Wild Sierra Rogue (25 page)

Washed-up, old, crippled. How had it all happened, and so quickly?

What a temptation, giving this crackpot's ideas a try, but the voice of Rafe's conscience shouted. His purpose wasn't to peel his years away. He had an uncle to subdue and conquer. He had a warrior-woman to deal with. To stay here and indulge in rejuvenation would be the nth degree of hypocrisy, for it condoned the pampered rich.

You've got more than yourself to consider.
Margarita's health. At Rancho Gato he had spent several nights pouring elixir and bathing her sweaty brow. It scared the living daylights out of him, the thought that he might lose her.

“What about my
mujer?”
he asked the embodiment of youth and enthusiasm. “Is she included in the regimen?”

“Soon, my boy Soon. Passed her and her mama not ten minutes ago, on their way to the dining hall. I must say the young lady didn't look nearly as peaked as she did upon arrival.”

If this Eden Roc place might do Margaret some good, Rafe conceded they should give it a try. “What's for breakfast?”

“Alfalfa sprouts, pine nuts, and yogurt. A big glass of prune juice kissed with fish-liver oil.” One hand on the door latch, Nash clipped a salute. “In no time, my boy, your legs will be moving as fast as a Tarahumara.”

“That's not all, I don't doubt.”

“Mother, that man is a nut. A bona fide lunatic. How can he expect people to get well eating grass and fermented milk, and drinking juices?”

“The proof surrounds you. Right here in the dining room.” Seated at a table for two in the spacious dining hall, Lisette spread her arms to indicate the handful of devotees likewise seated. “A healthy diet, though, is only one aspect of Isaiah's rejuvenation program.”

Hocus-pocus. Really? Some cursory reading on the mind's power of suggestion, done at the sanatorium, had given Margaret a basis for believing that anything was possible, if a person had enough faith. She figured it had more to do with how much a person was willing to devote to any program to enhance one's self. After all, rest and relaxation had saved her life. “But Dr. Woodward would be appalled. We ate diets rich in protein.”

“Well, here you eat a diet rich in vitamins. And you'll get plenty of what you need from the yogurt and so forth.” Lisette smiled proudly, as if she were the purveyor of good health. “Don't forget—it's all you can eat.”

Oh, please. “Mother, where is Olga?” It hurt, not having her triplet rush to greet her. “I thought she'd have come by my
casita.
And where is Leonardo?”

“Leonardo's away from the compound—business, you understand. And Olga, well, I imagine she's resting. She tires so easily nowadays.”

“Then I shall call on her
casita
—she does have a
casita,
doesn't she?—just as soon as I've seen to Rafe's well-being.”

“Don't forget the stretching class at ten bells. Right afterward, Isaiah has arranged for Helga to give you a massage. Then it's a nap for you.” Lisette nibbled something green and fresh. “He'll show you the waterfalls after siesta time.”

With a nod, Margaret noticed the other diners were leaving. “I suppose it won't hurt anything. But it seems rather Alpine around here.”

Alpine. Oh, to go back to Alpine, Texas. But would she have done anything differently? For all the awful things that had befallen them, Rafe was the greatest adventure of her life.

“Gretchen?”

“Oh, um, yes. Isn't it a bit chilly for bathing outdoors?”

“It's much warmer and drier on the canyon floor. It never gets cold down there. It's still the Chihuahuan desert, in the lower elevations.” A moment passed. “Margaret”—Lisette addressed her in this fashion only at the gravest of times—“what is going on with you and Rafe?”

Margaret took a tiny sip of juice. Her line of sight catching on a
retablo
—a painted panel representing the Virgin of Guadalupe, Mexico's patron saint—Margaret was reminded of a vow she'd made to God. Her mother needed to know about it. “I'm going to join the Catholic church.”

“I, um, I can't criticize you for changing religions —I switched from Martin Luther's teachings to those of Calvin and Knox. And your sister converted in order to marry Leonardo. But why are you adopting papistry? For marriage?”

“No, not for anything like that. When it looked like Rafe was dying, I made a bargain with God. If He would let him live, I'd embrace Catholicism.”

“You must . . . you must love Rafe very much.”

Margaret gave a shrug conveying more nonchalance than she felt. “I'm not certain how I feel. I know I'm obsessed with him. Whatever my true feelings, they scare me.”

“Is he courting you?”

“I'd say it's much more than courting. We're having an affair.” Margaret might have blushed, but she'd always been open and honest with her mother. Besides, she knew Lisette's feet were once made of clay. The mean streets of life and love had given her strength and sagacity; judgmental wasn't Lisette's way.

Despite being the paradigm for parenthood, she took on an unhappy expression. “You're not happy—a mother knows these things. You're willing to settle for an affair—why? And you know he's a Romeo. What about the future? What about his future?
Gott in Himmel,
if you don't love Rafael Delgado—”

“I think I love him. He's helped me see that the life I chose for myself isn't the path I want to take. If I'm given the chance for a path. I don't know about the future—I'm not sure I have one. Mother, my tuberculosis has returned.”

“If your health is all that holds you back from giving your heart, don't worry, my darling Gretchen.” The serenity in Lisette's face and manner had a calming effect. “You've come to the right place. The falls will take care of you.”

“What good has it done Olga?”

“That's different. Nothing can heal her eyes.”

 

 

“As soon as your bathing costumes are sewn, Margaret,” said the owner of Eden Roc, the afternoon sun shining on his hatless head, “you're to take the waters twice a day.”

“Yes, Isaiah,” she replied, conforming to his rule of first-names-only.

She'd learned much from him on the trek to the canyon floor. The natives lived in caves; the flora and fauna were much the same as in other arid sections of Chihuahua; he feared rumors of a railway to traverse the barrancas would come to fruition.

“Did you enjoy the massage and the fruit drink?”

“The massage was nice.”

Margaret giggled, recalling buxom Helga. Forceful fit her, to say the least. She talked to everyone as if they were little children. Straight out of a Wagnerian opera, the masseuse had the strength of ten men in her large hands, and the roar of a cage of lions in her voice. All she lacked was a horned helmet, and she'd fit the popular image of a Valkyrie.

Valkyrie.

Rafe.

Best not to think about him and his whereabouts.

Margaret honed in on the Fountain of Youth. It seemed to spring from nowhere. Sounding and looking as if it would give great balm to the weary and the feeble, the waterfall cascaded from a height of about a hundred feet, plunging down a great pile of boulders to collect in a pool and to work its wizardry on Isaiah Nash's select few guests.

With the exception of Lisette McLoughlin, plus her titled daughter and son-in-law being on the premises for months, the guests were limited to a two-week stay that eased the lines from their mouths and put a new lift in their step. (Could have been all that prune juice.)

“Everyone!” Isaiah motioned them out of the pool. “Everyone, gather round. I want to make proper introductions.”

They assembled. The ladies wore bathing pantalette-dresses of serge, ribbons, and bows; bathing caps covered their hair. The men had donned all-in-ones, some in stripes, others in solid navy blue. No one seemed concerned about ladies bathing with gentlemen.

There was the socialite Mrs. Hannibal Preston of Philadelphia; J. William Fisk, a one-eyed attorney from California; Mr. and Mrs. Abraham Watson and their spinster daughter Beatrice of the Netherlands Antilles, Edna Watson being Isaiah's third cousin; and Sean Moynihan, Irishman. All appeared hale and hearty.

Noticeably absent were
El Aguila Magnífico
and the Lady of Granada.

Now that the introductions were over, the devotees took to the pool afresh. Margaret had her doubts about a couple of angles, neither having anything to do with bathing costumes or social mores. Where were Rafe and Olga?

She stopped alongside the water's edge to ask, “Isaiah, how do you get your guests to leave at the end of two weeks?”

“I invite only the crème de la crème. It would be bad form to overstay one's welcome, and persons of refinement know it.”

“Why are you letting Olga and her husband stay longer?”

“Because they belong to Lisette.”

Suspicious of his motives toward her gorgeous and vulnerable mother, Margaret inquired, “Why do you allow
her
to linger?”

Much to her relief, he replied, “I think of Lisette as a second daughter. My father's heart has gone out to her. How could Gil ignore such a precious flower? As for why she's allowed to stay, I humor her as I do Natalie. Lisette believes her husband will fulfill her romantic illusions, will charge in on a magnificent steed to sweep her into his arms.”

Margaret considered her single-minded papa. “I trust she's not counting too much on that.”

“I hope not, too.”

She glanced at the elfin Irishman; he gamboled in the water spray with the homely, athletic Beatrice Watson. “And from what list of crème de la crème does Mr. Moynihan, er, I mean
Sean
hail?”

“He's a mining engineer. An incredible mining engineer. Best man I had in my mines, when I had mines. We've kept in touch over the years. He's a widower, no children. Sean has been like a son to me. My late wife Alberta and I wanted a brood of children; alas, Natalie is the one and only, and she came in Alberta's Indian summer. Would that I could have found this Fountain before it was too late for my precious Alberta.”

Remembrances saddened Isaiah's angelic face, but he never allowed himself to suffer the doldrums. “Melancholy saps energy needed for organic reconstruction. In any event, you asked about Sean. His ruddy grins and good humor filled the gap at many of our holiday and Sunday tables. He'd make a lady a good catch. Interested?”

“No, thank you,” she answered, recalling the horrors of the Santa Alicia mine. “I would, however, be interested in an intellectual chat about the workings of mines.”

At Rancho Gato, Rafe had come up with the harebrained idea to blow up the Santa Alicia. What end would such a ruthless act gain? Innocent people might get hurt. Though Arturo behaved in a manner typical of the all-too-greedy, the idea of using violence to subdue him had a nasty taste to it, worse than alfalfa sprouts and prune juice.

Disinterested in getting into the subject of retaliation with Isaiah Nash, she asked, “How do you get everyone, once they leave, to keep quiet about the Fountain's healing properties?”

“It's never been a problem,” he replied. “But I do fret, truth be known. If word is bandied about, the complex could be overrun by a bad element. That's why I insist each guest swear to secrecy.”

“You haven't sworn me to secrecy.”

Isaiah smiled. “If you must brag on Eden Roc, please consider employing the procedure that has worked well with my guests whose lips have loosened to the ears of pushy undesirables.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Tell the nosy that dysentery runs rampant from the water supply. No one can stomach more than a couple of weeks.”

She laughed, so did the octogenarian. She was beginning to understand why her mother so loved Eden Roc. Dear, kind, and considerate fit Isaiah Nash. And his beloved utopia was the paradise of his vision. But Margaret wondered if he didn't trust too easily. For all his veneration of Lisette, she'd told several in the family about this place. Of course, no one gave it much credence. That, Margaret supposed, was another beauty to Eden Roc. It was too incredible for credibility.

Looking over at Isaiah, she said, “Here, a person can forget the outside world exists.” She paused. “This piteous world of slavery and hunger and ignorance and inhumanity.”

He nodded, then placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “What troubles you, my dear?”

“Have you heard of Arturo Delgado?”

“But of course. He's been my guest on several occasions.”

“Then you have allowed the monstrous into your midst.”

“I, well, I'm aware of his vices. But for so many years, he was Natalie's choice as a suitor. What was a father to do? I didn't want to lose my daughter.”

Suspicious and worried, Margaret asked, “Is she still friendly with him?”

“Oh, no. Their link dissolved when she left for the theaters of the United States. Can't say I'm sorry.”

She took comfort, yet . . . “Rafe assured me it isn't possible, but can Arturo Delgado gain entrance to Eden Roc?”

“No. Netoc would kill him first.”

Well, thank God for Netoc.

“Maggie!”

She turned to her brother's voice. Waving, smiling, and garbed in a jersey all-in-one, he strutted toward her. Natalie, as much a vision of loveliness as she'd been on the train in Texas, had laid her palm across his proffered forearm. She, too, had dressed for the waterfall.

Father Xzobal, wearing a golden cross as well as the ecclesiastical soutane he'd been forced to abandon all the way to Eden Roc, followed behind them. A skull cap now covered his freshly shaved tonsure. Natalie kept turning to him.

“Sis, ain't this a great place?”

“Yes, Tex.”

It turned sour within seconds of Margaret's reply. A loud squeaking rent the air, as the winch lowered a seat bucket. The basket seat's occupants? Rafe and Olga.

Laughing and chatting, he had an arm around her shoulders. The girlish-looking Olga—who'd been too tired, supposedly, to call on the triplet she hadn't visited in ages—fluttered her hand in the air, then leaned her cheek against Rafe's shoulder, which just happened to be the same one that had taken the bullet.

Any time Margaret had so much as touched it, he'd yelped like a stuck pig.
Face it. It's not your picture his another is passing around.
If that meant she shouldn't feel the knife that stabbed her heart, then she was in trouble.
I'm in trouble, period.