Daughter of Fortune (29 page)

“You would like to go, wouldn’t you?” Maria asked as
she wiped the knives clean of polish and set them in the cool rinse
water.

“Oh, I would. I love the Castellanos. And I feel
that I owe them something of myself.” She paused as she dried a
spoon in her hand, rubbing it over and over.

Maria removed the last of the knives from the rinse
water and spread them on a towel. “Erlinda, how old were you when
you married Marco?”

“I was your age. Fifteen.” Erlinda sat down on the
bench by the table, the spoon still in her hand. “Let me tell you
how it was, the day that Don Reynaldo and Marco rode out here to
our holdings. I was not supposed to know about it, of course, so
Diego sent me to read to Mama. You should have seen Diego. He was
only just turned seventeen then, but head of the household. He
tried so hard to act older than he was, but I knew he was scared,
too.”

She put down the spoon and took a handful of the
knives Maria held out. “Poor Mama! I think I must have read the
same sentence over and over to her, so distracted was I, wondering
what was going on in the
sala
.” Her hands continued to
polish as she spoke. “After they left—with never a word to me, of
course—Diego teased me and said that nothing had happened. I
shouldn’t have done it, Maria, but I pushed him down, sat on him,
and tickled him until he told. He is very ticklish.”

“I cannot imagine your doing such a thing,
Erlinda!”

“Well, it was more than two years ago, and we were
both much younger then—in many ways.”

“Tell me what happened then,” Maria asked.

“After Diego pushed me off, we sat there on the
floor in the
sala
and he told me of my forthcoming marriage.
He showed me the paper with all the marriage arrangements.” Erlinda
picked up another knife. “I had no idea of our worth until then. I
was to take three hundred sheep, 10 horses, 250 cattle, blankets,
pottery, furs, cloth, and yes, 500 nails and an entire blacksmith’s
shop. Diego also said I could choose twenty Indians to take with
me. It was quite a list.”

She paused then, glancing shyly at Maria. “Why do
you allow me to wander on like this?”

“I just wondered what it was like,” said Maria,
taking the knives from Erlinda and replacing them in the deep
drawers of the cabinet. “I have often thought it would be special
to love the man you marry.”

“It is,” Erlinda replied simply. “We were of one
mind about things that mattered. Even here, this is not often the
way of it. I know I was lucky.” She stopped then, no sadness in her
eyes, only a remembering look. “You will know how it is someday,
Maria.”

“I cannot see how,” Maria answered, sitting down on
the bench. “I have no dowry, not even one of those nails Diego gave
away for you.”

“It is a problem,” Erlinda agreed. “Do you think the
Widow Guzman would ever ...”

Maria interrupted. “No, she would not. I cannot
imagine her ever providing the wool of one sheep, let alone the
whole animal. ”

“How curious,” murmured Erlinda. “But I do not doubt
that you will make a happy marriage someday.”

“How could I possibly, with no dowry?” Maria asked.
“No, if I marry, it will have to be to someone as poor as I.”

“Diego might ... Diego might provide you with some
dowry. It would be like him.”

“I could never expect such a thing, Erlinda.”

“You could. You do not have to live here long to
discover what a big heart he has. Besides, he likes you. Sometimes
he gets such a look in his eyes when he watches you. I think he
would like to ...” Erlinda broke off, laughing. “He told me once
that he thought you had the most beautiful hair.”

Maria’s hands went to her hair. “He did?”

“He did. Something about the way it shines in
candlelight. ‘Copper and gold,’ that was what he said.” Erlinda
stood up. “Come now, think of the time we are wasting! Let us see
how my sisters are doing. It is much too quiet on the patio.”

“How can you let me daydream out loud, Maria?” she
continued as they walked toward the patio, “Still, let us consider
the Castellanos’ offer. Perhaps this winter I can go to Santa
Fe.”

Maria went to read to La Señora from the book of
saints. She had read the work many times over, but she cherished
the time spent in quiet with La Señora.

After only a few pages, La Señora’s head dropped
forward and she slept. While the woman dozed, Maria thought again
of marriage. Cristóbal wanted to marry her, but Diego would not
give his permission. Cristóbal called his brother greedy. Erlinda
said he had a generous heart. Which was it? Or could a man be both?
She had cast herself on his mercy, and he had protected her, yet
Diego was dogged when it came to defending what he considered his
own. Even after all these months and all their closeness she could
not pretend to know him.

“I have not seen Diego,” Maria said to Erlinda, as
the two of them hurried over dinner preparation that evening.

“He left early this morning, just as I came into the
kitchen. We had time for only a few words. Here, taste this,” she
commanded, skimming some broth off the pot she was tending.

Maria leaned over the pot, blew on the spoon and
sampled the offering. “
Ay de mi
, Erlinda,” she exclaimed, as
the fiery liquid burned its way down. “You certainly have a way
with
chilies
!”

Erlinda laughed and swung the kettle back over the
low flames. “I do not think we will see much of Diego from now
until the harvest, especially now that Cristóbal ...” She
stopped and turned away. “Well, we may not see Cristóbal around
here again. And so the burden falls heavier on my brother.”

Maria nodded. All the more reason for her to speak
with Diego and make him understand she did not hold him to his
hasty words.

“But you remind me,” Erlinda continued. “He told me
this morning on his way out to tell you that he had something to
ask you. Today or tomorrow.”

Maria felt the heat rise within her and knew it was
not from the chili.

Diego did not come in for the evening meal until
Maria was clearing the table after dinner. He looked more tired
than she had ever seen him, and she remembered with a pang the
indent of his head on the pillow that morning.

He sat down at the table and spoke briefly to
Erlinda as his sister shepherded Luz and Catarina out of the room
and down the hall to La Señora’s room. He followed his sisters with
his eyes until they were out of sight, then turned around and
leaned on the table with both elbows. He sat there in silence, his
eyes closed.

Maria brought a bowl of stew and a plate of
tortillas. Diego opened his eyes, but did not move. “Maria, I
cannot find Cristóbal anywhere. Some say he has gone to Taos,
others shrug their shoulders. How ignorant Indians can be when it
suits them. And several of my Indian farmers from Tesuque are
missing.”

He sat up then, as if impatient with himself,
running his hand over his headscarf in the gesture that was
familiar to her now. He took off his scarf and put it on the bench
beside him. He slammed his hand down on the table, and she
jumped.

“I am sorry,” he said immediately. “I have no
business coming in here and pouring my troubles on you. I would
never tell Erlinda,” he said, looking down at the food. “She
worries so much. And yet, sometimes ....”

“Sometimes you have to tell someone, Diego,” she
finished, sitting down across from him.

His eyes looked into hers with an eagerness that
pleased her and was oddly unsettling at the same time. “You have
called me Diego,” he interrupted.

She looked at him, startled, “What?”

“Oh, you call me Señor,” he said, smiling at her,
“or
Vuestra Merced
, if you are upset with me, but mostly you
do not call me anything. And now for the second time you have
called me by my name.”

She looked down in confusion. “Perhaps I was being
presumptuous. ”

“No, no,” he insisted, reaching across the table and
taking her hand. “I wish you would do it all the time. ”

Maria withdrew her hand quickly. “I should not.”

Diego picked up his spoon and ate a mouthful of
stew. “Maria, you silly girl,” he said, his mouth full.

In spite of her embarrassment, she was pleased to
see the exhausted, discouraged look leave his eyes. “But there is
another matter,” she began carefully, then the words rushed out.
“Surely you do not need to wake up every night I have a nightmare.
I know that once I wake up, I always go back to sleep. I do not
wish to disturb you. It cannot be fair of me to rob you of
sleep.”

Diego put out his hand again to stop the rapid
motion of her gesture. “I do not mind, Maria, really I don’t.”

“You cannot mean that,” she contradicted,
“especially when you look so tired.”

“I do mean it. It is a small matter. I hear you
stirring and mumbling in your sleep. If I rise quickly, go to your
room and pat you on the shoulder, you generally go right back to
sleep. If I am slower, you are usually sitting up and looking
around.” He paused, reaching toward her to brush his fingers
briefly across her cheek. “Ay, such a look in your eyes then, Maria
chiquita
!” He lowered his own gaze as she stared down at her
hands. “I wonder what it is you are seeing. And then I have to hold
your hands and talk you into lying down. Sometimes we recite the
Rosary together. And you remember nothing of this?”

She shook her head. He ate a few more bites, then
rolled a tortilla, holding it between his fingers. “One night I
came in and you were standing behind the door.
Dios mio,
what a surprise you gave me!”

“I remember nothing of it.”

“Not even when I picked you up and carried you back
to your bed?”' he asked. “When I tried to put you down, you would
not let go of my neck.”

“I am sorry,” she whispered, almost overcome by
mortification.

He laughed and took both her hands in his as she
started to rise. “I did not mind. I sang you some of my Indian
lullabies and you went back to sleep. See there, what a nice fellow
I am!”

She was silent, unable to move.

“Besides,” he continued, his voice warm, low, “your
hair smelled so sweetly of clover and wood smoke. How prettily it
curled around your shoulders.” His eyes went to her face. “You
should wear it that way in the daytime, instead of braided.”

Never before had he sat still with her long enough
for so many words. It pleased and worried her at the same time.
Perhaps she should take a light tone. “Long hair would be
impractical,” she countered with a smile of her own, “even if it is
my only good feature.”

“Oh, no,” he contradicted quickly, “not your only
one. I like those silly freckles on your nose. Like cinnamon. Have
you never been tempted to count them?”

“Heavens, Señor,” Maria exclaimed, rising from the
table.

“Señor, is it?” he asked.

“If someone could hear you, Señor,” she said, “they
would think you were crazy.”

He picked up his spoon again. “Possibly. But I meant
what I said about your dreams.”

Maria gathered the dishes from the table. He
continued after a few minutes of silence, speaking in a voice half
to himself. “I know I carry a heavy load, but you are no part of
the burden. You serve to lighten it.”

She carried the dishes to the sink, and when she
turned back to him, she saw he was staring beyond her, over her
shoulder out the open window. Before she could say anything, he
leaped to his feet, knocking over the bench, and ran to the open
door.

She whirled around. The sky was alive with fire. For
one sickening moment she was back in the grove of trees, watching
the mission supply caravan burn. She ran to Diego and grabbed him
around the waist. “What is it!” she cried.

He shook her off and grabbed the bucket by the door.
“The wagon shed!” he shouted. Even as he spoke, the warning bell in
the garden beyond the beehives began to clang. Diego was halfway
down the path before he turned and shouted to her as she stood
transfixed in the doorway. “Don’t let Erlinda or the girls
outside!” he called. “Don’t allow the Indian women to leave the
house!”

She nodded, her eyes on the flames. She heard Diego
pound across the
acequia
footbridge, following his Mexican
servants, who were already running toward the shed.

Erlinda ran into the kitchen, her eyes big with
fright, her face as pale as her hair. “Is it Apaches?” she
shrieked.

Maria came away from the door and grabbed Erlinda.
“No, no! Not that! The wagon shed is on fire. Diego said you were
to stay with La Señora and your sisters. He said you were not to
leave your mother.” She shook Erlinda, who continued to stare at
the stabbing flames. “Do you hear me?”

Erlinda clung to her for a moment, then darted for
the door. “I will keep everyone inside,” she said, pausing with her
hand on the door. “Oh, Maria, what is happening here?” Then she
disappeared in the hall, and Maria heard her speaking softly to Luz
and Catarina. Maria thrust her feet into her slippers by the back
door, gathered up her skirts with one hand and ran down the garden
path. She stopped by the
acequia
long enough to retrieve the
bucket left there by the girls that afternoon. Rather than take the
time to cross on the bridge, she waded into the
acequia
, the
water coming only to her knees. She lost one of her shoes in the
mud, but did not stop for it.

The smoke was already choking her. She coughed and
wiped her eyes, feeling the acrid smoke settling in her throat like
a layer of glue. As she ran closer, Maria could see that the shed
was already a total loss, and the wagons underneath it. The wooden
roof blazed away, the popping of the flames sounding like
firecrackers on All Souls’ Eve. The heat drove her back a step,
then she hurried forward, her head down.