The Witch Narratives: Reincarnation (26 page)

He cleared his throat. “There’s, uh, a petticoat and other feminine apparel.”

She turned a bright pink and picked the one white rose from the jar. She said with a touch of mischief in her voice, “I shall be right back.”

He glued his eyes to the staircase and watched her walk up the stairs, her hips swinging from side to side. When she disappeared from view, he felt as if the room darkened.

He held his head between his trembling hands. He had no idea what just transpired between him and Salia, what she was thinking, but what he was feeling inside of him, in both his heart and in his head, Samuel had never felt before. If not for the beating of his own heart, he could have listened, acutely, to every rustle she made upstairs.

She’s undressing
, he thought and closed his eyes, imagining the possibilities.

He leaned back against the chair and crossed his ankles, fighting the urge to charge up the stairs like a bull. For now, he had to be content with the pleasures of a cigar.

Upstairs, Salia held her hands to the sides of the dress and tried to curtsy. She couldn’t quite carry it off, so a bowing of the head would have to do.

How do the ladies in Albuquerque wear their hair?

She retrieved a magazine from under her bed and flipped through the pages.

She tiptoed up the stairs to the chapel of Tezcatlipoca, retrieved the piedra imán and kissed the magic lodestone. “Hello, old friend,” she told the ugly rock.

She held the stone close to her heart and twirled. When she came to a standstill, her hair was done, swept in a fancy hairdo like the lady in the magazine.

She put her piedra imán back in its hiding place. She sprinkled some metal filings on the rock. “So you will not go hungry.”

The stone smacked its mouth, chewing the filings.

She placed the white rose in her hair and looked down at Tezcatlipoca’s mirrored foot.

She clenched her hands, watching the white rose slowly turn a deep black in color. She stared at herself in shock, having never placed a rose in her hair before. She did not know this would happen. Her mother cursed her. She inherited Felicita’s hair, even though it was not black in color. Her hair had the same thick texture, the Esperanza hair. Any rose touching her roots, turned black. She was born a witch, a Sister of the Black Rose, though she was not a member of a coven, because Mother and Grandma had been antisocial. La Llorona was founder of all the covens of the Black Rose, but even she ignored Salia.

“Well, Mother,” she said in a nasty voice. “What do you think of your clumsy cow now? I look the lady you always claimed to be. You thought you were a queen? Well, I look like a queen, so there. A handsome man is waiting for me, and I did not put a spell on him, nor give him a potion. The patrón is here of his own free will.”

She turned her head sideways. The black rose did not look so bad. “So be it. I am what I am.”

She closed the curtains around the altar, took a deep breath, and left the room.

Samuel was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, holding the cape.

He whistled. “You look gorgeous. I knew you could turn that drab piece of velvet into something special.” He didn’t comment on the black rose in her hair. All he saw was her face.

She smiled with her eyes aglow. “It’s a beautiful gown.”

“But not as lovely as the jewel wearing it,” he said in a husky voice.

For the first time in her life, she felt pretty. She did not feel like she needed to be a coyote to move with grace. Tonight, she felt as if she could fly, without needing a spell. Tonight, she was a fireball, her heart burning.

“You’re wearing only a gold chain. I was remiss. I should have brought you a diamond necklace to go with the gown.”

“I would have refused diamonds.”

“Your eyes glitter like diamonds,” he said, placing the cape around her and squeezing her shoulders.

“Thank you.”

He gave her his arm, escorting her from the house.

He held the car door open for her, and his chauffer held the door open for him.

She could not hide her excitement, bouncing on the seat. “I have never ridden in an automobile before.”

“I can see that,” he said in an amused voice.

“An automobile is not as fast as a horse, is it?”

“Not yet.”

“What makes the automobile run? What do you feed it?”

He laughed. “I feed the automobile gasoline and oil.”

“You are making fun of me.”

He ran a finger down her cheek. “No, I’m not. I’m merely enchanted. You make me look at the world in a fresh way. With you, everything is new and exciting again, something I haven’t experienced since I was a boy.”

“Oh.” What he said did not sound so bad. From the corner of her eye, she examined the way his dark-brown hair fell on his forehead. She felt confused. She twisted her hands in her lap, resisting the urge to brush his hair further back on his head where it belonged.

They arrived at the restaurant and were escorted through a private entrance to a private dining room where a table, laid out with linen, silver, and candlelight awaited them.

She exclaimed over the food.

Samuel ate his turkey sparingly, consumed with watching her eat. Every forkful that went into her mouth delighted her. She chewed her food as if each bite was pure rapture.

“You’ve never eaten in a restaurant before?” he said.

“No. They would not serve me.”

He clenched his fists, seeming really angry. “That will never happen again in Madrid. Your parents never took you out to eat?”

She shook her head. “My father died when I was a baby. My mother never took me anywhere. My mother and grandma went to Albuquerque and Santa Fe all the time, to the restaurants and the theatres, but I was not allowed to go.”

He exploded. “They left you all alone?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It was nothing.” She held up a forkful of steak. “This is the best meal I have eaten, since my grandma died. I am not a good cook.”

He laughed. “You’re not supposed to confess that to a man, Salia. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to lie? A woman’s supposed to tell a man what a great cook she is, how well she can sew.”

“I cannot sew either. Why should a woman tell a man these things?”

“A woman’s supposed to tell a man about all the wifely things she excels at, well almost all the wifely things,” he said with a touch of irony, “Even if she has to lie. Anything, to bring him to heel and get him to propose marriage.”

“I don’t want to marry,” she said, frowning. “Ever.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. Once again, she managed to turn the tables on him and outmaneuver him. This was the role he always played, setting the rules up at the beginning of a relationship that marriage was out of the question. “Why don’t you ever want to marry?” he said in a flippant voice.

“Because, I don’t want to be owned.”

“What makes you think marriage is about ownership? Your father died when you were a baby. You didn’t grow up around a married couple. What do you know of marriage?”

“My mother thought she owned me,” she said in a cold voice, “And I will never be owned again, by anyone.”

He merely blinked his eyes at her.

“Are you married?” she asked.

He laughed, rather cynically. “Goodness, no. I have avoided that institution. Not even close. I have no wish to be married. I like being free as a bird. I go where the wind blows me. I answer to no one. Not even God,” he said coolly.

“Then we are alike,” she said, smiling.

“It would appear so,” he said, grinning.

They finished eating, and Salia lifted a glass of sherry, tilting her head back.

She slammed the glass on the table, coughing, as if she was choking.

He patted her back. “Careful. Sip it slowly. I don’t want you to get drunk on me.”

“I never lose control,” she said in a squeaky voice and hiccupped.

“Never?” he said, cocking an eyebrow, counting the times she lost her temper with him.

“Do you mind?” he said, taking a cigar from his vest pocket.

She shook her head, indicating that she did not mind him smoking.

He lit the cigar, examining her through smoke rings.

“You’ve never been around men much, have you? You grew up in a house filled with women.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Not a house full, just my mother and grandma. I have a much older half-brother on the reservation. I did not see him often. Our grandma did not get along with him. Jefe and I are completely estranged now, since our grandma died. She had something he coveted. He grew very angry at me, when he found out she left it to me.”

“And the men of Madrid?” he asked with narrowed eyes. “How often did you see them?”

“We kept to ourselves. My mother never allowed visitors. All the villagers stayed away from us, and we did not mix with them,” she snapped.

He rubbed his forehead. This explained a lot of things, why there were so many rumors of the Esperanzas. The family was private. Apparently, the villagers knew little about them so, made up their vicious gossip. Two mysterious women, one Indian, one Spanish, and one little girl, a half-breed, by themselves, living in a house near a hill given the name Witch centuries ago, when New Mexico was owned by Spain.

He took a sip of brandy. “And after your mother and grandmother died? What then?”

“It was the same,” she said, sounding a bit tipsy from the sherry. “I was left alone, which is what I was used to. It is what I want, to be left alone. I have no friends.”

“What of your friend, Marcelina, who taught you how to dance?” he said, smiling.

“Marcelina and I are, also, estranged, but I miss her. She was my only friend,” she said in a soft voice.

“You’re not without friends, Salia,” he said, squeezing her hand.

“Thank you, Samuel,” she shyly murmured.

He held onto her hand, rubbing her thumb, staring intently at her.

“So, how come you didn’t leave Madrid after your mother and grandmother died?”

“Madrid is my home,” she said with a fierce expression on her face. “I cannot leave. Ever.”

She squeezed his hand so tightly, his fingers grew numb. She was stronger than she looked. She seemed lost in another world. She didn’t even seem to know she clung to him.

He cleared his throat. “We should be getting to the theatre.”

She let go of his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Any time,” he murmured. “Shall we leave for the theatre?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Yes. I would like that.”

They entered the theatre through a private entrance and sat upstairs in a semi-dark private box, especially for Samuel. Being such a famous man in New Mexico, especially in Madrid, he treasured his privacy and like most rich men, did not care to mix with the locals wherever he went, other than his own circle. Salia was the exception.

Oscar Hughes, manager of the mine, and his nosey wife, Mildred, sat in a private box directly across from them.

Oscar twisted his thick neck to get a better look at the woman Samuel was sitting with, but Samuel turned his chair when they entered the box, shielding the woman from the audience.

Oscar assumed Samuel must have sent to Albuquerque for one of his girlfriends, and she rode in on the afternoon train. Oscar traveled to Albuquerque frequently to meet with Samuel, and he knew of his reputation with women.

Both Oscar and Mildred were keenly disappointed he brought a woman with him.

Mildred and their daughter, Eustace, were thrilled when they learned Samuel had not returned to Albuquerque, as planned, and that he was going to attend the theatre and dance. Oscar had been trying to introduce Samuel to Eustace for four years, but Samuel always had some excuse why he couldn’t make it over to their house for dinner. Nor did Samuel ever invite Oscar’s family to the Big House. He sometimes conducted business at the Big House, but there were never any women at the meetings.

Eleven times Oscar had taken Eustace with him to Albuquerque, but Samuel seemed to have perfect timing. Never once had he been in his office. He was always busy, seeing to his various businesses in Albuquerque, when Oscar called with Eustace. Oscar tried to arrange for Eustace to drop in on them at lunch at one of the Albuquerque restaurants, but it seemed every time Eustace had been with him Samuel had a previous luncheon engagement and couldn’t meet them for lunch.

What good did it do to work for a millionaire when there was no opportunity of playing matchmaker between him and your daughter?

Well, there was still the dance and if Samuel brought a fancy gal with him from Albuquerque, Samuel when he was introduced to Eustace, would see what a fine lady she was and what a beauty. Oscar spent a lot of money sending his girl to finishing school up North, so she could land a good catch. Since there wasn’t any option open to women in Madrid, other than marriage, Oscar felt the money well spent. After all, if there had been a son, Oscar would have sent him to college to catch a good job.

In Samuel’s box neither Samuel nor Salia knew Oscar and Mildred were planning his future.