Delia's Heart

by V. C. Andrews

  “Anyone suspicious?” Edward asked.

  “Sophia was. She kept asking questions. She asked about you two, as well.”

  “Figures. Being a sneaky person herself, she has a nose for anything sneaky,” Edward said. “But you feel sure no one saw you leave?”

  “Yes, I feel sure.”

  “Good. We’re on our way, then,” he said. “We’ve got the first flight out. By the time they realize you’re gone, we’ll be halfway to Mexico City.”

  “Tía Isabela will hate me,” I said.

  “And how,” Jesse added.

  Edward nodded. “She’ll be angry for a while, but, as I told you, my mother doesn’t like airing her dirty linen in public, especially now. She’ll rant and rave and then just forget it. She’ll try to make you feel sorry for her having to put up with two reckless teenage girls. Believe me, she’ll be working at being the victim here.”

  “Nevertheless, don’t sugarcoat it, Edward. Isabela Dallas is not exactly going to treat any of us with kid gloves,” Jesse said.

  “It will all be bluster,” Edward insisted, giving Jesse a look of reprimand. “Don’t worry about it, Delia. Just enjoy the trip, and start thinking of all the places and things you want to show us. For now, lie back and get some sleep.”

  “Sí,” I said, and sprawled out on the rear seat. I closed my eyes, not realizing just how exhausted I was from the tension. In moments, I was asleep. I woke up when I heard Jesse say we were approaching the airport parking lot.

  “From here we’ll take the shuttle bus,” he told me when I sat up, grinding sleep out of my eyes.

  After we parked and while we were waiting for the shuttle bus, I felt as if we had become three shadows. They were tired themselves. None of us said much. Finally, the bus arrived, and we rode to the terminal. Edward gave me my airline ticket, and we went through the process of checking in for our flight. We didn’t have to wait too long before boarding, but I almost fell asleep again in the chair by the gate.

  When we entered the plane and took our seats, I felt a new cold rush of fear wash over me. We were really going. There was no turning back now. Edward squeezed my hand gently to reassure me. I didn’t imagine I was doing a good job of hiding my anxiety. I kept looking at the airplane door, expecting policemen to come charging aboard at any moment to take the three of us off in handcuffs. But the door was closed, and the pilot addressed the passengers. We felt the plane move back out of its docking, and moments later we were rolling along, heading for takeoff. I gripped the armrests and closed my eyes as the plane lifted. I tried to concentrate on images of Ignacio.

  “Take another short nap,” Edward whispered. He closed his eyes himself. Jesse was already asleep. I nodded and did exactly that.

  I slept until the flight attendant announced that we were preparing for our descent to the airport in Mexico City. There was just enough time for me to go to the washroom and soak my face in cold water. I returned to my seat and saw the excitement on both Edward’s and Jesse’s faces.

  “Welcome to Mexico,” Edward kidded when the wheels of the plane touched down.

  We hurried off the plane when the doors were opened. Like me, they had brought only carry-ons, so we didn’t have to go to the baggage carousels. We went directly to the rental-car desk, where Edward and Jesse finished the paperwork. Another shuttle bus took us to the lot, and we found our car. They had rented a nice-size SUV.

  It was somewhat hazy when we set out from the airport, but as we went west, the sky cleared. Seeing the campesinos walking along to their work on the larger farms, the women and children walking along, some with donkeys, some pulling little wagons filled with vegetables to sell in the markets, passing cantinas, open markets, and villages with squares built in front of their churches, just as in my village, drew me back through time until I felt as if I had never left. It took only minutes to remind me how much I loved my country and, despite its hardships, my life with my family in our poor village. I couldn’t look at everything enough, and looking at it all quickly brought tears to my eyes.

  Jesse and Edward were full of questions about everything.

  “What exactly is a campesino?” Jesse asked.

  “Rural people who have a little land but not enough to provide for themselves and their families. They have to work on the bigger farms, but they still take pride in what they own,” I quickly added, “even though people back in the U.S. would laugh at what they own.”

  “I guess owning a car is a big thing out here,” Edward noted.

  “They don’t go very far from their work and their casas. In the village, they find their entertainment, their religion, their schools.”

  Little children waved at us as we drove by, and Jesse waved back.

  “They act surprised at seeing us. This isn’t exactly tourist territory, is it?” Edward asked.

  “No. You will not find English spoken at all in some places.”

  “I never fully appreciated the enormous changes you’ve had in your life until now,” he said.

  “Sí,” I said, unable not to sound sad.

  “You’ve done very well, Delia,” Jesse immediately told me. “You should be proud of yourself.”

  I smiled at him and said, “Gracias.”

  Everyone was hungry, so we stopped at a roadside cantina and had some soft tacos and beans. They both drank bottles of Mexican beer, and then we continued on. The going became slower as the roads narrowed and turned into broken macadam, gravel, and just dirt in places. Edward was glad they had decided to rent an SUV and not some fancy automobile. The newer road construction was uneven. At times, we would ride for miles on good roads and then turn onto the older, broken ones.

  Finally, I began to recognize the area just outside my village. I sat up with renewed energy and excitement. I was truly coming home, and even though neither my parents nor mi abuela Anabela were alive, I looked forward to going to our casa and walking the same streets. Of course, I would get to the cemetery as soon as possible.

  “Is this it?” Edward asked as we approached.

  “Sí. Es todo. This is all of it,” I said, smiling.

  Jesse turned to me. “Funny how you went right to Spanish,” he said. “You really have come home.”

  “Sí, Jesse. Estoy en casa otra vez. I am home again.”

  I told them where the Hotel Los Jardines Hermosos was located. As we approached it, we passed by Señora Rubio’s menudo shop, and I smiled at the realization that I had almost ended up there married to her son. Ignacio had saved me, and now I was returning in hopes of saving him.

  “This is our town square,” I said the moment we reached it. “At night, there is music and food. You’ll see tonight. That’s our church.”

  “I think we can see that,” Jesse said, laughing.

  “Don’t tease her,” Edward said, then winked and added, “too much.”

  They both laughed at me.

  “I want to see the house in which my mother lived. I brought a camera for that,” Edward said. “I plan on blowing the picture up into a poster and putting it on the wall in the living room.”

  “She’d kill you,” Jesse said. Edward gave him an impish smile.

  When they saw what was the hotel, they laughed again.

  “And you called ahead and made a reservation,” Edward reminded him.

  “Stop, please, Edward!” I cried.

  “What?” he asked, stopping.

  “These two women looking at us. They are the Paz sisters, friends of mi abuela Anabela.”

  I lowered the window and waved to them. They stared confused for a moment and then both simultaneously brought their hands to their hearts.

  “Delia?” Señora Paz said, walking slowly toward us.

  “Sí, cómo está, Señora Paz?”

  “Mi dios,” her sister Margarita said. “Es Delia.”

  They looked at me as if I were a ghost.

  “You are a grown woman,” Señora Paz remarked.

  I quickly introduce
d Edward and Jesse and explained that we were there to visit. I knew they were full of questions, so I promised to stop by to spend time with them.

  “You are a grown woman?” Edward quipped.

  “They knew me only as a young girl. They helped me when I…” I stopped myself.

  “Ran away?” Edward asked.

  “Sí.”

  “But, like Batman and Robin, we came to your rescue,” Edward joked.

  “Your mother calls you the Lone Ranger and Tonto.”

  They laughed, and we pulled up to the hotel. The owners, Señor Agular and his wife, Teresa, remembered me, of course, and, just like the Paz sisters, remarked about how grown-up I looked. They gave us the two best rooms of the six, both with windows looking out on the main street. None of the rooms had bathrooms, but there were two in the hallways, and at the moment, as was true most of the time, there were no other guests in the hotel. They made their living mostly from the small cantina. The cost of the rooms in American dollars brought smiles to Edward’s and Jesse’s faces, especially when they heard the price also included breakfast.

  “Three lattes at Starbucks would cost more,” Jesse said. “Maybe we oughtta look into buying up some real estate.”

  They were laughing at everything now, and even though I had anticipated it, I couldn’t help being a little annoyed.

  “This isn’t Palm Springs,” I told them, “but you will not find the people less friendly.”

  “She’s right,” Edward said. “Besides, I come from this place, too. Let’s go right to the house, Delia.”

  It didn’t take us long to settle into the rooms, and then we started up the street.

  “Where’s the school?” Jesse asked.

  “Back there,” I said, pointing behind us. “We can see it later, if you like.”

  When we reached the town square, I told them how, as a child, I believed the prayers said in church went up through the steeple and directly to God’s ears.

  “Maybe it’s true,” Edward said.

  “You see what that boy is eating?” I asked, nodding at a little boy enjoying a chocolate-dipped churro. “It’s nothing more than chocolate-dipped fried dough, but it’s delicious. You’ll have to have one before we leave.”

  We walked past the menudo shop, and I saw Señora Rubio’s son, Pascual, serving a customer. He looked even heavier. It was hard now to imagine that I had almost married him. Neither Edward nor Jesse noticed how I looked back and shook my head. They were taking in everything as if they had gone to Disneyland.

  We turned down the dirt street to my family’s casa. There was still no lawn or even any grass in front of it, just some shrubs, stubble of grass, stones, and the remnants of the faded pink and white fountain that no longer had water running through it unless it rained hard. We hadn’t sold it or removed it, because it had an angel at the top, and mi abuela Anabela believed that if you had a replica of an angel in or around your house, real angels would stop to bless you.

  “This is it, Edward,” I said.

  He and Jesse stopped and just gaped at it for a few moments, before Edward took out his camera.

  “I can’t imagine Isabela Dallas living in this,” Jesse muttered. “In fact, Delia, I can’t imagine you living here.”

  “I did, Jesse, and I didn’t think myself so bad off. In fact, this casa is one of the nicest in the village. My grandmother and I had slept in our own bedroom.”

  “You are truly a remarkable girl,” he said.

  Edward agreed, took more pictures, and then, because of the time and the heat, suggested we return to the hotel and cantina and have some cerveza.

  “I want to go to the square tonight and hear the music and see the people, the artisans, all of it. We have to do some shopping and bring back some nice gifts for Sophia and my mother.”

  All the while, I was trying to think of a way to separate from them so I could meet Ignacio at the cantina just a little ways north of the village. I thought I might use the excuse of visiting with some old girlfriends. I would tell them they would be bored, so I would visit and return to be with them in the square.

  I waited until darkness began to fall and they had become very relaxed, drinking their beer. Neither objected. In fact, Edward said I should feel free to do whatever I liked.

  “I know you want very much to go to the cemetery yourself, Delia. Don’t worry about us. We’ll amuse ourselves fine.”

  I went up to my room and changed into the dress I had brought for my meeting with Ignacio. Now that I was literally only an hour or so away from seeing him, I was trembling with excitement and nervousness. Would he think I had changed? Would I bring disappointment instead of great happiness to him? Would our reunion be sad or wonderful? Had I done the right thing by coming here, or should I have waited for him to make his way back?

  I knocked on Edward and Jesse’s door and told them I would meet them in the square later.

  “If you get hungry, don’t wait for me,” I said.

  “We’ll wait,” Edward insisted. “We’ve been gorging on the chips and salsa and some empanadas in the hotel cantina.”

  “Okay,” I said. “See you later.”

  I hurried out. It would be a long walk that would take me past the cemetery. I decided I would stop there on my return.

  As I walked, I did see some of my girlfriends and some of the boys I knew, but I didn’t approach them. I did not want to do anything to delay my reunion with Ignacio. I clung tightly to my purse, which contained the cross his mother had given me for him and her letter.

  When the cantina came into view, my heart started to pound again. My legs felt wobbly, and my stomach did flip-flops. I saw some trucks and some cars nearby, but I did not see Ignacio. What if he had been unable to come? How would I know? How would he get a message to me? How long could I wait? Why wasn’t he standing outside watching for me?

  Drawing closer, I could see men and women and some children eating in the outside patio, but I did not see Ignacio. My heart seemed to drop in my chest. I had come all this way to be disappointed, and I would have to bring back his mother’s cross and letter. I looked inside but still did not see him. For a few moments, I just stood in front looking down the street and then up from the way I had come. No one approaching from any direction looked at all like him.

  Suddenly, I felt someone touch me at the waist, and I turned around to look into his smiling face.

  “Ignacio!” I cried. “Where were you?”

  “In the rear watching you.”

  We stared at each other a moment, and then he embraced me.

  “You are more beautiful than I remember,” he said. “Life in America has been good for you.”

  “And you look older, more mature.”

  “You either grow up quickly or die when you’re desperate,” he said.

  “I brought you this from your mother,” I said, before I forgot, and handed him the cross and the letter.

  He looked at the cross and shook his head. “She was saving this for my wedding.”

  “She thinks you need it now,” I told him. “It was very important to her that I get it to you, and her letter.”

  “Sí. So,” he began, “how long…”

  He paused, and the expression on his face changed quickly to a look of shock and fear. I turned to see what had so frightened him and gasped. Seemingly out of thin air, a half-dozen federal police officers appeared. Police cars came flying down the street as well.

  Ignacio looked at me with such accusation in his eyes I couldn’t speak. All I could do was shake my head.

  “What did you trade for this? What will your aunt give you?” he asked.

  “No. I did nothing. I did—”

  Two of the officers rushed at him to seize his arms.

  “Ignacio Davila, we arrest you. You are wanted for murder back in the United States.”

  “No, he is not! No, it wasn’t murder!” I cried.

  They pushed me aside and put handcuffs on him. When they did, t
he cross and the letter his mother had sent with me fell. No one stopped to pick them up, so I did. I started after him.

  “Ignacio!” I screamed as they led him toward the police cars that had now appeared.

  He turned and looked back at me with such pain I thought my heart would literally tear in two.

  “I did not do this! I swear. Ignacio! Your mother’s cross, her letter,” I said, holding them up.

  “Take them back with you!” he cried.

  They stuffed him into the back of a police car. I started toward him.

  A police officer seized my arm.

  “You will have to come with us,” he said. I was taken to another car, but I was not put in handcuffs. I put the cross and letter back into my purse quickly. They drove me to the local police station, where I was taken to a small room with two chairs and a table and told to wait. While I did so, I went through my purse to look for some tissues to wipe the tears from my face and suddenly realized I was missing something.

  Where was the note Ignacio had sent me through his mother, the note that had described where we would meet, the note that I had read often before we had left for Mexico?

  A cold realization made my body shudder.

  Sophia, I thought. Sophia had found it but had not said a word. She had let us go, and then she had told. Why hadn’t I noticed? Why hadn’t I realized it was missing? Why hadn’t I torn it up the way Ignacio’s father had torn up every correspondence from him? Look what my carelessness had brought down upon us.

  I lowered my head to my forearms on the table and sobbed.

  Ignacio would never believe me.

  And worse, maybe, neither would his parents.

  Nearly an hour later, the door opened, and Edward and Jesse stepped in along with a police officer. They both looked down at me in disbelief.

  “He’s alive?” Edward began. “All this time, he’s been alive, and you knew?”

  I took a deep breath and nodded.

  “And you got us to make this trip just so you could meet up with him?”

  “No, not just—”

  “You used us,” he said.

  “No, Edward. Do not think that.”

  “What else should we think, Delia? All this deception. This is very, very serious.”