River to Cross, A (10 page)

“Around the corner in a boardinghouse, second floor.”

“Learn anything yet?”

Gus nodded and looked around. Except for two young people buying candy, the café was empty now. “About an hour after I left you and Fred this morning, a Mexican major with a scarred face went pounding by me at a dead run on the road to San Jose, same road you came in on.”

“That would’ve been Major Chavez,” Jake said. “What else?”

“He turned back, stopped and asked if I’d seen anyone. I said I’d seen only one man with two cows. When I told him that, he just nodded, waved, and raced off toward San Jose again. I figured he’d already seen the same man I did.”

“I also saw the man with the cows on the way here. Was one of those cows mostly black with a big white spot on its hind end?”

Gus nodded. “Almost the whole leg was white.”

Frowning, Jake leaned back in his chair and ran two fingers across his mouth. Facts were adding up. “The man we saw with the cows is probably a sentry for the Mexicans,” he said. “My guess is the Army’s keeping tabs on who is going to and from San Jose right now. That tells us somebody important is either here or coming here—a stroke of luck for us.”

Finished with his meal, Jake tossed two coins onto the table and stood up to leave. He looked back over his shoulder at the owner. “Gracias, señor,” he said, and followed Gus outside.

In serapes and sombreros, sashes knotted about their waists, Jake and Gus roamed San Jose, shopped the stores, and had a horse re-shod, sizing up the town and its inhabitants. They wore their trouser legs out over their boots to look more like vaqueros, Mexican cowboys who sometimes rode barefoot. Knee-high boots laced over pant legs was an American look, a Ranger look. Jake and Gus were both fluent in Mexican Spanish, and Jake could color his words anytime he chose with the peculiar Chihuahuan accent.

While looking around the livery stable, two columns of soldiers passed quickly through town, their eyes straight ahead. In the middle were six horses with loaded saddles, roped together in single-file. Each saddle mound was tied to the horse and carefully covered with a blanket.

Jake looked at Gus. It wasn’t hard to figure out what those blankets covered.

On a secret scouting assignment over the border last year, they’d surprised a Mexican patrol and lost three Rangers in a nighttime shootout. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—leave them there without risking a war. He called the mission off and ran for the border, along with the fallen Rangers tied across the saddles of their own horses. And he swore those horses knew. Not one of them raised their heads the whole trip back.

This column seemed headed for a small Mexican outpost five miles from San Jose.

A heavyset man whose blue uniform jacket bristled with medals rode in the second group, following the advance patrol clearing the way through town.

Jake said softly to Gus, “Recognize him?”

Gus nodded, his face tight. “Diego. I’ve seen him before. His men are well trained and loyal. Most are afraid of him and who he knows.”

“And look who’s with him.”

“Major Chavez himself.”

“The two of them together locks it up. Two positive identifications—yours and mine. That’s good enough,” Jake said, and watched the last of the column turn south out of San Jose. “Let’s stay tonight and see what else we learn. Then tomorrow we’ll get our lady friend and head home—fast, before they start looking for us.”

Early the next morning,
Elizabeth answered a tap on the door. Smiling, Maria stood in the hall with a cup of coffee, looking as if she’d been up for hours.

“The boys are off at school and Ricardo is working in the barn. How about we go into town? I’ll introduce you to the priest and show you around their orphanage. I teach there three mornings a week, and today is one of my days.”

Two hours later, shielding her eyes, Elizabeth gazed at a walled compound of buildings climbing a hillside. Except for an ancient bell tower dominating the corner overlooking the village, it might have been a fortress. It seemed completely out of place in this quiet Mexican countryside.

San Miguel was a small community in the foothills of the Sierra Madre. From a distance, the whitewashed mud houses looked swept together against the mountain, their tile roofs touching. A sandstone church with a modest cross stood at one end of a large arcaded square; the school the two Romero boys attended, at the other.

“That’s our monastery, San Miguel,” Maria said proudly. “The building off to the left is the orphanage the Benedictines run. I teach English there a couple of days a week. Jakina’s from there. When we couldn’t find her parents, Ricardo and I adopted her. She was left there one morning as a tiny infant.”

Church bells tolled, a deep, loud clanging, slow and insistent. Elizabeth looked up at the bell tower and blinked. Maria laughed. “That’s the call to midmorning prayers. All the monks inside are running to the abbey. Funny. They’re just like us—always late.”

“Not all of them. Just the young ones,” a voice said from behind. “We older men usually watch the clock better.”

Maria spun around, smiling. “But not today, Father, eh?”

She turned to Elizabeth and Fred Barkley, who had come along. “Father Lorenzo is the abbot of San Miguel, and he’s going to be late if he doesn’t get going.”

“Right you are. Are you teaching this morning?” Father Lorenzo asked. When Maria nodded, he said, “I’ll see you all inside, then.”

When the bells stopped, the air quivering in the sudden silence, Father Lorenzo broke into a jog for the gate, black robe swirling at his heels.

Maria turned left and led them to the massive front door. Fred pushed it open and followed the women into the vaulted lobby ahead of them.

Dim inside, the stone monastery held an air of gloominess, as if even the sun had given up trying to penetrate the place. The heavy aroma of incense hung in the air. They crossed the granite floor of the lobby, footsteps echoing.

“Good morning, Maria.” A tall monk called from the long counter off to one side. His ankle-length black robe was tied around the waist, its hood lying in folds across his shoulders. A circle of scalp was shaved bare on the crown of his head.

Fred and Elizabeth followed Maria outside and down a sheltered walkway bordered by marble pillars. The stained-glass windows of the abbey ahead sparkled in the sunlight.

Black-robed men crisscrossed the courtyard to the abbey at the other end. Most nodded pleasantly to them but said nothing as they passed.

Deep male chanting drifted out from the abbey.

Maria led Fred and Elizabeth to a bench alongside the cloister wall. “Would you like to sit for a minute and listen?”

Elizabeth nodded, sat and leaned back and let the sweet, solemn music wash over her. She closed her eyes and said a quiet thank-you to God. For the first time in days, she didn’t feel like crying. She hadn’t realized how much she needed this, she thought, and listened to the men singing psalms.

With a long sigh she stood a few minutes later, and the three of them left the cloister to go to Maria’s English class.

The orphanage was a large adobe building with its own living quarters behind San Miguel. The schoolrooms overlooked the mountains. Maria’s classroom was a sunny room with a blackboard and two long desks for the students, all girls under ten. Their parents had either died or disappeared, and neighbors brought them to the monks. Two of the girls had been abandoned as infants.

There was a piano in the room, and Elizabeth played softly in the background while Maria read the story of Snow White aloud to the class. A low, sour chord accompanied the evil stepmother in the story, and each of the dwarfs had their own silly combination of notes. Even Fred got into it, jumping to his feet with a hand over his heart every time the handsome prince was mentioned. It was a fun hour of learning and laughter heard all over the building.

Before the class ended, a beaming Father Lorenzo stopped by and invited the grown-ups to have lunch with him in his office.

“Uh-oh.”

As soon as she walked into Father Lorenzo’s office, Elizabeth saw Jake standing at the window. Head slumped, hands braced on either side of the window frame, he stared out blankly. Gus, eyes closed, was sprawled in a chair. Both of them wore their pants outside their boots.

Jake wheeled around when the office door opened.

“I didn’t . . .” Her voice trailed, searching for a different word.

“Expect me so soon?” he finished for her. “You never know with me.” A corner of his mouth dug in, hiding a smile.

“I’m glad you find my expectations amusing.”

He grinned outright.

She stiffened. “I assume the fact that you’re here is not a good sign.”

“That’s right.”

With a thoughtful look at Maria, he added, “We saw Ricardo this morning on our way back. Mexican soldiers are going house to house asking about an American woman and three Rangers. We’re not going back with you today. Too risky for you and Ricardo.”

Elizabeth’s face paled. “What are we going to do?”

“What the Mexicans did bringing you down here—sleep outside. Or find another cave. And get out of this country fast.”

Father Lorenzo took his glasses off and tapped them on the desk. “Let’s think a minute.” He looked at Elizabeth. “Jake and I go back a few years to when Ricardo and Maria named him godfather to Jakina. Since non-Catholics cannot be godparents to a Catholic child, we settled for
unofficial
godfather. Before you came in this morning, he explained why you’re here, why he’s here, and the danger you are both in. What is going on in our beloved Mexico with these dams and General Diego will reflect badly on our government.”

Father Lorenzo walked around the desk. “However, we may be able to help. In the 1600s, this abbey was a refuge, a secret sanctuary for dissidents. Although it’s been a few years, we still welcome dissidents from time to time. We’d be honored to have you stay with us in our guest rooms.” He looked around with a broad smile. “It appears that history is repeating itself.”

Jake walked over and shook Lorenzo’s hand. “Thank you. That gives us time to make plans. But are you sure we won’t be putting you at risk?”

“There’s no risk for San Miguel,” Father Lorenzo said. “Until this budding revolt of General Diego’s is resolved one way or the other, this regime has given orders to keep hands off all churches. That will no doubt change in the future, but right now they don’t want to stir us up.” He chuckled. “Their main concern is keeping the Church quiet. Our relationship with the government is a stormy one.”

Their rooms were on the third floor of a small complex behind the monastery. Jake had selected a corner room with a window overlooking the courtyard and valley below. At the end of the hall was another set of stairs, giving them two escape routes if needed.

Elizabeth stood in her guest room, looking around. The floor had a woven rag rug in the center. A small fireplace took up one corner, the bed and dresser taking up the rest of the room.

Jake came up behind her and squeezed her shoulder lightly. With a gasp she whirled around.

“Relax,” he said. “You’re as jumpy as I am.”

She swallowed and huffed a short breath. “You’ve never been jumpy in your life.”

Jake went to the window and looked out. “I have the room next door, but you’ll have company in here. The three of us will take turns sitting on the floor inside the door. Just a precaution.” He held his hand up. “I know, I know. Back home, people would be scandalized, but they’ll never know unless you tell them. In similar circumstances they’d do exactly the same. It eliminates any risk of your being taken again. None of us want that.”

Hands in his pockets, he rocked back and forth on his heels. “Diego is going to tear Chihuahua apart looking for you. That makes me very jumpy. He can’t let you leave the country.”

Elizabeth stared at him. “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry, but you need to know. Let’s go eat and take your mind off things.”

“Give me five minutes to wash up and put myself together.”

“You look fine,” he said quietly. “You always look fine.”

She snapped a glance at him, thinking he was being sarcastic, but he turned away and said no more.