Shame the Stars

by McCall,Guadalupe Garcia

  shivering, confused,

  a sliver of a soul,

  soaked in fear,

  begging forgiveness

  for forging my own

  commandments —

  acquiescing to Love.

  Chapter 19

  The next morning as Tomás drove me and Dulceña back to Las Moras before dawn, I couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. It had taken Conchita, my brother, and I only a few minutes to devise a plan, but within the hour, Dulceña was safely out of her house and back to my brother’s parish without her parents finding out she was gone.

  Beside me in the backseat of my father’s Packard, Dulceña fidgeted with her dress. She smoothed down her skirt half a dozen times and then fussed with her collar. She kept a calm demeanor, but she twisted the pearl buttons on her sleeves too many times to be as composed as she pretended.

  “Relax,” I whispered. “It’ll be all right.”

  “I know,” she said. When we got to Las Moras, Carlos opened the gate and let us through.

  Carlos peered into the backseat of the car, took a deep breath, and said, “Miss, just so you know, your parents are here.”

  “My parents?” Dulceña leaned forward and grabbed the window frame with both hands.

  “Yes, and they’re not happy,” Carlos said. He tried to smile at Dulceña, but his cheek started to twitch, pulling his lips to the side into a crooked little grin that fizzled out almost as soon as it started to form on his face.

  “Well,” Tomás said, making eye contact with me in the mirror as he pulled away from the gate. “You knew this moment would come. Best to get it over with all at once. Two birds, one piedra.”

  When we drove up and parked, I couldn’t help but notice every window of the bottom floor of the main house was full of light. Doña Luz must have used every gas lamp and candle at her disposal because I hadn’t seen Las Moras all lit up like that since La Noche Buena, when we traditionally invited every campesino at Las Moras to celebrate the birth of Jesus with us.

  By the time we walked through the front door, the entire household was abuzz with activity. Pepita, our new laundress, stood in the hallway gawking at us. Mamá, coming down the hall, sent her back to her room in a rush. However, Doña Luz had to fuss at Sofia and Laura because they had crept under the stairway and were lingering there, trying to eavesdrop as my parents ushered us into the library and closed the door.

  Dulceña’s parents were waiting there for us. They stood in front of the leather couch as if they had just risen when they heard we had arrived. Don Rodrigo’s lips were pressed tightly together, his nostrils flared out and his hands balled up at his sides.

  Doña Serafina’s eyes were rimmed with a slight reddish tinge, and her voice faltered and trembled a little when she turned to Dulceña. “Why would you do this to us? Do you know what we’ve been through? We called the sheriff’s office, Dulceña! Sheriff Caceres and every deputy in the county is out there looking for you right now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dulceña said.

  “You two have a lot of explaining to do, Joaquín,” Mamá said. She was frowning at us, holding the folds of her robe close against her nightgown with one hand. “This is highly inappropriate!”

  “Let me just say that I understand how upset all of you are,” Tomás said. “But Joaquín and Dulceña have been with me this whole time. So while these are certainly unusual circumstances, they have been under my constant supervision.”

  “I don’t care if you were with the Pope,” Don Rodrigo said, raising his voice. “Sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to run away with your boyfriend is still unacceptable!”

  My brother closed his mouth tight. I cleared my throat. “Well, it’s not completely inappropriate. Not anymore, it isn’t,” I said.

  “What do you mean not anymore?” Papá asked Tomás directly.

  I put my arm around Dulceña’s shoulders and pulled her in. Shaking, Dulceña leaned into me, anchoring herself against my side. “Mamá, Papá,” I said, holding my head up high. “I would like you to welcome the newest addition to our family, my wife, Dulceña del Toro.”

  “Del Toro!” My father took a step back, like something wild and poisonous had just struck at him.

  My mother’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth, but nothing came out of it. She froze for a second before she closed her mouth and turned back to my father who was standing directly behind her.

  Then, pale and a little unbalanced, Doña Serafina said, “Oh my God!”

  “You got married?” Don Rodrigo asked, staring down at Dulceña, his eyes dark, murderous.

  “Yes, married.” I tried to sound calm, but my nerves betrayed me and my voice quivered just a tiny bit. “In the parish, about an hour ago. Conchita was our witness. It’s been recorded in the church registry, so it’s official.”

  “And I suppose you were behind this little scheme?” My father asked, turning to my brother.

  Tomás nodded once, a very small nod. “My hands were tied. They love each other. They always have. I couldn’t let them run off together.”

  “You were going to run away together?” Doña Serafina asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me. “Why would you do this? Oh my God! You’re not — ”

  Dulceña and I waited for her mother to finish her question.

  “Not what?” Mamá asked, genuinely confused at the direction the conversation was taking.

  “You’re not” — Doña Serafina began again — “with child, are you?”

  At her question, every person in the room tensed. Their eyes shifted, focused on Dulceña, who gasped as if she didn’t know how to answer the question.

  “With child?” I asked then, because it suddenly hit me what they were all thinking. I pulled Dulceña in tighter, close to me. “No. Of course not. We would never! No. No.”

  Papá leaned over, put a hand on his desk, and let out a loud, exhausted breath. “Then why would you do this if it wasn’t absolutely necessary?”

  “With the attack on the Ranger station and the threat of more violence against us, my parents decided Monteseco isn’t safe anymore,” Dulceña told him. “So they were going to send me away. I was scheduled to get on a train in a few hours, but I can’t leave here. I have a job to do, a very important job. My whole life is in Monteseco. Everything I need, everyone I care about, is here. But more importantly, Joaquín and I love each other more than anything else in the world. So how can I go, when my heart is here?”

  Dulceña’s words, her passionate declaration, made both Mamá and Doña Serafina soften. Our mothers became misty-eyed.

  “But this is not the way we do things,” Papá said, interrupting the tender moment to speak his mind. “A suitor’s parents are supposed to visit the young lady’s house and ask for her hand in marriage. We are not unreasonable parents, Joaquín. You should have come to me — to us — and declared your intentions.”

  “And have you question it?” My remark must have hurt my father, because he winced. “We asked Tomás to marry us because we needed to do something that showed everyone just how serious we are about each other, Papá. We had to do something no one could undo.”

  “What God joins . . .” Tomás said, letting the phrase speak for itself.

  Papá rubbed his forehead. “I need a drink.” He walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself some brandy. “How about you, compadre? Do you need something to drink?”

  “No,” Don Rodrigo said. His furrowed brow said he was still upset. “What I need is a justice of the peace. We need to have this marriage legalized. You two will have to repeat your wedding vows in court. I won’t have my daughter move out of my house and into Las Moras without a signed marriage certificate.”

  Dulceña nodded, blushing.

  “You have every right to request this, Rodrigo,” Papá said. “I assume you have
no objections, Joaquín?”

  “No, Papá,” I said, putting my arm around Dulceña’s shoulder and then taking her hand and kissing it. “I want to do this right.”

  Chapter 20

  It happened so fast. At dawn, Papá and Don Rodrigo went into town to let Caceres know everything was okay with Dulceña. After that, they paid a visit to Judge Thompson at his home. Like Munro, Judge Thompson didn’t have our people’s best interest at heart, but he was the only judge for fifty miles, and he didn’t hassle us too much before he agreed to meet us at the courthouse and marry us that very morning.

  No sooner had the courthouse opened than we were inside, standing side by side, Dulceña and I, saying our vows. We signed our names on a marriage certificate, were pronounced husband and wife, and kissed for the first time in front of our parents. I can honestly say, there is nothing stranger and more uncomfortable than that first kiss in front of the in-laws.

  Papá hugged me, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “You’re a man now, Joaquín, with more responsibilities than ever before in your life. Make sure you take care of your wife. You are to protect her and respect her and never, ever, forget that she honors you with her love. You understand?”

  “Sí, Papá,” I said, trying not to grin, but finding it very hard because it felt so good to have our families reunited again.

  Mamá cried, happy tears, of course, and so did Doña Serafina. Then they hugged us and kissed us and whispered blessings in Spanish against our temples and cheeks. “Oh, how I wish there had been time to give you a reception,” Mamá said. “I’m so happy, I could dance all night!”

  “Dance all night?” Papá asked. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  “Why not?” Mamá asked, turning to my father and putting her hand under the crook of his arm. “You and I are not past our dancing days. There’s still life in these old bones.”

  Papá grinned and leaned down to kiss my mother. “You are much too young and beautiful to be talking about old bones. I was referring to this miserable cane,” he said, tapping my grandfather’s wooden walking stick against the floor.

  Dulceña squeezed my arm and smiled up at me as we watched my parents act like a young couple in love. In that moment of euphoria, I put aside everything else that was going on. I pushed aside the rebellion and Munro, and the Rangers outside the walls of the courthouse, and I allowed myself to drift back to that sunlit morning, our last Easter Sunday together at Las Moras. Full of hope and joy, I envisioned so many more family gatherings to come, so many more sunlit mornings with a bright future ahead of us.

  The cool morning air hit my face and filled my lungs as I stepped out of the courthouse. Squinting, I smiled at Dulceña as she clung to my arm. She smiled too, and leaned in and pressed her nose against the sleeve of my shirt and took a deep breath.

  We were standing in the square, in front of the courthouse, talking about having breakfast at Donna’s Kitchen, when Munro and his posse came down the street toward us. They were armed, holding their rifles, picking up speed as we turned to face them. Other people noticed them too and came out of their businesses to watch as the captain and his lawmen stepped off the boardwalk and came right up to us.

  “Hold on, there!” Munro called out.

  “¿Qué pasa?” Papá asked, stepping in front of me and Dulceña. Don Rodrigo took Doña Serafina’s hand and they huddled to the right of Dulceña while Mamá stood on my left. We had no idea what Munro wanted, but it couldn’t be good. I put my arm around Dulceña and pulled her in tight.

  “I’m here for your daughter, Rodrigo,” Munro said. “She is a person of interest in an ongoing investigation.”

  Beside me, Dulceña gasped and squeezed my hand. I looked at the lawmen, one face at a time, as they stood clustered together, and that’s when I noticed it. Mateo was with them. He wasn’t armed, but he was standing right there, in the middle of Munro’s posse. Our eyes met, and he blinked and hung his head.

  “Mateo,” I whispered to Dulceña. She scanned the crowd and found him, standing to the left of Munro. Her eyes widened.

  “What are you talking about, Munro?” Papá asked. “What could you possibly want with my daughter-in-law?”

  Munro nodded to his men and they moved. Like coyotes, keenly attuned to us, some of his men went to the left while others went right, until they were surrounding us. Mateo didn’t move. He just stood beside Munro. He was unarmed, but I could tell something inside him had shifted since we last spoke a few days before at Las Moras. The sternness of his gaze and the tightness of his lips told me he was just as dangerous as the rest of Munro’s men.

  “Mateo,” I called out to him. “What happened? What’s going on?”

  Mateo took a deep breath before answering me. “They have Conchita,” he said. “They won’t let her go. They won’t even let me see her.”

  “Conchita!” Dulceña cried out. “Why?”

  Don Rodrigo came around us and spoke to Munro directly. “What is Conchita being charged with?” he asked.

  “Conchita Olivares was the last person to be seen with your daughter,” Sheriff Caceres said, answering Don Rodrigo. “We picked her up in connection with Dulceña’s disappearance.”

  “But I met with you this morning and told you that my daughter had been found,” Don Rodrigo said. “Why is her friend still in custody? She should have been released immediately.”

  “That’s what I told them!” Mateo blinked nervously.

  Munro spoke to Don Rodrigo. “Conchita has come forward with information that is of utmost importance to us,” he said. “Her testimony last night revealed that Dulceña Villa is A. V. Negrados.”

  “What?” Doña Serafina cried out. “That’s ridiculous!”

  Munro closed in on our tightly clustered family. He looked right at Dulceña’s mother as he said, “Understand this, señora. I am very serious. As a reporter — as A. V. Negrados — your daughter has had direct access to La Estrella for months, maybe even years, and I intend to find out just how closely associated they have become, what her role is in the rebellion.”

  “That’s a long leap! You’re chasing squirrels, Munro,” Don Rodrigo said, waving his hand as if to dismiss the accusation. “My daughter has nothing to do with La Estrella. A reporter simply reports the news. Have you never read the Constitution?”

  “Oh, but she does,” Munro said, pushing Mateo out of his way to come stand in front of Don Rodrigo. “I have to admit, it was clever of her, having that negrita, Conchita, running up and down on her behalf the whole time. She really had me going around in circles for the last few months trying to figure out who was who and what was what, but I finally put it all together. With a little help from her accomplice, I know that love letters to Romeo here were not all that was being delivered for her. Your daughter was also communicating with rebels at Calaveras. She had a whole system of correspondences coming in and out of your print shop.”

  “Are you mad?” Papá asked. “How could you possibly think this girl is a renegade? Look at her! She’s nowhere near being a fugitive. Get out of our way, Munro. We have no time for bogus accusations.”

  Munro didn’t get out of my father’s way. He pulled his pistol out of its holster and said, “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Dulceña Villa, you are under arrest for conspiring to commit treason.”

  At his words, Munro’s posse rushed in and pulled Dulceña out of my arms.

  Mamá cried out, “You can’t do this!”

  “Let her go!” Doña Serafina cried. She reached for her daughter, but two deputies blocked her way.

  “Say something, Joaquín!” Mateo said, breaking through the crowd of lawmen separating our families. “They’re going to kill them both! Please! Say something!”

  “I don’t . . . know,” I stuttered. I wanted to say something to stop them, but my mind was blank. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even breathe at th
e sight of the deputies manhandling my Dulceña.

  Mateo, unable to hold his emotions in check, pointed at Mamá and yelled, “Stop! She’s the one you want! She’s La Estrella!”

  “What?” Munro asked Mateo. “You mean Doña Jovita?”

  “Yes!” Mateo nodded vigorously. “Yes. I’m sure. Dulceña and Conchita have nothing to do with it. They didn’t even know about her. I swear. They’re innocent!”

  “Mateo, don’t — ” I said, grabbing at his sleeve.

  “Shut up!” Mateo said, shrugging himself loose from my grip. “Munro was right about you. You’re nothing but a spoiled brat — both of you are spoiled brats, you and Dulceña! You don’t deserve our friendship. We’re nothing but slaves to you. Well, I’m tired of being at your beck and call. I’m done keeping secrets for you and your Mamá!”

  Spit glistened on Mateo’s lips as he hurled insults at me. Before I knew what I was doing, I was throwing punches at him.

  As two deputies pulled me and Mateo apart, Mamá fought her way past Munro. Lawmen pulled at her, trying to restrain her, but she kept fighting them. Papá pushed at lawmen too, screaming for them to let her go.

  That’s when it happened.

  A deputy stood no more than ten feet away from us, aiming his rifle in my mother’s direction. I blinked.

  Then I saw him pull the trigger.

  “Mamá!”

  Shot after shot whistled through the air.

  Everything slowed down. My mother put her hand on her chest as a quiet, slow stain formed right below her neckline, darkening as it expanded until bright red overpowered azure blue.

  I dived for my Mamá. There was a brief hissing sound. A hot, burning pain rushed down my arm. My mother’s face went pale, and we fell to the ground together.

  Dazed, I leaned over her and pushed aside her hand to see how badly she’d been hurt. Blood — her crimson lifeline — stained my hand a dark, mournful red.

  “I’m sorry, Acevedo,” Mamá said. My father broke through the throng and quickly knelt at her side.