. “Was Graciela the intended target?” he joked, and Marco laughed.
Toshua rode ahead. When Claudio believed himself far enough away, he said, “Marco, I do not feel easy with that man.”
“Neither did your sister at first. Nor I, to be sure.”
“Then why—”
“Is he part of our life now? As Toshua saw it, Paloma kept saving his life, and he felt obligated, as a man of honor would.” Marco shrugged. “He became our friend, and so did his wife.”
“I’ll never trust him.”
“Never is a long time, Claudio. You also never thought you would see your sister again, did you?”
At least Claudio had the good grace to laugh at himself. “Let us leave it there for now.”