Sun God (44 page)

“Yes, of course,” Amy said with little conviction, “we can hope. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

“Wait,
Señora
,” Pedrico said. He reached inside his soiled tunic and produced an envelope-shaped chamois bag. “Before El Capitán rode into battle, he told me to give this to you if—if—”

Inside the chamois envelope was a will, written only hours before Luiz had gone into battle. A wealthy man, with priceless treasures from his Aztec mother and wise investments made with his Castilian cousins, Luiz left all he had to Amy. With the exception of one small portion of Orilla. If Amy was agreeable, the handwritten will stated, Pedrico Valdez was to have the far southwest, corner of the huge Sunland spread.

Pedrico was so touched he could not speak.

Amy gently touched the aging Mexican’s face and said, “I’m only sorry I didn’t think of it myself, Pedrico.”

“
Gracias
,
señora.
”

“
De nada
,” Amy said, then turned to Magdelena. “Mag, please have the girls pack my bags. I’m going to New Orleans to bring Linda home.”

Two days later Pedrico and Magdelena stood on Orilla’s private railroad spur and said good-bye to Amy.

Hugging the frowning Magdelena, Amy said, “You are not to worry. As soon as I reach Galveston, I’ll take a river steamer across the Gulf. When I arrive in New Orleans, Aunt Meg and Linda will be there to meet me.”

“Promise me you and Linda will come back home soon,” said Magdelena.

“We will. Now it’s time to leave,” Amy said. She turned, took the conductor’s hand, and climbed the portable steps.

When the locomotive picked up speed and moved out of sight, Pedrico turned and said, “Magdelena, this may not be the most romantic time or place to ask, but will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

The stocky, graying woman looked up at the slender, silver-haired man. She said, “Ah, Pedrico, are you sure this is what you want?” She looked off toward the horizon. “You are a landowner now, a true grandee. You can have a fine lady.”

Pedrico’s one eye twinkled. He took Magdelena’s hand, drew it to his lips, and kissed it. “My dear Magdelena, to me you have always been a fine lady.”

A
MY STOOD AT THE
railing of the paddlewheeler,
Creole Lady
, and watched as the bustling New Orleans levee came up to meet her. A large crowd waited on the landing. A smiling black boy, seated atop a tall stack of cotton bales, enthusiastically played a banjo. People clapped their hands and tapped their feet. Everyone was in a holiday mood.

Amy eagerly searched the smiling faces below. She began to wave and shout when she spotted her beautiful, dark-eyed daughter jumping up and down on the wooden wharf. Pink cotton-candy dress swirling up around her olive knees, thick, dark hair spilling around her slender shoulders, Linda looked as if she had grown a foot since leaving Orilla.

Blowing kisses and waving, Amy shifted her gaze to the well-dressed woman standing beside Linda. She gasped. She hardly recognized her dear Aunt Meg. Meg had always been pale and slender, but the woman whose gloved hand rested atop Linda’s shoulder was deathly pallid and as thin as a rail. Beneath a small, fashionable straw hat, the hair that had remained a pale gold for so long had turned completely to silver.

It meant nothing, Amy told herself. After all, it had been a few years since she’d seen her adored aunt. Meg Sullivan had aged, just as she herself had aged.

The
Creole Lady
, her whistles blasting, paddlewheels churning up a thick, white foam, moved gracefully into her berth on the levee and the next thing Amy knew, she was rushing down the long gangplank and straight into the outstretched arms of her excited young daughter.

They rode through long tree-lined boulevards of the Crescent City, all talking at once, and by the time the carriage pulled up in front of Aunt Meg’s St. Charles Street home, it was nearing dinnertime. After old Stella’s passing, Meg had never replaced her, so she took off her hat, dropped it on the table in the foyer, and announced she would prepare the meal while mother and daughter visited.

“Wait,” Amy said, and touched Meg’s thin arm. “Aunt Meg, you look a little tired. Let me cook dinner, I’ve learned to—”

“Nonsense,” said her aunt, smiling warmly. “Linda and I have been planning this meal all week.” She winked at Linda.

Reluctantly Amy allowed the frail-looking woman to fix dinner. She sat in Meg’s pleasant parlor and listened attentively while her talkative daughter filled her in on the most adventurous summer of her life.

Later, after Linda had gone up to bed, Meg, sharing a cup of strong black tea with Amy, looked at the younger woman and said, “Amy, dear, you are more beautiful than you’ve ever been in your life.”

“Oh, now, Aunt Meg.”

“It’s true. How long has it been? Three years since you and Linda last came to visit.” Meg studied Amy thoughtfully. “You were always a pretty girl, but now … it’s … you …” She laughed softly and added, “Dear, you look for all the world like a woman who has learned the sweet mystery of love. I’m so happy for you …” She stopped speaking and a hand went to her bosom. “Amy, darling, what is it?”

“Oh, Aunt Meg, I—I—” Amy shook her head.

“What, child?” Meg set her cup aside and moved quickly to the sofa beside Amy. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

Amy told her. Told her the truth. Told of the summer she’d spent with Luiz Quintano. Told her she loved him, had always loved him. Told her that Linda was Luiz’s child. Told of the terrible guilt she was feeling because of Doug Crawford.

To her relief, Amy found that her prim and proper aunt did not scold or lecture or even appear shocked. Instead Aunt Meg put her slender arms around Amy and soothed her, saying all the kind, understanding things Amy most needed to hear.

“I’m so ashamed.” Amy sobbed.

“My dear, don’t be. There is nothing shameful about true love.”

After Amy had poured out her heart, the compassionate Meg Sullivan kissed her hot cheek and said, “How would you like to have your old auntie tuck you into your bed, just like when you were Linda’s age?”

They climbed the stairs together and Meg gently washed Amy’s tear-reddened face and helped her don her nightgown. Exhausted, Amy got into the soft, clean bed. Meg drew the lace-trimmed sheet up to Amy’s waist, sat down on the bed’s edge, and said, “Sleep well, my child. I’m here to watch over you.” She leaned down and kissed Amy’s forehead.

Amy, feeling as safe from all harm as when she had been a child visiting in this peaceful, well-run house, sighed deeply and fell into a deep, sound slumber.

Come morning, Amy woke with the sun. Disoriented for only a moment, she drew on a robe and tiptoed downstairs. She would surprise her aunt and Linda by cooking a big, hearty breakfast.

But when she reached the kitchen, she found her aunt standing before the kitchen window pouring an amber-hued liquid medicine from a large bottle into a teaspoon. A jolt of alarm slammed through Amy as she silently watched the frail woman swallow three spoonfuls.

She said nothing, but Aunt Meg sensed her presence. The older woman slowly turned and looked at Amy.

“What is it, Aunt Meg?” Amy moved toward her.

“Dr. Wise says it’s a rare tropical blood disease. There’s a long clinical name for it, but I can’t—”

“How serious?”

Meg Sullivan inhaled deeply. “It’s fatal.” She gave Amy a weak smile and said, “I’m so glad I got to see you one last time.”

“Dear God,” Amy said, tears springing to her eyes. She hurried to her aunt, clasped her narrow shoulders, and said, “Now the first thing we will do is find another doctor!”

“Dear, specialists in the field of hematology have been consulted. They’ve all come to the same conclusion. I’m afraid we just have to face it. I’ve only a few weeks left.”

Amy swallowed back the lump in her throat. Decisively she said, “Then we will face it together. You’ll come home to Orilla where you belong and we’ll—”

“No,” Meg said, and gently pulled away. She again stared out at her magnolia trees. “I can’t do that, Amy.”

“Of course you can. Don’t you want to be with your family? With Linda and me?”

Tears filling her eyes, Meg Sullivan said, “Yes, but that’s impossible.”

“Why? I don’t understand. I’ve never understood why you always refused to come home to Orilla. Even for a visit. I used to ask Daddy to make you come back, but he wouldn’t do it. Do you hate Texas so much? Or the ranch? Is that why you left and never returned?”

“Dear lord, is that what you think?” Meg Sullivan asked.

“I don’t know what to think,” Amy replied truthfully.

Meg took Amy’s hand, pressed it to her cheek, and said, “Amy, Amy … you are not the only one guilty of deception. Walter Sullivan was guilty. I am guilty.”

Puzzled, Amy said, “You? I don’t believe it.”

Meg Sullivan looked at the dear face before her and said, “I left Texas all those years ago because I was pregnant.”

Speechless, Amy stared at the pale, sick woman as Meg calmly revealed that Amy was her daughter, not her niece. She had not married Amy’s father, because he already had a wife. A handsome, prominent man from San Antonio, he had spent a few weeks in Sundown while his wife toured Europe. He was suave and sophisticated and Meg had fallen hopelessly in love with him.

They had shared brief, romantic encounters in a number of secret hideaways, and a week after he had to return to San Antonio, she learned she was carrying his child.

Her brother, Walter, immediately sent her and his wife, Mary, to New Orleans. He told everyone in Sundown that Mary was pregnant and was going to New Orleans to wait for the birth of their baby.

“And so,” Meg softly concluded, “when you were but a few weeks old, Mary Sullivan took you home to Texas. She and Walter raised you as their daughter. He thought it best if I never came back. He was afraid someone might see the strong resemblance between us and guess the truth.”

“Dear God,” Amy said with empathy, “how you have suffered, Mother.”

Meg Sullivan smiled through her tears. “All my life I’ve longed to hear you call me that.”

“Mother, Mother, Mother,” crooned Amy, and wrapped her arms around the thin, sobbing woman. “Listen to me, Mother, you are coming home to Orilla, and I don’t give a damn if everyone in Sundown finds out I’m your daughter!”

Meg Sullivan pulled back and smiled with maternal pride at the strong young woman before her. “I
would
like to spend my last days in my beloved Texas.”

The trio arrived at Orilla the first week in October. It was still warm and dry in southwest Texas, the days sunny and perfect.

But with the approach of autumn, those golden days were already beginning to grow short. Just like the golden days left to Margaret Sullivan.

Amy was determined to make her mother’s last precious days as perfect as the fall weather. The two women spent every waking minute together. They talked for hours on end, recalling happy times, sharing secrets and foolish dreams, and laughing often, like a couple of young carefree girls.

They shopped. They cooked. They took long walks. They went horseback riding. They got up early. They stayed up late. They did everything and anything they took a notion to do.

The warm, glorious autumn days stretched on and the pair began to plan a wedding celebration. Pedrico and Magdelena had set their wedding date, and Amy and Meg meant to go all out for the happy occasion. Pale-blue eyes atwinkle, the ever-romantic Meg Sullivan eagerly planned the upcoming late November affair.

She never lived to see it.

One week before the big day, Margaret Sullivan passed away. She died peacefully in the arms of her loving daughter.

Insisting that her mother would have wanted it that way, Amy persuaded Magdelena and Pedrico to go ahead with the wedding. Plans for a lavish affair were dropped. The couple married quietly and before they left for a brief honeymoon trip, Magdelena hugged Amy and said, “I do not want to go away and leave you alone.”

“I am not alone. I have Linda. You’re going,” Amy ordered.

The newlyweds went and the next day the warm, lovely weather abruptly changed. There was a nip in the air in the mornings, and by dusk it was cold enough to need a fire in the fireplace at Orilla.

With her mother gone, Amy felt a deep loneliness, but a strange kind of peace as well. They had shared an unforgettable few weeks. Just as she and Tonatiuh had shared an unforgettable few weeks. More than most people could hope for in a lifetime.

On a chill gray day toward the end of November, Amy was in a melancholy mood. She rode alone to the Puesta del Sol where, long ago, she and Tonatiuh first made love.

Last made love.

Beneath the heavy, dismal skies, Amy sat down on the smooth riverbank. Arms hugging her knees, she stared pensively out at the cold, mirrorsmooth water.

Suddenly a cold autumn wind from out of the north disturbed the river’s placid surface. It lifted loose tendrils of blond hair about her face and knifed through her clothes to chill her. She shivered. An eerie feeling came over her.

The wind stilled and died. The dark, heavy clouds rolled away. A bright, warming sun appeared and cast its dazzling brilliance over everything.

Amy’s breath grew short. Her heart began to pound. Slowly she lifted hopeful eyes.

And there the Indian stood.

Naked in the sunlight.

Nan Ryan is an award-winning historical romance author. The daughter of a Texas rancher, she began writing in 1981, inspired by a
Newsweek
article about women who traded corporate careers for the craft of romantic fiction. She found success with her second novel,
Kathleen’s Surrender
(1983), a story of a Southern belle’s passionate affair with a mysterious gambler. Ryan continued writing romances, publishing novels such as
Silken Bondage
(1989),
The Scandalous Miss Howard
(2002), and
The Countess Misbehaves
(2000). Her husband, Joe Ryan, is a television executive, and his career has taken them all over the country, with each new town providing fodder for Ryan’s stories.