A Circle of Time (16 page)

Magda smiled. “And he loves you, Isa. He wanted us to trust and take care of each other, remember?”

“José wants me to trust you,” Isa repeated as if in a trance.

“Come,
siéntate,
sit back in the old rocker, and let me pour you some sweet chamomile tea. Then you can tell me all about the baby, how is that?”

Like an obedient child, Isa allowed Magda to lift her onto the rocking chair. As Isa sat back, she grabbed Magda's shoulders and drew her close, clinging to her and whispering, “Help me find my baby, Magda. Help me find my baby.”

When Magda finally pulled away from Isa, she had a strange look on her face. It was the same look she'd had when she had “seen” into Becky's and Allison's pasts.

Allison watched Magda carefully, waiting for an opportunity to ask her about it. She saw Magda add some drops of liquid from a tiny blue vial to Isa's tea. She also noticed how Isa's fluttering hands and shaking shoulders became calm soon after she finished her tea.

While Tere and Joshua prepared a sedated Isa to leave the cottage, Allison took Magda aside.

“You saw something when Isa held you. What was it?”

Magda glanced at Tere. “You mustn't say anything to upset Tere or Isa.”

“I won't, I promise.”

Magda leaned forward and whispered into Allison's ear. “I saw Isa during labor. I felt her joy when she gave birth, and I felt her sorrow when the nuns told her the baby was born dead. But Isa is right, the baby was not stillborn. I, too, heard the baby cry.”

Allison helped Tere get Isa to her room. The drops Magda had put in her tea had not only sedated the woman, they made her sleepy. After the long walk through the woods, Isa could barely stand. While Tere and Allison put Isa to bed, Socorro moved her wooden chair into the bedroom, preparing to watch over her.

Tere was visibly shaken by the experience and retired to her own bedroom to rest. Allison took advantage of the time alone to change into the ruby-red gown. Once she had dressed, she combed her hair, tied it back with a red satin ribbon, and set off to explore the mansion.

As Allison approached the library, male voices drifted toward her. She noticed that the door next to the library stood ajar and that the voices seemed to be coming from the room behind the door. Glancing around to make sure no one else was in the corridor, she tiptoed to the edge of the doorway.

“But Don Carlos,” said a man whose voice Allison did not recognize, “I do not understand. You wish to withdraw one hundred dollars in gold coins?”

“Maxwell, I do not pay you to question or understand my orders. Simply do as I request, and make sure I have the money no later than next Monday.”

“
Harrumph!
Yes, well, whatever you say, sir,” muttered Maxwell. “I shall need you to sign these documents, and I'll get on this matter as soon as I return to town.”

“See that you do, Maxwell.”

Allison heard the scratching sound of pen on paper.

“Thank you, sir. I shall return by Monday. Will that be all, Don Carlos?”

“Hmm? Yes, yes,” Don Carlos said in a distracted tone. “I'll let you know if I need anything else.”

Allison slipped into the library before the man strode past. She peeked out. He was short and portly, with a glistening bald head. From the dark suit he wore and the topic he and Don Carlos had discussed, Allison guessed he was a lawyer or a banker. She also surmised that the room next door was Don Carlos's den or private office.

Not wanting to run into the man any sooner than necessary, she eased the library door closed and turned to admire the immense room. Its coffered ceilings and rosewood paneling set off by the dark burgundy rug of an ornate Middle Eastern design gave the library a plush, masculine feel. And the books! Two of the walls were lined with shelves of books from floor to ceiling. A rosewood ladder slid along a track at the top of the shelves, inviting readers to browse even the highest shelf in search of the right book.

Allison could never resist books. She slid her hand across the soft leather backs of ancient tomes as if the information contained inside could somehow seep into her fingers through mere touch. She inhaled. The room smelled like a library, a very rich man's library: The strong scent of leather mingled with that old-book smell and a hint of sweet pipe tobacco.

She stepped past shelf after shelf, her hand still caressing the spines of gilded leather covers and her gaze slipping from title to title, when she came to what appeared to be the novels section. Someone in the family seemed to have an interest in science fiction. There were several by Jules Verne and H. G. Wells:
Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea, The War of the Worlds, The Time Machine.
Feeling a sense of irony, she pulled
The Time Machine
from the shelf.

Like the others, the book was a leather-bound first edition. Of course, in 1906 that wasn't so very unusual. Most of the classic novels on the shelves couldn't have been more than ten or twenty years old. Allison carried the book to the window seat and slid the heavy drape partway across the window so she was hidden in a small alcove between the glass and the drape. She'd always dreamed of sitting in a quiet luxurious room, tucked behind a curtain, reading on a window seat.

She leaned back against a cushion and opened the book. It was signed by H. G. Wells for Maria Teresa Cardona Pomales.
Wow!
Allison traced the signature with her finger. So Tere enjoyed science fiction. What would she think if she knew about the time travel happening right under her nose?

Allison turned to the first chapter and began to read. Soon her eyes grew heavy; she could barely keep them open. She lay the book on her lap and closed her eyes. Tere had woken her so early, and she was so tired...

 

Something caused Allison to slowly open her eyes. She must have fallen asleep because she had not noticed that someone had entered the library and was standing a few feet away, gazing through the French doors at the garden. It was Don Carlos. His hands were locked behind his back, and he was deep in thought. A look of such intense sorrow consumed his features that Allison almost felt sorry for the man.

She wished she hadn't intruded on this private scene. But apparently Don Carlos had not noticed her tucked behind the drape. Forgetting the book on her lap, Allison shrank further into the corner. The book slipped and fell to the carpet with a loud
thud.

Startled, Don Carlos jumped, his head snapping toward the sound. Allison drew back into the shadow of the drape, but the skirt of her dress and her torso were still visible. The man's eyes narrowed. He took a step forward and froze. His face grew as white as his hair.

“¡Madre de Dios!”
he whispered, as his gaze took in the ruby-red gown.

“Oh!” Allison gasped, watching his expression.

The man swallowed, still staring at the girl in the shadows. Then, regaining his composure, he ripped open the drape and towered over her, glaring.

“I—I'm sorry,” said Allison. “I didn't mean to startle you. I must have fallen asleep and—”

Don Carlos grabbed her arm and yanked her up, forcing her to stand before him like a naughty student before the principal. “What are you doing in that dress?”

Allison fought the urge to cringe at his hostility. She stuck out her chin as she'd seen Tere do. “Tere gave it to me—to wear until I can sew my own.”

Don Carlos released her as though she had suddenly turned into a poisonous snake. He stared at her again, his expression turning from one of puzzlement back to one of antagonism. “How dare you call my daughter by her first name!”

“She asked me to!” Allison could feel the sparks flying from her eyes.

Don Carlos turned his back to Allison. “My daughter is often misguided when she thinks with her heart. But a servant should know her place.”

“I'm sorry if you are offended, sir, but Miss Teresa has made it perfectly clear I am an employee, not a servant.”

Don Carlos whipped around, his steel-blue eyes blazing. “What you are is an insolent child. Did the Thompsons teach you nothing?”

“The Thompsons are dead,” Allison replied, “but I'm sure they would have taught me what they could if they'd lived. In the meantime, I've had to figure things out on my own. I think I've done a pretty good job, considering.”

Don Carlos's jaw dropped. The strange look of puzzlement returned. He shook his head, as if to clear confusion. When he spoke again, his tone was less harsh.

“What is it my daughter has hired you to do?”

“I'm her seamstress, as you probably know.”

Don Carlos nodded.

“I'll sew for the family, and I am to help her care for your wife...”

“A child like you? To assume that type of responsibility? What could Tere have been thinking?” He muttered the last part mainly to himself. Then, as if he suddenly remembered to whom he was speaking, he asked, “What else? Is there more?”

“Well ... she wants me to help care for Miss Isabel.” Allison released this information reluctantly, somehow sensing that the knowledge would further infuriate the man.

She was right. Don Carlos's face turned the shade of her ruby-red dress. His eyes bulged, his white hair flared.

“I forbid it!” he bellowed. “No one but her sister and her nurse shall care for my Isa, do you understand?”

With those words, he turned on his heel and slammed out of the room.

In the days that followed, Don Carlos seemed to tolerate Allison the way an old cat might tolerate the new household puppy, keeping his distance, but at the same time, keeping a wary eye on the unwelcome addition to his family. Allison was aware of the strange look that passed over his face whenever she crossed his path. But she also noticed that when she stood her ground with him, he was less gruff.

A few days after Allison's encounter with Don Carlos in the library, Tere took the buggy and drove alone to San Francisco. She did this against her father's wishes. At dinner, the night before she left, he had urged that she wait until he was free to go with her. Allison witnessed the quarrel because Tere insisted she eat dinner with the family in the evenings.

“Papá,” Tere began, her voice firm and steady, “I cannot wait another week. I have business in the city, and I want to do my spring shopping.”

“There is no urgency in spring shopping,” he insisted. “It is not safe for you to drive so far alone.”

“You do it.”

“Tere, Tere, I am a man—”

Tere's head snapped up. “And I am a full-grown woman!”

“But Tere, I must continue to impress on you: There is a difference between men and women and what they should and should not do.”

“I have no wish to be ruled by what I should or should not do. I can drive a buggy, ride a horse, and wield a whip better than any man I know.”

Don Carlos gave his head a tired shake. “I have no doubt you are a skilled horsewoman—I taught you myself. But San Francisco is a dangerous city. At least take one of the men—I can spare Fernando or Marcelo.”

“Papá, I am not going to the Barbary Coast,” Tere said, swishing back her chestnut curls. “I shall be staying on Nob Hill with Eda Funston and the General. I see no reason why I need another person—man or woman—to escort me.”

Don Carlos threw up his hands in resignation and left the table early, muttering under his breath about the folly of modern young women.

Allison had been holding her breath during the conversation, silently rooting for Tere, hoping she would go to San Francisco a week early so she'd be safe at home when the earthquake struck.

When Don Carlos was safely out of earshot, Tere burst into giggles and winked at Allison. “
Ay,
Bequita, wait until you see what I bring back from San Francisco!”

 

During the days Tere was still home, Allison learned the routine around the mansion. Since Allison had been prohibited from helping with Isa, midmornings and early afternoons involved entertaining Doña Ana. Tere insisted Allison's visits were beginning to perk up the frail woman, so they became a daily ritual.

Allison had to agree that once Doña Ana understood Allison spoke only English, and she no longer mistook Allison for Isa, she did appear to enjoy Allison's company. There was a glow in her small birdlike eyes, and she sat up in bed more and more often. She also stopped needing Magda's herbs and potions, which seemed to keep her in a sedated, often confused, state.

It concerned Allison, however, that the woman's color was still pale and sallow. “I think she needs sunlight,” she remarked to Tere one morning.

“I have no doubt the sun would do her good, but Mamá refuses to let anyone open the drapes.”

Allison had been thinking more of direct sunlight and fresh air than merely opening the drapes. But one step at a time. Perhaps if she could convince the woman to allow the sun into her chamber, she could later convince her to venture outside. So on the morning Tere left for San Francisco, Allison marched into Doña Ana's room and threw open the drapes.

Doña Ana gasped and shrank away from the light, covering her face with her hands as if she were a creature of the night, doomed to extermination if once touched by the sun.

“No, no,
niña, por favor,
close the drapes!”

Allison knelt beside the bed and took one of the woman's cold trembling hands in hers. “Doña Ana, please listen to me. The sun will not hurt you. It is good for you—it will make your bones strong and healthy. It will warm your cold hands. Look, see how lovely your room looks washed in warm sunlight. And see what I brought you”—Allison presented her with a vase of fresh roses—“Smell, isn't it delicious?”

Doña Ana peered out from under her comforter. Her wrinkled brow relaxed when she saw the heavenly bouquet of pastel-colored tea roses blended with delicate daisies.