by Carla Kelly
Lorenzo threw up his hands in self-defense. “Señora, are we giants with seven-league boots? I thought it best to return Claudio.”
“But you will return the horses?” she asked, knowing she was starting to sound as relentless as Marco, the juez de campo.
“Yes!” he said.
“Yes, what?” Sancha demanded.
“Yes, Señora Mondragón,” Lorenzo mumbled.
He raised his eyes to Paloma’s, and she saw the worry there, which made her heart beat faster. “Señora, I cannot help but think that your husband and his little army might need a few more recruits.” He glanced at Claudio. “Let him tell you more.” He jabbed his chest and pointed to Rogelio. “As for us, we will go north tomorrow and find Señor Mondragón.”
“With stolen horses?” Paloma asked, exasperated.
“We prefer to think that they have entrusted themselves to men—us—who will treat them with the consideration due to fine horseflesh,” Lorenzo said with some dignity.
Paloma couldn’t help her unladylike snort. Lorenzo took her smooth hand in his rough one, leaning closer. “There is more afoot here than we know. Can you tell us his route?”
Paloma squeezed his hand, suddenly not concerned about the impropriety. “You worry me.”
“You should be worried,” Lorenzo replied and Rogelio nodded.
“They … they were going to skirt the foothills of the Sangre de Cristos, and take the little pass into Valle San Luis. Do you know it?”
“Ute country, Kapota Ute. We know it.”
“Are you on any kind of good terms with the Utes?” Paloma asked.
“Hmm. If their memories are short,” Lorenzo replied. “We, uh, try not to trade with the Kapota Utes.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Paloma said with some asperity. “From what Marco tells me, the Kapota Utes are as adept at horse stealing as you are.”
Lorenzo winced, as though Paloma’s clipped words were splinters of glass thrown at him. “Let us say we are almost even, in that regard.”
What is the matter with some people? Paloma asked herself, then took several deep breaths for control, when she really wanted to bean Lorenzo with a cooking pot.
The other side of that tarnished coin struck her. “But you’re willing to help Marco?” she asked. “Truly?”
He still had hold of her hand, and he gave it another squeeze. “Señora, you have been kind to us. We leave in the morning.” He glared at Claudio. “But not with that one.”
Claudio said nothing. He closed his eyes and leaned forward until his cheek rested against the table. “Paloma, forgive me.”
“Forgiven,” she said. “You as well, Lorenzo, even if you are a scoundrel. Go to your rooms now.”
“Me?” he asked, all innocence. “I am a businessman. Nothing more.”
“Then may all the saints protect us here in Nuevo Mexico,” Paloma replied. She inclined her head toward the rascal, wondering just when it was that life and its lessons had changed from black and white to gray. “You are going to help my husband, and for that I forgive thousands of sins.”
“We’ll leave early,” Lorenzo assured her. “Before breakfast, even. I want to get to the shelter of the foothills.”
“No one leaves here without breakfast,” Sancha said.
Paloma stared at her quiet housekeeper, seeing her for the first time as just a woman, and not the faithful servant who had followed young Felicia to the Double Cross when she married Marco, young then, himself. I do not even know how old you are, she thought, or if you had a dream or two of your own.
“You are so kind, Sancha, and I am grateful,” she said, pleased to see her face light up at such small praise. “I am not at my best in the early morning, these days.”
Lorenzo released her hand, and turned his attention to Sancha. “We’ll be ready.” With a slight, self-conscious bow to Paloma, the two rascals left the kitchen.
Paloma patted Claudio’s shoulder. “Come now, Brother. Whatever you have to say can wait until morning. I am tired, even if no one else is.”
“I am more tired than you know,” he told her, getting up.
“I have some idea,” she said gently.
She walked arm in arm with him down the hall, stopped at the door and kissed his cheek. “Go to bed. We’ll talk in ….”
He took Paloma’s arm and pulled her into the room, closing the door behind them. She suddenly wished for Eckapeta’s watchful presence, then reminded herself that this was her brother.
“What, Claudio?”
“Has Graciela said anything to you about what happened when the Comanches shot me?”
Paloma shook her head. “She is efficient in her duties, and the children love her, but she says little.”
“Nothing?” He gave her arm a shake.
“No.” Paloma pulled her arm away. “No, but several times she has looked at me as though she wanted to say something. What is this?”
He sat on the bed. “As I was trailing the horses toward my compadres, alone and with time to think, I became more and more certain that after I was shot, Graciela said something like, ‘That was meant for me.’ At least, she might have said that.” He rubbed his shoulder.
“Why in the world would she imagine that the devils who had just sold her would shoot her?” Paloma said, with a slow shake of her head. “You must be mistaken.”
“I’m not convinced, but I’m too tired to reason through the matter,” Claudio said.
“Don’t worry.” Paloma kissed his forehead. “I meant what I said, hermano. Come or go, as you will, but don’t sneak away.”
* * *
His stomach full, his conscience bruised but not battered, Claudio Vega slept well, waking hours later to sunshine in his room and the sweet fragrance of sage bundles drying outside his window. He tried to put both hands behind his head, but his wounded shoulder wasn’t cooperating yet. Never mind; one arm was good enough.
He sank a little deeper into the pillow, trying to remember when he had felt this relaxed. The feeling was different from the relaxation induced by grinding on one whore or another. He tried to analyze the sensation, but nothing in recent memory came to mind.
He did something he usually tried not to do, and let his mind drift back to those days on the Vega ranch, before his world erupted in blood and fire. He had shared a room with his younger brother Rafael, who liked to talk. Because Claudio never considered the early morning a good time for conversation, he started waking up early before Rafael, just for the solitude.
He remembered mourning doves, and the occasional owl. Mama and Papa might be talking softly in their room next to his. He had time to spare, time to think, time to make plans for his future, which he had hoped would include the army, even though Papa was opposed to it. He wanted to see more than the ranch, more than El Paso. Mexico City was four months away. San Antonio was closer, but directly through Comanche country, as well as the domain of the Apache, and the cannibal Tonkawas.
Anything had been possible, early in those long ago mornings, before everything changed. Still, he could not deny a pleasing and wholly unexpected return of optimism. He lay on a comfortable bed in his sister’s house, with the fragrance of sage close by, and the inevitable piñon odor from the kitchen fireplace. A man could probably travel the world and know New Mexico just by the smell.
He looked around the little room, with its colorful Pueblo rugs on the floor, walls of deep blue halfway up, and then white to the ceiling. There was a crucifix nailed to the wall at the head of his bed, and a clothes press, ornately carved and probably from Spain. Everywhere he looked he saw order and cleanliness. He let the peace of it sink into his dusty heart and closed his eyes again.
When he woke again, the sun was much higher in the sky. He heard Paloma talking to her children across the hall, and laughing. His sister was happy, content, and the wife of a good man. The determined child who possessed a deep well of courage perhaps greater than his own had kept herself alive through a massacre,
followed by a famine of food and love from selfish relatives, to blossom now as a cherished wife and loving mother. If Claudio were a smaller-minded man, he could have resented her good fortune. Now it made him smile.
He dressed quickly and followed his sister and the children down the hall toward the kitchen, moving quietly behind them because he wanted to enjoy looking at these relatives he never thought to see again, or meet. He wondered if Paloma had any idea how much she resembled their mother, who was taller but as graceful as her only daughter.
Paloma turned around at the kitchen door and motioned him toward her. “I hope you are hungry,” she said. “Sancha made an enormous breakfast for Lorenzo and Rogelio, and there are eggs and sausage for us, too. Perla is baking more bread now and it will be ready soon.”
His mouth began to water at just the idea of hot bread. He knew there would be butter and honey on the table. He could make a little bowl shape in the soft bread to fill with butter and honey, then fold it over and enjoy the goodness. A man could grow to like this.
He sat next to Soledad, and nearly dropped the cup of hot chocolate that Paloma handed him when the child gave him a swift kick under the table. Eyes narrowed to slits, she put her face close to his. “That’s because you made Mama cry when you went away.”
Amused more than injured, he glanced at Paloma, whose mouth had opened in astonishment. Her eyes narrowed then, and she picked up Soledad and carried her into the hall, where Claudio heard a series of spanks, and a wail that diminished in volume as its owner retreated to her bedchamber, probably ordered there by Mama Mondragón.
Little Claudio, seated on his other side, shook his head. “I missed you,” he said, leaning against Claudio’s arm. “Mama missed you.”
Claudio put a comforting arm around his little namesake, who cuddled close. “Do you think your papa missed me?”
Claudito considered the question. “Maybe not so much,” he said, which made Claudio laugh.
“My daughter,” Paloma said, her face red, as she came into the kitchen again. “I think it will be a while before she becomes a lady.”
“You have a staunch defender, Paloma,” he said. “My shin will probably heal.”
“Oh, you!” she teased in turn. “I told her to stay in her room until she is penitent. It might be a long day, because she is stubborn.”
By now her small son sat on Claudio’s lap. “Don’t be sad,” he said, hoping to make the child smile, because he had suddenly turned serious. Claudio whispered teasingly in his ear, “Did the chickens and goats miss me? The bees in the hives?”
Claudito giggled. “No!” He seemed to give the matter real thought. “I think Graciela did. She has been crying and crying each night.”
Paloma sat beside her son. “Claudito? Why didn’t you say something?”
His shrugged, the complexity of the situation beyond his years. “You were too sad to bother.”
“I am never too sad or too busy for you, my son,” Paloma said firmly. “She cries every night?”
The child nodded. Claudio looked at Paloma over his head. “Finish your breakfast, Claudio,” she said. “I will find Graciela.”
He looked down at the half-eaten sausage remaining, and the one egg slowly hardening, his appetite gone. “Stay here with your son,” he said. “This has gone beyond mere curiosity.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
In which Claudio looks deep inside
Claudio thought Graciela might still be in her little alcove in the children’s room, so he made that his first stop.
Soledad had flopped back on her bed, arms and legs wide apart, staring at the ceiling. Her eyes filled with tears when he came into the room.
“I am truly penitent,” she whispered to him as she sat up, brushing down her skirt and crossing her legs at the ankles, a nicety Paloma had undoubtedly taught her.
He struggled not to smile and managed to keep his face neutral. “Soli, I shouldn’t have left the way I did. It was bad-mannered of me.”
“Aha! I was right!” Her momentary triumph faded as she looked at him. “But I shouldn’t have kicked you. Mama says you are having a hard time, and I should be kind.”
Her sincerity touched Claudio’s heart. He remembered another little girl, unhappy because she could not keep up with her brothers, who had dumped their clothes in the acequia. The punishment had been an hour on her knees in the chapel, praying for Santa Maria to forgive her sins, followed by another hour by the laundry tub, washing their muddy clothes. If anything, Paloma had a softer heart than Mama, he told himself, and then chuckled. Of course, Mama had two rascals for sons who didn’t mind teasing their little sister.
He put his arm around Soledad. “I will pledge to behave myself, as long as you will, too.”
Soledad nodded. “We could make a vow,” she said.
“It will be enough if you kiss my cheek and I kiss yours,” he told her.
She kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
His heart full, he kissed her cheek. “I promise not to make your mama cry again.”
“Mama said I should make a good curtsy to you,” Soledad said. “I have been practicing, because Mama says every girl needs to know how to impress men.”
The innocence of her answer, and what it told him about his sister made Claudio smile. He wondered if he should warn Marco that Paloma was highly skilled in the management of men, and decided against it. Marco probably knew exactly what he had gotten himself into by marrying Paloma Vega. “That would be nice,” he told her.
Soledad stood by her bed and held out her skirts. Her curtsy wobbled, and a frown of great concentration drew her eyebrows together, but she dipped and rose, then clapped her hands.
He rose and bowed to her, remembering long-ago lessons and better times. “There now. We are both penitent, and I require your help to find Graciela.”
“Does she need to curtsy to you, too?” Soledad asked as he opened the door and ushered her out of misbehavior jail.
She might, he thought. “I just want to talk to her.”
Soledad took his hand in the hall and he found himself being towed toward the kitchen, where Paloma was just wiping off Claudito’s face, over protests.
“Don’t struggle, mi primo,” Claudio said. “Your mama is wise beyond her years.” He gave Soledad a little push forward. “Soledad and I have reached an agreement. She gave me quite a curtsy, Sister.”
“You are sincere in your apology?” Paloma asked, kneeling in front of her daughter and looking her in the eye, which Claudio thought was a wise touch.
Soledad nodded. “I will be kind to your brother.”
Paloma enveloped the child in a gentle embrace, and kissed her. “Will you help my brother find Graciela?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Go look for her then,” Paloma said. “My brother will come in a minute.”
They both watched Soledad dart from the kitchen, followed closely by her little brother. Claudio took Paloma’s hand and kissed it. “Soli told me you said every girl needs to know a good curtsy to impress men. You sound a bit calculating, dear Sister.”
She only laughed and gave him a little push. “We women have so few weapons in our arsenal. We control no property. We have no say in government.” She gave her belly a pat. “Our bodies don’t always belong just to us. A little charm goes a long way, in getting what we want.”
“Is Marco on to your scheme?” He teased.
“Claro que sí! I decided years ago that if I were so fortunate to marry—the matter was in some doubt—it would only be to a smart man.” She touched his cheek. “Go find Graciela, you smart man.”
He knew a compliment when he heard one, even though he had heard none in years. “As smart as Marco Mondragón?”
“Time will tell.”
Soledad and Claudito amounted to no help at all. They had started looking in the kitchen garden, but had been waylaid by what must have been yesterday’s play, a series of roads around mounded piles of dirt with dead pea v
ines stuck here and there to resemble trees and a mountain pass. Soledad looked up.
“Mama said Papa and Toshua are going through mountain passes. We are going around the mountain to surprise the Utes,” Soli explained. “We are bringing more food and horses to Papa.”
He watched them a moment, saddened that their play was so serious. Children on the frontier obviously didn’t know the pleasures of a solitary ride through the hills, or even the delight of visiting neighbors from rancho to rancho without taking along an armed guard.
“Soledad, do you have a tea set for your dolls?” he asked.
“My dolls would like that,” she told him, “if we were not so busy helping Papa.”
Someday, he thought, someday.
He passed through the garden, wondering where he would go, if he were Graciela and wanted to avoid unpleasantness. He looked in the smoke house and then the henhouse. No Graciela. He decided against the horse barn, since servants and guards were always coming and going.
He tried Paloma’s bathhouse next, and there she was, huddled inside herself, worry written on every line of her face, her body poised for flight, even though there was nowhere to run. “Graciela,” was all he said.
She leaped up, but he stood in front of the door. Her eyes were wide with terror, telling him much about her treatment among the Comanches. Staring at the terrified slave, Claudio knew why his sister seemed to possess a double measure of serenity and kindness. Somehow Paloma had overcome the greatest fear on the frontier: that Comanches had the power to ruin lives and destroy otherwise rational minds, even when they were not around.
He realized with amazing clarity that he was still trapped in that fear, and so was Graciela. He saw it plainly for the first time since the raid that destroyed his life, but hadn’t destroyed Paloma’s.
He could ask Paloma how she had managed this nearly impossible feat, but he already knew her answer, as unpalatable as it seemed to him. He could almost hear her telling him, Claudio, dear brother, I came to know The People. That is what we must do in New Mexico, if we are to survive as a colony.