The Star in the Meadow (The Spanish Brand Book 4)

by Carla Kelly

  No, you never gave up, Marco thought, as he watched the auditor sit taller. You just needed someone to tell you that.

  “Suppose no one can find our dear ones?” Señor Ygnacio said. “Suppose I never have a chance to make things better? Is this empty talk, fueled by good wine?”

  It was a good question. Marco closed his eyes and thought of Paloma patting the bed, searching for Juanito in the nighttime, half in and out of a mother’s bad dream of abandonment. Was she doing that now? O dios. He prayed she was safe with Catalina.

  “I choose to believe we have not seen the last of them,” Marco said as he got to his feet. “Toshua said the signs don’t point to death.”

  “You believe a Comanche?”

  “Claro que sí. Toshua never sweetens any catastrophe,” Marco replied with a slight smile. “If the signs had indicated otherwise, he would have told me.” He shook off the imaginary buzzard that had roosted on his shoulder all day. “Come on. It’s late and we are tired. Probably a little drunk.”

  He went to help Señor Ygnacio, as he had seen Catalina help him, but the auditor held up his hand and walked from the office under his own power. He stopped. “Even when you first heard my story from Catalina, why did you believe her?” he asked.

  “Simple,” Marco replied. “When she said that they trundled you off so fast to more punishment by exile in Santa Fe, I asked myself, ‘What were they afraid of?’ ”

  “I imagine I disappointed both viceroys by not dying in prison.”

  “I daresay! They wanted you gone and they sent you to the one place I know of where the senior accountant, my nasty uncle by marriage, would be happy to do either man’s bidding, legal or not. It is quite plain to me.”

  “I know I was supposed to die here,” Señor Ygnacio said.

  “You have a disturbing facility for ruining a lot of evil plans, Señor Ygnacio,” Marco said. “Bit of a talent, perhaps.”

  “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  Shoulder to shoulder, they began to cross the courtyard. Nerves on edge, Marco started when one of his night guards shouted, “Rider coming!”

  And I know who it is, he thought. This already terrible day is about to get worse. “Open the gate,” he said. Bracing himself, he stood at the entrance.

  Not even waiting for his lathered horse to stop, Claudio Vega threw himself from the saddle, marched up to his brother-in-law, and punched him in the face. Marco staggered, but waved off his guards, who had all drawn their bows. “No, Emilio,” he said in a low voice to his mayor domo, who had run from the barn, pitchfork in hand. “No.”

  Claudio lowered his hand, but the anger did not leave his eyes. “How in God’s name can you ride from this place with a Comanche when your wife is missing?” he demanded.

  “I am bound to do this, Claudio, even if you do not understand,” Marco said. He put his hand to his eye, which was starting to swell.

  “I will never understand!” his brother-in-law snapped.

  Marco could barely meet Claudio’s eyes, but he tried. “I have confidence that Joaquim Gasca and Eckapeta will find both women, and soon.”

  “No, you don’t!” Claudio said, raising his voice. “I see it in your eyes.”

  “All right, I don’t!” Marco snapped back, jabbing a finger at his own chest. “A man of honor would never abandon the joy of his heart at such a time. God help me, but don’t make this harder, Brother.”

  Claudio’s fierce anger seemed to deflate. “Then … then … why, in God’s name?”

  Marco put his hands on Claudio’s shoulders. “A man of honor would also understand that the peace of this sorely tried colony depends on what happens in the next few days with Comanches in council. This entire colony, Claudio. All three thousand souls.”

  Boot to moccasin, they stared at each other. Marco felt Claudio’s shoulders slump and he released his grip.

  “I would search, but Graciela is so soon to be brought to bed with our baby,” Claudio whispered. “A man of honor would not leave his wife at this time, and I cannot.”

  Marco flinched at the accusation. Claudio reached out this time, but only to touch Marco’s swelling eye. “My brother-in-law, do you ever feel like fortune’s fool?”

  “Lately, every day,” Marco replied. “Come inside?”

  Claudio shook his head and turned back to his horse. “No time.”

  Marco took Claudio’s arm gently, not wanting to be punched again. “Claudio, you are as good as a brother to me.”

  Claudio managed a look in his direction. “One who gives you the black eye to end all black eyes?”

  “Yes, that one,” Marcos replied, pleased to hear his brother-in-law’s lighter tone. “I have left my will and testament in the office on my desk. If nothing goes the way I hope for either me or … or your lovely sister, please read it and follow my hopes and dreams for our children.”

  Claudio tried to speak and couldn’t. He nodded, then stared at the star-filled sky overhead and shook his fist at the heavens. “I will check back here when I can.”

  Without a backward glance, he rode out of the gates. Marco stared at the ground. He looked at his guards, who still watched, their bows ready, and at Emilio, who was only now lowering his pitchfork. I wasn’t alone, he thought. Good to know.

  “I could have killed him.”

  He peered into the shadows. “Thank you for restraining yourself, Toshua.”

  Silently, Marco walked the astonished auditor to his room, then went to his children’s room.

  Eckapeta rose immediately when he entered. He went to one bed and made a sign of the cross, and then the other. He closed the door quietly behind him, not answering her question about his eye.

  He left the house again, this time to find Sancha, who must have been watching for him. She led him to Señora Maria Villarreal’s house, where little Juan Luis slept, breathing evenly.

  “He is fine,” Señora Villarreal whispered from her bed. “Don’t you worry about your baby, Señor Mondragón. We will watch him as Paloma would.”

  If only she hadn’t mentioned Paloma …. Marco kept his grief inside until he reached his own room and closed the door. He let the tears slide down his face silently. No need for anyone on the Double Cross to know how his insides churned and his heart felt close to breaking.

  “Lie down, my brother. I don’t care if you cry.”

  He should have known Toshua would be in his room. Marco took off his moccasins and did as his friend said. He let himself sink into his mattress and knew there was no point in pretending to be a strong man. Toshua knew better.

  “Have you ever wept, Toshua?” he asked, when he could speak.

  “Certainly.” Marco heard a small laugh. “Although no one believes it, I am human, too. But in the morning I get up and no one knows. It must be the same with you.”

  “I don’t want to go to Río Napestle,” Marco said.

  “But you will.”

  “Goodnight, my friend, and damn you.”

  Toshua laughed.

  They left the Double Cross at daybreak, Marco wearing his Comanche loincloth, his bow and arrows slung over his shoulder, and his lance—Kwihnai’s lance—across his legs. After a brief moment with Eckapeta and Joaquim Gasca, also mounted, they separated, two headed north to Río Napestle, and the other two on the road toward La Viuda Gutierrez’s estancia in search of a trail … anything.

  Marco looked back to the protecting stone walls of his home, his fortress. Emilio, Sancha, and Lorenzo stood close together, their hands raised in farewell. Close but not too close, he saw the slight figure of Señor Ygnacio, his hands on the heads of Soledad and Claudito. Soledad blew him a kiss, and Marco returned it. Claudito started to follow, but Soledad held him close.

  “Look toward the rising sun, Marco,” Toshua said, and it was no suggestion.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In which Catalina and Paloma consider their dilemma

  Morning brought aching bones and stiff necks. They knew it was morning, be
cause there were just enough holes here and there in the old adobe to let in the sun.

  Paloma touched her breasts, hefting them, and thought of other mornings when she woke to find herself curled close to the best husband a woman could have, one who didn’t mind when she rested those milky breasts on his chest.

  You had better be looking for me, she thought, as she squinted in the semi-darkness for that china teacup. She filled it less full this time because there was less milk. Catalina groaned and stretched and yelped.

  “Goodness, you make a racket,” Paloma teased.

  “You would, too, if you were as skinny as I am, and your bones stuck out,” Lina retorted. “Gracias, Paloma.”

  Paloma watched with a certain motherly satisfaction as her friend drained the cup. Her heart and soul ached for Juanito, so she told herself again that he was safe somewhere, because that road was well traveled. She pumped milk for herself, dismayed to see so little. She drank, her face bleak, knowing that if she had nothing to eat, there would be no more milk, not for her or Catalina, and not for Juanito when she saw him again. If she saw him again.

  She couldn’t help crying, but allowed herself a few tears only. Paloma blew her nose on her petticoat and reminded herself of a pair of sandals hanging in a sala.

  “We need a plan,” she said. “We need one right now. Catalina, what do you see out of that big hole so high up? I would like it to be an irate husband, an even angrier Comanche and … and—”

  “A presidio capitán full of fury,” Catalina threw in, which made Paloma smile.

  “Yes, those three, even just one of those three. I’ll even settle for a coachman who isn’t—wasn’t—as addled as he seemed.”

  “Someone must do some explaining about that poor man,” Catalina said quietly. “I wish I knew who that should be.”

  Paloma squinted in the dim light to see Catalina feel her way along the wall until she could see through a hole where the wall joined the ceiling. “We’re in a garden overgrown with weeds. It might have been beautiful once, but that was years ago.”

  “Tell me more.”

  Catalina shifted. “Drat. There is a gate with a lock on it.” She slumped down next to Paloma. “Locks everywhere! Someday I am going to have a house with no locks.”

  “Not if Joaquim remains capitán of the presidio,” Paloma said.

  “He will never marry me, Paloma, but you’re nice to say that,” her friend replied.

  “I suppose he is spending all his time at the Double Cross because he loves sitting in an office while your father adds and subtracts,” Paloma said. She moved closer to Catalina, wanting someone’s touch. The shed was small, to be sure, but the gloom during daylight made her feel too solitary.

  “But I’ve been dictatorial and cross,” Catalina said.

  Paloma heard the yearning under the words, the desire for someone to contradict her. “Some men need to be managed, Lina,” she said, happy to oblige. “I think that for all his bluster and air of command, Joaquim might be one of those.” She took a chance. “When did you decide he might be the man for you?”

  “I haven’t done any such thing! What about you? When did you know Marco was the one?”

  “The first time I saw him. I’ll admit it now,” Paloma said with no hesitation. “He has lovely, light-brown eyes, and when he smiles ….” She remembered the moment in the city street when the stranger from the edge of Comanchería grabbed the little yellow dog that had escaped from Señor Moreno’s house. “I knew nothing would come of it because I didn’t have much hope left. Maybe like you?”

  It was a gently worded question. Catalina took her time to reply, as though no answer would be quite right, not in their present circumstances. “This is odd, Paloma, but I almost forgot what hope felt like until we came to Valle del Sol. But here we are, locked in a miserable casucha, heaven knows where. Is there any point in hoping for anything?”

  “People are looking for us,” Paloma reminded her.

  “When Joaquim said he believed my story,” Catalina said so softly that Paloma could barely hear her. “At least, that’s when I thought maybe I could like him. You know, a little.”

  They sat in silence until Paloma felt her eyes start to close. She was nearly asleep when Catalina hissed, “Someone is coming!”

  Without a word, they both stood up and put their arms around each other’s waists. A key scraped in the lock and the door swung open on creaking hinges.

  Thin Man stood there, squinting into the darkness of their constricted world. He held out two bowls. As he edged closer, Paloma suddenly remembered where she had seen him before.

  “You are Gaspar, are you not?” she asked. “Perla’s cousin. Thank you for bringing us something to eat.”

  “You are a wretched … ay!” Catalina’s own angry comment ended when Paloma stepped down hard on her foot.

  Gaspar hung his head. “You were supposed to be the auditor, Señora Mondragón,” he whispered. He held out the bowls. “Here. You have to eat this now so I can return the bowls to the kitchen before anyone misses them.”

  Paloma took both bowls and handed one to Catalina. “No spoons?”

  “I didn’t think of that,” he said, contrition showing plainly on his face.

  Catalina took a deep breath and Paloma elbowed her. “We don’t mind casual dining, do we, Catalina?” she said. “Let’s all sit down while we eat. Tell us something about you, Gaspar. If you are Perla’s cousin, you must be a good person somewhere down deep inside. I know it.”

  I wish my fingers were clean, Paloma thought as she dug into what turned out to be barely cooked cornmeal mush with no salt or pepper or chilis. Her stomach lurched at such ill treatment, but she finished her portion and wanted more.

  “Gaspar, could you bring us more in the bowls when you return tonight?” she asked as she ate.

  “No … nothing more until tomorrow morning,” Gaspar said. “That’s all we ever get, except for what we scrounge.”

  No wonder you hung around my kitchen until Marco began to wonder who you were, she thought, and surprised herself by feeling sorry for the man, maybe more of a boy, at least mentally. In the future she would eat slower.

  “Have you always lived here?” she asked, not so much curious as happy that he had left the door open to welcome sunlight. Paloma knew she would keep him here as long as she could, if he would leave the door open. “What do you do when you don’t have enough to eat? When I was hungry like you are now, I used to drink lots of water.”

  “I do that, too!” Gaspar said, and she heard the pleasure in his voice that someone, anyone, understood.

  “We are not so different, friend. Here’s my bowl.” She handed the bowl to their captor. “Tell us why anyone here would even want to abduct the auditor. He is a kind man who has to work for his living, too.”

  “I have to hurry back.” Gaspar stood up.

  “I’m not quite done,” Catalina said. “You can talk to us until I am finished.”

  “I suppose it will not hurt,” he said as he sat down again.

  There was enough light now in the shed for Paloma to see confusion and unease taking turns on a face that might have been handsome, were it not so thin. His cheeks caved in like those of an old man ready for last rites.

  “Think slowly,” Paloma suggested. “We have all the time in the world, since Catalina is such a slow eater.” She glanced at her friend, who began to scoop food into her mouth at the speed of cold honey flowing.

  “It’s all my fault,” he began and hung his head again like the child he was. Paloma wondered if he had ever heard a kind word in his life.

  “It wasn’t your idea?” Paloma asked, certain it wasn’t.

  “No! I never have ideas.” He scratched his head. “Two soldiers came to the hacienda and handed me a piece of paper. There was a seal on it so I knew it must be important. I took it right to Miguel and Roque.”

  “Who?” Catalina asked, keeping her voice low like Paloma’s.

  Migu
el and Roque Durán,” he said. “They were drunk, as usual, but something in the words on that page frightened them.”

  He dug deeper into his hair and caught something that he squeezed, then popped into his mouth. Paloma shuddered inside.

  “Miguel was shouting about taxes, and Roque screamed that the juez de campo would be the death of him yet, bringing an auditor.”

  “The auditor comes every seven years whether anyone wants him or not,” Paloma pointed out. “You can’t blame the juez.”

  “Really?” Gaspar said. “Miguel swore on more saints than I have ever heard of that he would abduct the auditor.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Catalina said. “I mean him … not you, Gaspar.”

  “It is ridiculous,” Gaspar agreed. “Even I could see that, but Miguel and Roque are barely ever sober.” He clasped his hands together. Even in dim light, Paloma observed his black-rimmed fingernails, gnawed nearly to the quick. “I hoped they would change their minds in the morning. I hoped and prayed.”

  “You came to the Double Cross to look around?” Paloma prompted, when he was silent.

  “Perla has lots of food and I stayed as long as I dared.” He patted his skinny chest with the first appearance of pride Paloma had seen this far. “I watched the old man go for a ride every afternoon.” His face grew solemn again. “Señora Mondragón, why were you and this tall one in the carriage? I didn’t want to steal you.”

  “We were going to visit La Viuda Gutierrez and show her my baby,” Paloma said, fighting down tears again.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said mournfully.

  “We didn’t know we were going to be captured,” Paloma told him, her heart full to bursting. She turned away, unable even to look at the simpleton whose life was too hard.

  Catalina leaped to her feet. “That’s enough! We need to speak to these Durán brothers,” she said. Catalina handed her bowl to Gaspar, grabbed Paloma, and stalked past him into the garden—a woman on a mission.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  In which Paloma and Catalina scheme to outsmart a house of fools