Miner's Daughter (15 page)

“I think every day’s market day here. This
will give you a chance to see if you like the cooking in these
parts. They use a lot of beans and rice and chilies. I find it
tasty. Not at all like what we’re used to on the East Coast.”

The only thing Mari could think of that she
knew for certain came from back east was a kind of shellfish called
a lobster. She’d heard folks rave about lobsters, but she didn’t
imagine she’d ever get a bite of one. “I expect that’s so. I
suppose different parts of the country use whatever grows
there.”

“Right.”

“And what’s easy to cook.” She cleared her
throat and wished she’d stop feeling like such a hick. “We use lots
of beans in Mojave, too. It’s because they keep when they’re dried,
and it’s hard to keep stuff cold there. Dried beans don’t
spoil.”

He parked the automobile under a shady
peppertree—Mari knew it was a peppertree, because she’d seen them
in San Bernardino—and its engine rattled to a stop. “That makes
sense. It must be hard to keep things like milk and eggs fresh in
that insufferable heat.”

“It is for me,” she admitted. Of course, if
she had a few extra dollars, she might be able to afford a better
place to live, with electricity and fans and electrical iceboxes
and things like that.

There she went again. She hated when she
started wishful thinking, because it led to nothing but
unhappiness, and she couldn’t afford that any more than she could
afford electricity. To distract herself, she surveyed the busy
street and noticed large flowered pots with huge bouquets of bright
flowers. The flowers didn’t look real to her, but they were lovely.
“Gee, it’s pretty here.”

“I like it, too.”

There were lots of people in Los Angeles, at
least in this part of it. Most of them were strolling or lounging,
a sensible concession to the heat, which, while nowhere near as
extreme as in Mojave Wells, was still intense. Women in white
cotton dresses and men in white cotton shirts and pants spoke
Spanish to each other. Many of them eyed Tony’s motorcar with
interest. A few children, barefoot and also clad in white cotton,
walked over and stood several yards away, peering at the newfangled
contraption as if they’d like to come nearer but didn’t dare. Mari
smiled at them.

Tony noticed her smiling, opened his mouth to
ask her what was funny, understood the small gesture she made with
her hand, and turned to behold the children. He smiled, too, and
Mari’s heart flipped over.

He gestured for the children to come closer.
After exchanging looks of trepidation, they did so, grinning shyly.
Mari clasped her hands and watched, intrigued to see Tony interact
with children with whom he had nothing whatever in common.

“Want to see the car?” he asked softly.

The children conversed in Spanish for a
moment, then one little boy, bolder than his mates, stepped
forward, removing a huge straw hat and bowing. “Si, senor. The
car.” His accent was thick as molasses. Mari was charmed

Her state of charm transformed into one of
astonishment when Tony opened the front door of the motorcar and
said, “
Es un
Pierce Arrow Grande.
Quieren, um, ver a
dentro
?”

The little boy nodded. He, too, appeared
surprised that Tony could speak his language, if only a little bit,
and he smiled in appreciation. With a gesture, he called his
friends over.

Mari moved closer to Tony. “I didn’t know you
could speak Spanish.”

Smiling and watching the children peer with
fascination inside his amazing machine, Tony shrugged. “I don’t
know it very well, but I’m good with languages. I never took
Spanish in school, but it’s hard to avoid it here in California.”
He squinted down at her. “At least, I haven’t been able to avoid
it.”

She flushed. “We don’t have so many Spanish
folks in Mojave, I guess.”

“Probably not. Los Angeles was originally
settled by the Spanish. I reckon that’s why so many still live
here.”

“Probably.”

The small flock of children investigated
Tony’s car with care and respect. It didn’t look to Mari as if any
of them dared do more than touch the plush leather of the seats,
and none of them tried to climb inside or sit on a fender. They
were awfully cute.

After a few minutes, Tony said something to
the boy who’d assumed the position of leader of the group, and the
boy nodded eagerly. Reaching into his pocket, Tony pulled out some
coins and handed them over to the boy, who accepted them with
thanks.

Taking Mari’s arm, Tony said, “There. I asked
them to watch the machine while we stroll around for a little while
and get some lunch. I’m hungry.”

How enterprising of him to enlist the natives
in his cause. Although she wasn’t sure it was a good thing, Mari’s
respect for Tony’s ability to deal with people outside his rich
eastern set rose a few points. She also wondered why he hadn’t been
so tactful with her when they’d first met.

Then again, she’d been in a relatively sour
mood that day herself. Maybe he’d taken his cue from her. It wasn’t
a possibility that sat well with her, and she shelved it for the
nonce. Much better to enjoy the day, his company, and these
fascinating new surroundings than dwell on her possible
shortcomings.

“This is Olvera Street,” Tony said. “I
understand it’s the oldest street in Los Angeles. That church is
pretty old, too, I hear. All the Spanish settlements were built
around churches, or so I’ve been told. When I took the train out
here, it stopped in Santa Fe, in the New Mexico Territory, and it’s
the same there. All activities centered around the church and the
plaza.”

“My goodness.” A few of the women she spotted
wore gaily colored skirts. Pretty painted pottery stood beside
doors, and Mari saw that her impression of the flowers had been
correct. They seemed to be made out of crepe paper. They were sure
pretty, and she considered making some to enliven her own dismal
corner of the world. Crepe paper was cheap, and she could find
sticks to tack the flowers onto, probably. Her mood edged up.

They walked past a stall where a woman sold
striped capes and cunningly painted statues of saints. Mari wished
that her father was alive, and that she had some money. He’d have
loved to have one of those cape things

The thought both saddened and gladdened her.
She liked thinking of her father as a dear man who adored bright
colors and funny jokes. It was much preferable to thinking of him
as a lousy businessman with a single-minded mania for the Marigold
Mine. She paused and fingered a striped cape. “It feels like heavy
cotton,” she murmured.

“Probably is.” Tony, smiling at the woman
behind the stall’s counter, lifted one of them down for Mari to
inspect more closely. “See? I imagine they use wool and cotton
both. Wool for the winter, and cotton for summertime. I think
they’re called
serapes
.”

He glanced an inquiry at the stall’s
proprietress, who nodded and smiled, showing a glimmer of
gold-filled teeth.

“
Serapes
? I’ve heard that word.”

“That old miner we saw by the side of the
road was wearing one.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now.” She was surprised
Tony did, though. She guessed she hadn’t given him enough credit.
He really did pay attention to the rest of the world. She’d
assumed, from their first few encounters that he sat on his throne
in his ivory tower and scorned those of his fellows who weren’t as
lucky as he was. Maybe she’d been a little hard on him.

“You ought to get one of these blouses,
Mari.”

His words captured her attention with a jolt,
and she turned to gape at him. He held out a pretty white cotton
blouse with a white ruffle around the neck and decorated with
colorful embroidered flowers. She looked from the blouse to him and
knew she was blushing. Blast it.

She’d love to have that blouse. Mari, who’d
never had any clothes to speak of except hand-me-down trousers and
shirts from the church basement sale and the two dresses she’d
inherited from her mother, had always tried not to want things.
Wanting things only led to wishful thinking, which led to
dissatisfaction, and she didn’t need it. She also didn’t need a
pretty white blouse.

“I can’t use it,” she said, wishing she
sounded more like she meant it. “I mean, what would I do with a
white blouse in a mine?” She managed a laugh.

He shrugged “I don’t suppose you’d wear it in
the mine. Here. Let’s see if it fits.”

Mari jumped several inches when he held the
blouse up to her shoulders. She was mortally embarrassed but didn’t
want to show it. The vendor was beaming at her, and Tony was
smiling, and she couldn’t figure out what she was supposed to
do.

Not that it mattered. She didn’t have money
to spend on a blouse she didn’t need. Anyhow, what would she wear
it with? She didn’t have a skirt that would go with it, and it
would look silly with the battered old britches she wore.

“Then,” Tony said, as if he’d been reading
her thoughts, “we’d have to get you one of those skirts.”

Oh, Lord, Mari hadn’t noticed the skirts.
They were so pretty, all bright stripes and patterns. Greens and
reds and yellows and blues. They no sooner met the eye than they
cheered up the spirit.

With a sigh, she supposed she might as well
not fight the wish to own such charming clothes. She couldn’t
afford the blouse or the skirt, so she might just as well want
both.

Which was pretty discouraging, actually.

“And you’d need a sash to tie everything
together,” Tony went on, as if he didn’t know how much Mari yearned
to possess the finery he was dangling so casually in front of
her.

She wished he’d stop it. She felt like a bull
being baited by somebody flashing a red bandanna in front its eyes.
She wanted nice things. She wanted to be attractive, to wear pretty
clothes, not to have to work hard for so pitifully little
recompense.

But that wasn’t in the cards God had dealt
her. Sometimes she wanted to have a sit-down, heart-to-heart chat
with God and ask him why, but she knew that was sacrilegious
thinking. God’s will was God’s will, and people had nothing to say
about it.

Still didn’t seem fair.

Her mind was in such a fluster that she
didn’t realize what Tony planned until he turned to the stall
keeper and said, “We’ll take these.”

She returned to reality with a painful thump.
“What?” Blast, she hadn’t meant to screech. She could tell neither
Tony nor the woman had expected it of her when they both turned and
stared at her, the woman with surprise, Tony with thinned lips that
denoted to Mari, who’d come to know that expression, burgeoning
anger.

“No need to holler, Mari. I’m paying.”

“That’s scandalous!” she hissed, becoming
angry in her own right. What did this man think he was doing? She’d
thought his intentions were honorable, even if he didn’t like her
very much. “I’m not going to let you buy me clothes. Why, it’s
unheard of!”

“Nonsense.” His voice was as crisp as burned
toast. “If we’re going to be seeing the nightlife in Los Angeles,
you’re not going dressed like that.” He cast a scornful glance at
her mother’s ancient dress, and Mari’s embarrassment grew to
monumental proportions.

“If,” she said in a voice of stone, “I have
to sink to the level of allowing you to purchase my clothes, I’d
prefer to skip Los Angeles’s nightlife, thank you very much.” She
turned and stalked off several yards, primarily because she
couldn’t bear to be so close to those pretty things and to know
that in order to possess them she’d have to be at a man’s mercy.
She could recall very few times in her life she’d been this
humiliated. Damn Tony Ewing!

Tony watched her march away from him with
narrowed eyes and a narrower mind. What was the matter with the
chit? Did she think he was going to squire a woman who looked like
a tramp around town?

The stall vendor murmured something to him in
Spanish He whipped his head around and stared at her. “I beg your
pardon? Er,
como
?”

“
Se dije, usted le a sentimientos
lastimas, es un bruto, y no merete una mujer con tanto
espirito
.”

He’d hurt her feelings? He’d acted like a
brute
? And he didn’t deserve a woman with Mari’s spirit?
Tony’s gaze traveled from the shopkeeper, whose chin was tilted up
in much the manner as Mari’s, to Mari, who had commenced fingering
some crepe-paper flowers. She seemed to like those flowers. Tony
experienced a mad impulse to buy out the flower supply on Olvera
Street and lay them all at her feet.

Shoot, he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings.
He guessed he should have phrased his reasoning more persuasively.
He guessed he had been a little rough around the edges. And maybe
in the middle as well.

It was only because he wasn’t accustomed to
having to use subtlety when dealing with women. And he’d never had
to deal with a woman of Mari’s stamp. Most of the females he’d
known thus far had been grasping creatures who believed men owed
them everything they wanted.

Of course, that meant they weren’t anything
at all like Marigold Pottersby, whose pride was monumental,
especially if one considered her circumstances. Or perhaps she was
so damned proud
because
of her circumstances.

“Dammit,” he grumbled. “Here. Wrap ‘em up.”
He tossed the woman behind the counter several dollars without
counting them and hurried off to unruffle Mari’s feathers. She
heard him coming, turned, armed herself with a bunch of flowers,
and glared daggers at him.

“Listen, Mari,” he blurted out before he’d
reached her. “I didn’t mean what I said back there.”

She said, “Ha,” and hugged the flowers closer
to her bosom.

It occurred to Tony that if he played his
cards right, she might eventually hold him close to her bosom. He
told himself not to be stupid. Theirs was a business relationship
and nothing more.