The Necklace

by Carla Kelly

  She came to a village as the winter sun surrendered to night without a struggle. Dogs announced her presence, growling and sniffing. Even they turned away, uninterested in a woman with hair matted, and her clothes in tatters.

  She passed quietly through the village’s single street, searching for an inn. She had no money for lodging. Perhaps there would be a small fire where she could warm her hands. If only her back didn’t ache so much.

  Through a haze of exhaustion, she saw what looked like an inn, where a woman swept the entrance. She raised her broom at Hanneke.

  “Shoo! Take your rags and stink somewhere else!” She pushed Hanneke back into the street.

  Hanneke fumbled for one of Father Bendicio’s coppers and held it out. “Have you any bread?”

  The woman snatched the coin and scrutinized it, then returned it. “I might. What more do you want?”

  “May I come in? Is there a fire?” Hanneke asked, as she felt a growing need to sit down.

  The woman barred the door with her broom. “Go around back. I have paying customers inside who don’t want lice dropping in their soup. What would they think of me?”

  Perhaps that you are a charitable Christian, Hanneke thought. Lepers gave me food and a bed for the night.

  She found the back door and knocked. The woman opened it and held out her hand for the coin. “Over there,” she directed. “Not near the main room. You’re filthy.”

  Hanneke sat on the floor by the fireplace and the woman held out a small loaf of bread. Hanneke reached for it, but the woman pulled back. Please don’t tease me, she thought in agony.

  As Hanneke watched in despair and then relief, the woman slapped a bit of fat meat on the bread. She thrust it at Hanneke, as if angry at herself for being charitable. “Here! You’re so thin. You should be ashamed.”

  Hanneke ate quickly, before the woman changed her mind. She saved half the meat, tucking it inside her dress. She leaned her aching back against the wall. Eyes half closed, knowing she would be evicted soon, she watched the woman hurrying back and forth between the fireplace and the high counter to the main room, muttering to herself.

  “They come riding in here from Rincón, demanding this and that, talking to the villagers. As if Rincón is someplace special….”

  Hanneke winced and sat up, every tired nerve humming. She rose slowly and peered around the counter. To her horror, Amador and Baltazar sat hunched over their food, their backs to her. “Th…those men?” she whispered to the woman.

  “Yes, yes! They’re looking for someone, a murderer, I think, and asking around.” She sighed with exasperation, and looked toward the fireplace, where hunks of beef Hanneke could only dream about roasted. “I’ll get the meat off the hooks and see what they want. You’re in the way.”

  Hanneke moved aside as the woman hurried to lift the meat from its spit in the cavernous fireplace. She made rapid trips from fireplace to table, muttering, moving aside other food. She stopped in mid stride, picked up another small loaf and threw it at Hanneke. “Take it before you starve to death!”

  Hanneke grabbed the loaf and stuffed it inside her bodice. When the woman’s back was turned, she let herself out the back way. To her relief, the town gate was still open. Hand to her back, pressing against the ache, she hurried toward the gate. Another bit of good fortune came her way when several travelers on horseback, accompanied by a large wagon and muleteer, came through the gate. She walked out as they walked in, talking and laughing, no one the wiser. The gate swung shut behind her.

  She hurried as fast as she could, pausing too often for the simple act of breathing, which made her cough up brown froth. After a few miles, or more probably mere steps – she couldn’t tell anymore – she stopped to listen for horses. Nothing. The woman in the inn must have been too busy to talk to Amador and Baltazar. Small favors. Small blessings. Small chances. Small woman. Small hope.

  When the moon rose, she saw a hut on the edge of a stand of trees. She saw a sudden gleam of light when the door opened, and waited for the growl of dogs. Nothing. She came closer, her hand to her mouth to quiet her cough, and knocked.

  A wisp of a fellow with a shock of white hair and milky eyes peered at her. He clapped his hands and announced over his shoulder, “Milagra, we have a guest for the evening.”

  Hanneke couldn’t help herself. She looked behind her. No one stood there; she must be the guest.

  A woman even smaller than she was stood up by the fire pit. “This is no night for a young thing like you to be out. Sit.”

  Hanneke looked around. There was nothing to sit on. Milagra put her hands to her face and laughed. “Silly me! Such a cold winter. We have burned our stools. Please sit on God’s good earth.”

  Hanneke sat, and wrapped her cloak tighter around her. The old man came toward her, waving his hands in the air until he touched her hair. “I am Velardo,” he said.

  “I am Ana Gonzalez,” Hanneke said. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  Velardo motioned to Milagra. “Wife, bring food.” He turned toward Hanneke. “She is quite the cook. You will see.”

  Hanneke sniffed and smelled nothing. Milagra hand her a bowl and a spoon. Hanneke tasted the contents. It was hot water. She looked up, mystified.

  The old couple sat close together sharing one bowl between them. Milagra caught her glance. “My Velardo is such a provider,” she said, her voice so tender. “He brings me this and that, and I can make a wonderful stew.”

  Hanneke sipped the hot water as Velardo drank, uttering little cries of approval. She watched the old couple, amazed, then continued sipping the hot water. “This is wonderful,” she said. “You must tell me your secret for such a soup.”

  Milagra turned her head into Velardo’s shoulder like a young bride. Hanneke watched their joy. Crazy they might be, but they had shared everything with her. She could return the favor.

  “Here,” she said, reaching insider her bodice for the small loaf and remaining bit of fat meat. “Let me add to your feast.”

  Milagra took the food from her with shining eyes and gave the fat to Velardo, who sucked on the morsel and smacked his lips. The three of them finished the soup with little bites of bread until it all came out even. When they knelt to pray, Hanneke knelt with them, her heart full. Were they crazy? She didn’t care; they were also kind.

  Velardo prayed for their nonexistent flocks, their invisible children, and the Christian kings of Castille, Navarre, Leon, Aragon and Galicia, plus the pope in distant Rome. Hanneke prayed that she would survive the night.

  Milagra motioned for her to take the part of the mattress closest to the wall. She lay down and wrapped her cloak about her, because she could see her breath. Milagra settled in next to her with a sigh. Velardo followed, after he circled the room a few times, checking the door and the firepit.

  “He is a careful man, is my Velardo,” Milagra whispered. “May you find a good man just like him someday.”

  I did, Hanneke thought, not with sadness this time, but remembrance. She thought about Antonio, too. Maybe I found another. Please God, let my fortunes change.

  Was it minutes later? Hours? Hanneke felt the whole hut shake with the reverberation of someone banging on the door. Alarmed, she burrowed deeper in the straw.

  Milagra sat up first. She said something quiet to Velardo, then tossed her blanket over Hanneke. She padded to the door. “Yes? Yes? It is late.”

  “Open this door.”

  Hanneke lay perfectly still at the sound of Baltazar’s voice. There was no mistaking that deep rasp. She closed her eyes, all the terror returning. Please, Milagra and Velardo, was all she could think. Then, No coughing.

  Milagra fumbled with the bar on the door, taking her time. Velardo started to snore. Hanneke turned slightly to see, keeping the blanket over her head, peering through wisps of straw. Baltazar came in quickly, followed by Amador. The m
en filled the little room, towering over Milagra, but the old woman did not step back.

  Baltazar squatted by the fire pit and held out his hands. “How do you even stay alive here?” he asked in utter disdain. “There’s no fire.”

  Milagra drew herself up. “My man provides very well,” she said. “Don’t wake him.”

  Amador laughed. “You don’t even have furniture!”

  If she ever needed to know what dignity looked like, all Hanneke had to do was remember Milagra, so tiny and yet standing tall. “We manage, señores,” she said calmly, as though poor blind Velardo were the king of Castile. “What is it you want?”

  “We are looking for a pretty woman, small with dark hair. She speaks good Castilian, but with a strong accent. She was seen begging in the village nearby. She is dangerous. Is she here?” Hanneke heard coins rattling. “This purse is yours. Did someone visit you tonight? We have searched the village. Someone saw her leave. You’re the only house for miles around. We have already searched your shed. Dios mio, what do you live on?” He shook the pouch again. “Here it is, for what you know. You need money.”

  Hanneke closed her eyes, thinking of want and poverty relieved in an instant. All Milagra had to do was point to the far side of the bed.

  Milagra sat down on the bed. “The only one who came here tonight was La Virgen Maria. She brought us a loaf of bread and some fat meat.”

  Milagra, no, Hanneke thought in terror. What are you saying?

  Amador swore, and Milagra gasped. “Señor, she will never visit you, if that is how you speak of her! Say a prayer and do an honest act of contrition.”

  “Are you crazy, old woman?” Amador asked.

  “Perhaps I am,” Milagra said with considerable dignity. “If La Virgen returns with more food, what would you like me to ask her?”

  Baltazar muttered something that made Milagra suck in her breath. “Señor, not in my house. San Pedro will shake you good if you think to enter into eternal rest, after what I think will be a lengthy time for you in Purgatory.”

  Hanneke heard Amador and Baltazar talking softly, then laughing. She waited, her eyes closed, desperate to cough. To her infinite relief, she heard the door slam. Milagra threw the bolt. All was silent until they heard the sound of horses. Hanneke pulled back the blanket.

  Blind Velardo spoke up, quite awake. “I should have taken my sword and run them both through! Imagine, wife, they thought we would betray a guest for money.”

  “We would never,” Milagra said, “not with La Virgen Maria, San Pedro and any number of saints to protect us here in our fine dwelling. I am relieved you controlled your ferocious temper, husband. How could we ever have explained two men cut into small pieces? We don’t even have any pigs to help with disposal.” She patted Hanneke. “Go in peace tomorrow, daughter.”

  Chapter Fifty

  “I have heard that the convent of Santa Catarina is a fine place,” Milagra told her in the morning, after their breakfast of water scrambled in a pan with a touch of salt. “I wish you would stay here, because you are not well.”

  “Since we are wishing,” Hanneke said, “I wish I had food to leave with you.”

  Milagra kissed her cheek. “The Virgin Mary will return in a day or so and we will be fed. Did you know she visited us last night? If she does not return, Velardo is quite the hunter.”

  “A morning’s walk,” Velardo told her as he escorted her to the door – three steps – and opened it with a flourish.

  She paused, remembering. El Ghalib’s bracelet slipped off her wrist with ease, not even requiring her to work the clasp. She looked past Velardo to Milagra, because the old woman could see.

  “Please take this,” she said. “It is gold and you can trade it for food.”

  Milagra held it up to the light. “Beautiful! I will treasure it always.” She patted Hanneke. “Velardo will hunt. I cannot part with this.”

  How have you old dears stayed alive this long? Hanneke asked herself. “Do this then: If a tall warrior – a Christian named Antonio – very handsome and with black hair, should ask about me, please tell him I am walking to Santa Catarina.” She leaned against the doorframe and coughed. When she had the strength, she continued. “There might also be an Almohad warrior named Yussef. He has three blue stripes on his chin. Tell him the same, please.”

  “Ana, how many lovers do you have?” Milagra said, her eyes bright. “My handsome Velardo had to fight for me, too!” She cast her eyes down modestly. “I was a great beauty.”

  “Milagra, I do not doubt that for a moment,” Hanneke said, touched and grateful for hot water meals and a safe bed for the night.

  “Go with God,” Velardo said, as he bowed and ushered her out of the hovel.

  Santa Catarina might have been a morning’s walk for someone in strength, but not her. After less than a field and a slope, Hanneke dropped her walking stick. It took too much effort to bend down, so the stick remained behind.

  In spite of sleet that alternated with rain, she discarded her cloak when she started to sweat, dragging it behind her first, until even that was too much effort. She thought it must be the end of February. March was coming, and spring. Did she need a cloak?

  She found herself resting more than she walked, and coughing until brown froth spilled from her mouth. She did notice that the land began to slope gently. Small streams flow down to larger streams, she thought, remembering Pablo, missing him. Larger streams to a river. Pray to God it is the Rio Tajo, then Santa Catarina soon.

  She saw occasional houses no grander than the hovel where Milagra and Velardo lived, but knew better than to seek help. Amador and Baltazar had probably visited each of them last night.

  A few steps, then rest, a few steps more. As the sun struggled overhead, flirting with clouds and gusts that threatened to topple her, she entertained visitors. The first guest was the hardest, when Santiago pranced past her on his gray stallion. She begged him to stay, but he shook his head, blew her a kiss, and cantered away, back straight, eyes ahead. She teetered between anger and utter despair, until she reminded herself that he was only a trick of her imagination, una fantasma.

  Engracia and Juana hurried past, only stopping to scold her for losing her cloak. Juana gave her the usual frosty glare that changed in a blink to blank eyes staring at mud. Hanneke shuddered.

  Antonio passed her once after the sun gave up entirely and hid behind clouds. He held out his hand to her, and she to him, then he disappeared. Of all the apparitions, this was the hardest to bear. He had never abandoned her before; why now, when she needed him the most?

  His visit brought her to her senses. She shivered and looked around, seeing bare trees, and then, to her relief, something grander. She saw the Rio Tajo stretching before her in the distance. She started walking again, no faster than before, but with purpose.

  To her dismay, the apparitions – two horsemen this time – were not done with her, even though she could see the river. She looked closer, her heart in her mouth when Amador and Baltazar came toward her at a slow walk. She stood still and waited for them to pass, like all the others. Instead, they turned about and rode on each side of her, matching their horses’ gait to her halting walk.

  When Baltazar leaned over and prodded her with his boot, she knew she had lost. “Don’t stop,” he chided her and prodded her again, harder this time. “Walk, damn you.”

  “Leave me alone,” she said, which only brought laughter.

  She kept walking, wishing she could outrun them, knowing she could barely move. When they fell back, she wondered if they were real, or merely vivid phantoms brought on by her failing body.

  She sighed with relief when she heard a horse ride away, but Baltazar remained. He continued his horse’s slow walk beside her.

  “Amador has gone for Señor Palacios and the others,” he said. She heard all the triumph in his voice, and then hi
s mock concern. “Felipe is so deeply devoted to your welfare, señora. He cannot understand why you have been running from him. All he means to do is keep you safe.”

  “He wants my dowry, now that Santiago is no more,” she said, not looking at Baltazar because he frightened her.

  He pushed her harder with his foot and she fell down. “He especially wants to know how you fooled us at Rincón.”

  She struggled to her feet. “It’s easy to fool idiots,” she snapped.

  He struck her with his quirt again and again as she crumpled to the ground and tried to cover her head. Get up, she told herself, get up. She rose to her knees, but he pushed her down.

  She made it to her knees in time to see the cruelest apparition of all. None of the other ghosts had revisited her, but here was Antonio, accompanied this time by Carlos. If it had only been Antonio, she might have hoped for a tiny moment that he had searched and found her. But no, not with Carlos this time, Carlos who had died at Las Claves.

  She fumbled with the pouch around her neck, trying to work out the little knife, wondering if she was strong enough to kill herself, provided the blade wasn’t dull. There was nothing to live for, not with two phantoms riding toward her. At least Baltazar had stopped beating her. In fact, he had stepped back.

  To her further aggravation, Baltazar grabbed her around the waist and hauled her to her feet, holding her close. “You can’t have her,” he screamed at the ghosts. “Amador is coming with Felipe and others. We are taking her back to Las Claves.”

  “I’ll fight you for Ana,” Antonio said. “You will lose. Let her go.”

  Hanneke stared at the two men riding toward her. “Carlos lives?” she called. “You are not phantoms?”

  “No, Ana, we are not,” Antonio said. “Hang on a few minutes more.”

  Carlos grinned at her. “Señora, you know I am a hard person to kill. How should we do this, Antonio? Do you want to take him or may I? He nearly killed me at Las Claves. Please, may I? I’ve been good.”