Dulcina

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Please consider my offer. I really have no one else to turn to. I would appreciate learning of your plans, in case I have to toss off the black mourning gown and make myself pretty enough to attract a husband from those who show up for the auction.

  Fondest regards, Dulcina.

  P.S. If you don’t come, please ship lots of canned food and corn husks. I believe I can make a profit from selling tamales and promise to repay the money.

  As he skimmed the letter for a third time, he searched for specifics, because a plan had started forming. Her offer opened the possibility for a way to create his own new life. What would be hard about running a saloon? The setting was the perfect place to expand his distillery. When a new batch was ready, he’d have built-in taste testers.

  Besides, the alluring woman with the pouty mouth still starred in his fantasies whenever he thought of what his future would be. Even though he hadn’t seen her since she married and moved away eight years earlier. The confessional at the San Antonio del Rio Colorado Church was where he received monthly penance for lusting after another man’s wife. After the first few years, he was sure the priest grew tired of hearing his repeated confession.

  How many times had he wished he’d been bolder and made clear his desire to court her? The opportunity to be part of her life was at hand. He tossed aside the pages and moved to the window to stare toward the western mountains and think over the new development.

  What were the undesirable elements of this proposal? He could travel the five or six hundred miles there and discover she’d become a different person than the one he’d known and loved. What if her years spent singing in a saloon had killed off her zest for fun and laughter? Did those things matter if he had a chance to be her husband? The idea of making her his wife caused his heart to pound near out of his chest.

  He’d not known about the mining disaster, or if he’d read about the incident, he’d let it slip from his mind. Why would it have relevance? He hadn’t known Dulcina was involved. Did her family know? Most of the Mirandas attended the last church service, and no one mentioned the sad news.

  Esteban should be told…tonight. All of the Mirandas needed to learn what had happened. Stepping from the window, Gabriel stripped off his work clothes and lowered himself into the now-cool water. With hurried moves, he scrubbed trail dust from his skin and his hair. He chose lightweight trousers made from the family’s finest wool and a loose-fitting cotton shirt with embroidery as appropriate attire for an evening social call. He strode out to the courtyard to make his excuses. His mamá’s protests over missing the family meal were silenced with the mention of Dulcina’s name.

  The twilight ride to the neighboring rancho took less than thirty minutes at a canter. Gabriel promised himself he’d not push the pace on the return trip and tied the mare, Bonita, to the front hitching rail. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he waited for the servant to respond to his knock on the front door.

  “I need to speak with Señor Miranda. The matter is important.”

  The housekeeper, Rosita—an older woman with gray streaks winging from her temples—frowned. “The family has just been seated for the evening meal. Perhaps you will wait in the library?”

  Feeling impetuous and driven, Gabriel slipped past the woman, stepped into the chandelier-lit foyer, and headed toward the dining room. He’d spent almost as much time in this sprawling ranch house as he had in his own and knew exactly where to go. “I know Esteban will not mind the interruption.” His boot steps resounded on the stone floor. He rounded the corner and spied the family grouped around a long table covered with crockery and glassware. Against the wall stood a sideboard loaded with bowls and pans. “Excuse me, folks.”

  At his appearance, all conversation stopped.

  “Gabriel, a pleasant surprise. Welcome.” The tanned man sitting at the head of the table extended a hand toward an empty chair. “Join us. What’s brings you here at this time of night?”

  “Esteban…” Gabriel shifted his gaze and acknowledged Dulcina’s mother with a nod. “Consuela. I have received news from your daughter.”

  Gasps sounded, and everyone alternated from looking his way, wide-eyed, and whispering to those sitting nearby. Then questions grew louder and burst out at the same time. No individual query could be understood.

  The excitement and curiosity was to be expected, but the chatter didn’t further Gabriel’s need to discuss the matter that drove him here. He made direct eye contact with Esteban and jerked his head toward the study.

  A man in his mid-fifties, Esteban stood, holding up his hand until everyone quieted. “I will talk with our guest in the study. Everyone, please keep eating your meals while the food is hot.” He looked down the length of the table and smiled at his wife. “Mí novia, please prepare Gabriel a plate of food and bring it along when you join us.”

  Minutes later, the three gathered around Esteban’s massive desk cluttered with a surveyor’s map of the local terrain, a thick ledger book, and a stack of other correspondence. On the wall behind the man hung a painting of the Andalusia stallion, Dos Lunas, which started the famous Miranda bloodline.

  On the ride over, Gabriel debated between paraphrasing the news from the letter or letting them read it themselves. He’d decided nothing had been written that he thought Dulcina would be ashamed for her parents to read, except maybe the part about a marriage in name only. More than once, in past conversations, Esteban mentioned his concern over the infrequency of her communication. Probably seeing her familiar handwriting would comfort them. Balancing the warm plate on his thighs, he eased the letter from his back pocket and extended it. “She writes with an interesting and surprising request, and I have come to seek your counsel.”

  “Oh.” Consuela reached out a hand then retracted it, her lips trembling. Then, she lifted a hand to the black-haired bun pinned at the nape of her neck.

  Gabriel ducked his head to avoid her seeing how he’d noticed her impulsive gesture. As head of the family, Esteban should be the one to decide if and how he shared the news. The scents of spicy pork and onions tickled Gabriel’s nose, and his stomach rumbled. He ate the tender meat wrapped in a flour tortilla while the Mirandas read. He was glad to see Esteban pass along each page as soon as he finished. With all three people possessing the same knowledge, the discussion could flow easily once they finished.

  A gasp sounded, and Consuela raised a hand to cover her mouth. Tears formed and hung on the edge of her eyelids. Her lips pressed into a tight line.

  Must have learned of Stuart’s death. He could tell exactly what she’d read by the expressions crossing Consuela’s face. Deciding to share the letter had been the right thing. He bit into a roasted ear of corn and almost moaned at the sweetness.

  Tsking, Consuela shook her head, making the sign of the cross over her chest.

  Ah, she read about the marriage in name only. Possibly, Dulcina no longer attended church and had forgotten such an arrangement was against Catholic tenets. Gabriel had no intention of letting that part of their marriage last for long. He’d waited many lonely years to claim her, and she would be his wife—in the fullest meaning of the term.

  Esteban sat back and steepled his fingers over his rounded belly. He remained silent until his wife lowered the last page. “I thank you, Gabriel, for bringing us word from our daughter so promptly. I assume the letter arrived today.” He cocked a thick eyebrow.

  “Yes sir, it was waiting when I ended my work day.” So much had changed in a few short hours.

  The full-figured woman clasped the papers to her chest. “Mí chica triste. A widow, at her age.” Frowning, she reached out and grasped Esteban’s hand. “We must send money for her to come home.”

  “Consuela, you read that option is not her first choice, didn’t you?” He held out his hand toward the papers and curled his fingers. “Let Gabriel and I discuss what is the best action. Then I will come and inform the family.”

  Nodding, she stood and leaned to kiss her husba
nd’s cheek. Then she walked around the desk to Gabriel’s chair and repeated the gesture. “Gracias for sharing my sweet girl’s letter.”

  “Of course.” He looked into her dark eyes and spotted tears about to flow. “I know you have been worried, like my mamá would be.”

  Esteban smiled and nodded when Consuela paused at the door. When the latch clicked, he dropped the smile and narrowed his gaze. “What choice have you made?”

  The man’s directness didn’t surprise Gabriel. In fact, he admired that trait. “I have not yet said a word to my family, but I believe I should travel there.” How could he not? The request came from the woman he thought of as his love match.

  “Bueno. I hoped you’d make that decision. Having you close to her will allow us to have reports about what is happening.” He pushed back his chair and knelt so only the top of his still-thick black hair showed over the desktop. “I’ll expect weekly telegrams with updates.”

  Reports? The warm food in his belly turned cold. Gabriel scooted forward in his chair. “But that is not—” What does he mean by updates?

  “Don’t be coy, Gabriel.” His head popped up, and his smile puffed up his broad cheeks. “I’ve known for years about your feelings toward Dulcina. I know you wish to accept the arrangement she’s offering.”

  As soon as Esteban again disappeared from sight, Gabriel heard metallic clicks and knew he opened the safe built into the floor beneath his desk. “I do love her.” His heart sped at finally saying those words aloud to this man who was as important in his life as his own father.

  “Then traveling to this Utah place and reporting back on the situation will not be a problem.”

  “What do you mean by reporting? My intention is to go there with a specific purpose.”

  Esteban straightened, lifted himself into his chair, and extended a stack of currency. “Take five hundred dollars for your travel expenses there and back. Spend a week or so to assess the situation then determine whatever needs to be done to the place she owns to get it ready to sell.”

  A knot formed in his gut. A moment ago, Esteban spoke like he understood what his daughter wanted, but now, the dictatorial man demanded the opposite. “Sir.” Gabriel shot to a stand, needing to be at his full height for what he was about to say. “I came here to ask for your advice on the matter. But I also am here to act in the proper way.”

  The scenario was not as he imagined it to be. When he asked for her hand in marriage, he always imagined Dulcina would be just out of sight but listening to the entire conversation. Then, as soon as he received an affirmative answer, he would sweep her into his arms and enjoy her excited kiss.

  Instead, he braced his feet apart and settled clasped hands at the back of his waist. “I knew you would expect me to look you in the eye and make my request for Dulcina’s hand in marriage. You have known me all of my life and know that I will be a good husband. I am more than the cowhand I have been forced to be. I have dreams and aspirations other than tending cattle. My plans for distilling spirits will make for a successful livelihood.” He took a deep breath and glanced at the money Esteban still held toward him. “I would very much like to travel with the blessings of both households on our marriage.”

  His gaze steady, Esteban slowly rose to stand. “Thank you for the courtesy you are displaying. You do have my and Consuela’s blessing.”

  Relief loosened the knot in his stomach. But only partway, for the matter was not resolved to his satisfaction. “When I contemplated my decision, I planned to cover my own expenses.” That way I won’t be obligated to perform as your spy.

  “I don’t mean to offend your sense of honor, Gabriel.” He set down the money then braced his hands on the desktop. “But you have to know how anxious Consuela and I have been since Dulcina left. For the first year, we received letters every month or so. Then they arrived less often until only once a year. Most of the time, we haven’t known in what city she lived or if that husband of hers was taking good care of our daughter.”

  As family, they were luckier than he. Only one letter, a birthday greeting, was all he received. “I have had those concerns, as well.”

  “If her saloon is a dump, settle for the best price you can from the sale.” His gaze narrowed, and he shook a finger in the air. “The most important factor is to bring my daughter home.”

  Gabriel stared at the money—about equivalent to what he earned in a year, and he knew the Magnus family business provided a higher salary than most people earned. Uneasiness crept through him at the idea of accepting the money under Esteban’s conditions. Just a quarter of the sum would allow him to buy a second copper condenser without the delay involved in him fabricating one.

  Making a couple reports about the status of life in Wildcat Ridge seemed a small price to pay for the opportunity to launch his new enterprise. What possible harm could come from sharing a few tidbits of news? Once he assured Esteban and Consuela of Dulcina’s good health and happiness, he’d figure out how to extend the newlyweds’ absences from the ranchos.

  Maybe he’d convince Dulcina to visit the Miranda Rancho for a few weeks. Spending time in her company should placate them, if he decided the Last Chance Saloon suited his needs better than Questa did. If his business went as well as he hoped it would, they could both return for frequent visits. He leaned over the desk to pick up the money in one hand and extend his other to seal the agreement. “I accept the money, but only if you consider it an advance. I intend to pay you back.”

  “Or we could just call it a wedding present.” Grinning, Esteban shook hands. “Once you bring her home, we’ll have a big fiesta that will serve as your wedding reception. I know that idea will please her mother very much.”

  Gabriel took his time on the return ride home. Thankfully, the waxing moon helped light the well-trodden path. Guilt rode his shoulders like a blanket left out in a torrential rainstorm. Should he tell Dulcina of her father’s wishes? Or should he adopt a ruse of traveling to Wildcat Ridge at her father’s behest to purchase horses?

  Chapter Five

  S tarting a week after she mailed the letter to Gabriel, Dulcina walked to The Ridge Hotel on Wednesdays and Saturdays, the scheduled days when mail was delivered by the stagecoach. Although she knew not enough time had passed for a response to reach her, she was too keyed up over what Gabriel’s answer would be not to make the effort to check. Now that the rains had stopped, the streets were almost dry, which made walking easier and reduced the time she’d been spending scraping dried mud from her skirt hems.

  On one visit, she spotted an outdated newspaper left behind by a guest and carried it to the registration desk where the owner flipped through a book. “Excuse me, Missus Ames. I hate to interrupt.”

  The dark-haired woman looked up and smiled. “Not at all, Missus Crass. Did you have a question?”

  She held up the folded circular. “I saw this newspaper lying on a side table in the lobby. Do you mind if I take it?”

  “Go right ahead.” She waved a hand toward the periodical. “I’ve read it…twice. You know it’s dated a couple weeks ago, right?”

  “I do, but I’m hungry for news of the world outside the town limits.” She wished for something more to say to prolong the conversation but couldn’t think of anything. The hotel owner’s open expression and even tone were appreciated when so many others either avoided her or use clipped sentences. “Well, thank you.” After tucking the newspaper under her left arm, Dulcina took a step away from the counter.

  “Of course. I was about ready to use it in my next fire.” She tilted her head and smiled again. “Maybe the letter you’re looking for will come in the next postal delivery.”

  How gracious. Dulcina had heard Missus Ames was raised on a Southern plantation and attended a ladies’ school. The woman had the best manners. “I hope so, and thanks again.” After a wave good-bye, she walked through the door and into the warm afternoon sunshine. Pausing on the boardwalk, she opened her parasol embroidered with large tulip desi
gns. How glad she was when the weather heated enough to fold away her woolen cloak and put it into the big trunk. Out from storage came two lightweight crocheted shawls—one gray and the other lilac.

  For one happy afternoon, she’d worn the lilac wrap in her bedroom, preening in front of the mirror and admiring the way the color accented her skin. Then she’d gone downstairs and dumped it in a bucket of black dye so the gay-colored garment didn’t offend any of the widows. One inch-long section had sat above the surface and was lighter than the rest. The spot was always hidden by the knot she tied in the tails, but Dulcina knew it was there, and reached to touch it.

  Back at the saloon, she hurried up to her bedroom to peruse the newspaper without interruption. Having Ralph learn that she searched out job openings for singers elsewhere might make him seek other employment. For now, she needed to keep the saloon operating, to ensure the possibility of securing a buyer should she need to sell in a hurry. She flipped to the last pages of the Deseret Evening News where the classified ads were. On the inside of the back page, she spotted an advertisement for a new theater called The Galaxy opening soon in Denver. Performers of all types were encouraged to contact Harold Pritchard with resumes.

  Without knowing Gabriel’s response, she had to investigate options where she was more protected. She dashed off a letter to Mister Pritchard explaining her experience and rushed down the street to The Ridge Hotel. “Missus Ames. I have a letter.”

  “Oh?” The woman looked up from several pieces of mail on the registration desk. “Well, you’re just in time.” She held out a hand. “The drivers haven’t returned from their midday meal at the Crystal Café.” Lifting the folded paper, she glanced at the address. “The postage is ten cents.”

  Although her cash was dwindling, Dulcina looked on the sum as an investment in her future. She passed over the coin. “And it will go out today?”