The Sisterhood (50 page)

“Oh! I’d love that if Sor Teresa will let me out. I’m starving! I almost forgot I’m going tomorrow. The bus
is
coming, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes it will be here.” He sighed. “Leave Sor Teresa to me; the owner of the bar always sends food from the fiesta to the convent.”

“And I must tell you what I found.”

“I see you in two hours.” He turned and she watched him walk down the terraced olive fields she had followed him up so warily less than a week ago. It wasn’t a date; he was only being polite. And she did need to explain about the paintings. No, it wasn’t like a date at all.

Still, she had to freshen up.

Las Golondrinas Convent, Spain, April 2000

Menina used the last scrap of soap and the dregs of the shampoo and scrubbed herself in the icy water until she was numb but relatively clean. She brushed the dust off her clothes and boots and tried to smooth the wrinkles out of her sweatshirt. Without a mirror she couldn’t tell whether she looked any better. Probably not. As long as she smelled better.

She met Alejandro at the gate where he and another man had delivered a huge basket to Sor Teresa, food sent by the village café for the nuns’ Easter celebration. Menina carried foil-wrapped dishes that smelled heavenly to the nuns’ kitchen and left Sor Teresa rubbing her hands in satisfaction. Then Menina and Alejandro walked down to the village. Halfway there, the aroma of lamb and herbs roasting over coals rose to meet them. The plaza was noisy, crowded with people sitting around old wooden tables, whole families together for Easter, all talking all at once. Children ran about, and from time to time one or another of the old black-clad women gossiping by the fountain stopped midsentence to chide a child in a shrill warning voice.

As they walked past, men rose to slap Alejandro on the back and shake his hand. “You’re a hero,” said Menina as he detached himself from yet another group of congratulators.

“No. Just a policeman. Doing police work.”

“You’re a hero to those girls,” she answered firmly. “You saved them and who knows how many others from a living hell.”

“And you helped. Almira says you were so brave; she will never forget you.” Alejandro pulled out a chair for her.

“Almira’s the brave one,” said Menina with feeling. People were talking to them from other tables and staring at her, but right now all she cared about was food. A little plate of deep-fried something appeared, to be followed by more little plates—of almonds, olives, shrimp, peppers stuffed with salty cheese, thin slices of dark-red ham, and a carafe of red wine. Menina tried to be ladylike and eat slowly, but she was so hungry it was hard. Before she knew it she was polishing off the last bit of ham. The rest of the little dishes were empty. She looked up and saw Alejandro watching, amused. She blushed. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I think I ate most of that. It was so good I got carried away.”

“No, is good. I see you like Spanish food,” he said, grinning broadly. He had been up and down, standing to greet people who stopped at their table, all wanting to congratulate him, ask after his family, and wish him happy Easter, clucking with dismay over the fact his brothers and sisters and their families had not come home for the holiday. Alejandro said firmly that he had told them to stay away this year, and everyone said, “Ah!” knowingly and nodded. “The police operation.
El Sting
.” A woman asked if Alejandro’s sister still sent him chocolate fish.

They all studied Menina with undisguised interest. She guessed they were asking each other where Alejandro had met a girl who looked such a mess after his string of hot girlfriends. Alejandro introduced her as an art student, and said she had been working at the convent, looking for paintings the nuns could sell. There was an approving murmur as this information was passed from table to table. Everyone seemed to know she had been there, and
she soon learned that most of the older people had a story about Las Golondrinas and the civil war to tell her. Alejandro pointed out those villagers at the tables nearby who chopped wood for the nuns or took food or bought
polvorónes
, or who still had relatives among the nuns.

Several people told Menina that it was a scandal the bishop wanted to close the convent. It was part of the local history, since before the
Reconquista
. Did Menina know that once this village had been part of a great estate in the valley, owned by a wealthy Moorish family? They pointed out this person and that person as being their descendants. “Even Alejandro, his ancestors lived in the valley once, must be Moorish many years ago.” There was a chorus of agreement.

“Ah yes, it is true,” said Alejandro nodding. “On my mother’s side.” An elderly man leaned over from the next table. Did Menina the American know what the
Reconquista
was?

They talked about the
Reconquista
like it was yesterday. Just like the way older people in Georgia talked about the American Civil War, or “the Late Unpleasantness,” as some of the older ladies in Laurel Run called it. When Menina nodded and said she did know about the
Reconquista
, about 1492, wasn’t it? Word of her response seemed to pass from table to table. Again, people nodded approvingly, and the elderly man at the next table stopped eating and shifted his chair closer to tell her that, with all the trouble in the world today between Jews and Muslims and Christians, Menina should know that at one time the Moors and the Christians and the Jews all lived together in peace in Andalusia. Menina said she was reading an old Chronicle of the convent that said the same thing.

An old lady, one of the grandmothers, said that whatever people said against the Catholic Church, there was something good and holy about the convent.

That would explain why the church wanted to close it, the old man snapped back. Roars of laughter.

Menina laughed, too. She was having a good time. More wine, then bread arrived, followed by lamb and artichokes and rice. The shadows lengthened and plates of small pastries appeared. Someone began to play a guitar. Alejandro shifted Menina’s chair so she could see the guitarist. “I think now it is better to eat dessert slowly,” he said with amusement.

“Yes, I know. I’ve overdone it. But everything was so good!” said Menina. The waistband of her jeans felt tight. A thin cat curled itself around her ankles and she fed it a scrap of lamb. Somehow Alejandro’s chair had moved so they were sitting side by side, watching the musicians, and people singing spirited songs that she couldn’t understand all the words to but were apparently very funny, and this old man or that grandmother leaping from their chairs to perform a little flamenco to general applause.

It grew dark. Small lights came on in the orange trees. Coffee came and went, along with small glasses of some fierce brandy-like spirit that took Menina’s breath away just smelling it. More plates of small sweets. More coffee. Alejandro’s arm hovered casually on the back of her chair, not quite touching her shoulders. Menina thought she would like to sit like this forever. It felt peaceful and safe. She felt good.

Someone lit a bonfire. “I am thinking something and I am just going to say it,” said Alejandro, looking straight ahead. “I am glad you missed your bus. Don’t go tomorrow. Stay a little longer. You have another two weeks before your flight. I know you will want to go back to America, but maybe you can stay a little.” Menina drew away. What exactly did he mean? With him?

Alejandro saw surprise and alarm in her eyes and said quickly, “Sor Teresa says it is good to have a young person in the convent. Especially a well-brought-up girl who is respectful. There you have
many chaperones, and here,” he swept a hand at the square of celebrating villagers, “are more. The village is very old-fashioned. Every one of these people will be watching every move you make, just like they watch me, and it will be the main topic of discussion until you leave. So you are very safe here.” He smiled.

“I can believe that! But…” Only a few days ago she had thought she wanted to leave more than anything in the world. But now she had found the paintings, and the part of the Chronicle she had read had whetted her appetite to read the rest and see if things fit together as she was beginning to think they might. She would really like to be here when Professor Lennox came. But—OK, it was impossible to ignore—Alejandro sounded like he was holding out another reason. Not pushing, asking. Testing the water. She had thought she never wanted to have anything to do with a man again. And she wasn’t sure she did. Yet. But…did she want to go through life wondering if she had been too much of a coward thanks to a bad thing, to miss her chance with a good one?

It was her decision. Menina decided to dip a toe in the water. “Maybe I should stay a bit longer if you really think Sor Teresa won’t mind?”

He shook his head. “Believe me, she won’t!”

Menina hastened to say, “I mean, I should because I never told you about the paintings I found. Or what the Chronicle says. You said something about ‘old stories about the convent,’ and I wondered if maybe they’re actually in the Chronicle, maybe that’s why the nuns gave it to me with the medal…oh, it’s too long to go into tonight. I’m too tired and full and sleepy to make sense and you’re probably too tired to listen. Besides, you haven’t told me about the people from the
cofradia
or whatever you called it, who were looking for me…look, when I can get my head together we still have to talk about a few things before I go. There’ll be another bus.”

“Yes, we are not finished talking,” he said.

“But if I stay I have to call my parents. First thing. OK?”

“Of course, no problem now. To find a telephone with a good connection we must drive down to the valley. First thing in the morning we will go. And then we can stop for lunch. But now I will take you back to the convent, because you are right, I am tired.” Alejandro pulled her to her feet and they climbed the terraces still hand in hand. Menina didn’t notice that until he let hers go. The gate had been left a little ajar. They both yawned as they said goodnight and went their separate ways.

The next morning Alejandro drove—very fast—a long way down the twisting mountain road until they reached a roadside café that Alejandro said had a reliable phone. He dealt with the operator, and when the Walkers finally picked up he started to walk away. Menina called him back. “I might need your help here.”

Later, over coffee, Menina was still red-eyed from an emotional conversation with a frantic Virgil and Sarah-Lynn who said the Spanish police hadn’t been able to tell them much, and they had been told to stay put in case Menina contacted them. Now that they knew where she was, they would take the next flight to Spain. Menina assured them over and over she was perfectly alright but they weren’t going to believe it till they saw her.

Then when Sarah-Lynn was about to hang up she said they’d let Theo know where she was. He had been more worried than anyone—the papers had got hold of the story that his fiancé had disappeared and reporters were driving the Bonners crazy trying to find out if she had been kidnapped and if the kidnappers were demanding a large ransom.

Oh hell! Menina thought. She told her parents firmly not to talk to reporters or tell Theo where she was; she never wanted to see him again. From now on, what she did was none of his business. When Sarah-Lynn tearfully urged her to think twice about what she was throwing away, Menina said, “Mama, I’m thinking
about what I get back by living my own life. Something really interesting has happened—I found some old paintings, it’s kind of exciting, a really big deal actually. I need to see what happens next with that. If I married Theo I couldn’t do that. I’d live his life, not mine. I don’t love him, for one thing. No, I don’t think he loves me, not at all. Really, Mama, I don’t care anymore what people will say! They’ll just have to say it and then we’ll all forget about it. I’m sorry to upset you, but I’ve made up my mind about this.” Menina was shaking. Her mother was convinced she ought to marry Theo, and for the first time ever she was standing up for what she wanted. She had never spoken to her mother so assertively. “I told you, Mama, I don’t want a last chance to change my mind!”

At that point Alejandro held out his hand for the phone and introduced himself as the local police captain. He assured them Menina was fine, and he was looking forward to meeting at the airport in a couple of days. Just let them know what time. He hoped they would have a pleasant flight. Then he hung up. Menina was tearful after her outburst and suddenly a lot less assertive, and wandered off to the restroom to splash cold water on her eyes. Sitting down again she said, “Talking to my parents makes me feel like I’m twelve years old again and messing up.”

“But you are not twelve—you are a grown woman. Something terrible happened to you, but you still found strength to help other girls to whom bad things were done also, things that were not their fault either. You help the nuns because you have a good heart. But instead of thinking ‘I am a strong person, a good person, a clever person who can do many things’ you let other people decide for you because you want to please them. But in life you must take responsibility for what you do. If you are having second thought about Theo, if you are sorry you say you do not want him…then you should go back to him.”