Inside the Riverwalk itself, they walked along the shaded sidewalk without talking. The afternoon was bright and not too hot, with relatively low humidity, given the proximity to the water. They had to dodge afternoon shoppers, though not nearly as many as Owen had experienced during summer tourist seasons. The water flowed calm and brown, with the occasional tour boat drifting by.
Bernadette seemed withdrawn, though she allowed him to keep hold of her hand. She glanced at people eating at the sidewalk cantinas and restaurants and watched shoppers going in and out of the stores, smiling only at the children skipping along with parents or grandparents. He couldn’t quite interpret her expression. Pensive, maybe.
He finally bumped her shoulder gently with his arm. “What are you thinking about?”
She blinked and looked up at him. “It’s just so…odd, being in this hedonistic tourist trap. You know, after all we saw and went through last week. I guess I’m having a little bit of culture shock.”
“I can understand that. But I’m not going to feel guilty for being an American. For having a good job, making money and being able to spend it on what I like.” He squeezed her hand. “And right now, I like spending it on you. I want to buy you something.” He gestured grandly at an array of shops to their right. “How about some ice cream or something?”
“I think I’d rather save my appetite for supper—some barbecue, maybe.” She wrinkled her nose. “But before I forget, I’ll tell you what I do need. We have to split up for a few minutes. Isabel gave me some money to buy a few personal items. Is there someplace I can find things fairly inexpensive?”
“Your wish is my command, ma’am. There’s a little dollar store down at the end of Houston Street, I think. Let’s go.”
THIRTEEN
While Bernadette was in the dollar store, Owen wandered down the walkway by himself. Hands in the pockets of the jeans he’d borrowed from Eli, he peered into shop windows without much interest. If he and Benny were going to buy clothes, the mall would have been a better choice. But he’d wanted to give her a relaxing afternoon.
Shopping wasn’t his idea of relaxation.
Maybe he’d take her on one of those riverboat tours, even though they’d both heard all the San Antonio history so many times they could probably spout it with the tour guide. Then he’d buy her dinner in an outdoor restaurant, where they could hear the mariachi bands from the Mexican cantinas.
He saw an empty bench under a stand of fan-leaf palms and thought about sitting down. The sound of running water surrounded him, and lush greenery and flowers filled every nook and cranny. The parks commission went to a lot of trouble to keep the place clean. Even the pigeons were well behaved.
Too restless to sit, he crossed an arched stone bridge to check out a knife store on the other side of the river. Bernadette wanted him to meet her back at the dollar store in an hour, so he had plenty of time to kill.
He’d been buying knives as souvenirs since he was a kid and had quite a collection back in Del Rio. This shop had a decent selection—the bone-handled switchblade was pretty nice, but it was also priced for tourists. He knew of a little hole on Durango Street where he could pick up the same thing for about half the price.
Keeping his wallet in his pocket, he went back outside and walked on. This wasn’t nearly as much fun without Bernadette. Eli always told him the class clown needed an audience. Well, maybe so, but he couldn’t help it. She’d been gone for fifteen minutes and he was already lonesome.
Three doors down, a jewelry store caught his eye.
He’d never voluntarily been inside one, though his mom occasionally dragged him and Eli with her when they were on vacation. Without knowing why, he made a beeline for the glass-fronted shop. He propped his hands flat against the window and stared at glamorous displays of rings, bracelets and necklaces on blue velvet. Gold and silver and platinum settings, filled with stones of every description.
His gaze immediately latched on to a simple smoky topaz ring, emerald cut, set in gold. Not too big, not too small—just really elegant—it sat on an island to itself, as if disdainful of the bling surrounding it.
Wouldn’t that look great on Bernadette’s small, long-fingered hand?
Like she would ever let him give her a ring. He could just hear her now. Owen, what would people think if I let you start giving me things?
They’d think we were engaged. A real couple.
The idea had built in slow stages for so long he couldn’t have pinpointed when it started. Now that it was in his head, he couldn’t get it out.
He was going to ask her to marry him. Not now, when her attention was on dealing with whatever drew her to Memphis. Not until they caught the shooter.
But one day soon. What if he bought her a ring now and saved it for the right time?
Eli would tell him to wait. Be patient. Let her pick out her engagement ring. But come to think of it, Eli had picked out Isabel’s ring and she hadn’t objected one bit.
Pushing open the jewelry store’s front door, he walked into cool air-conditioning, quiet music, deep carpet. I’m gonna drop some money in here.
Overtime is your friend.
“Hi, can I help you?” An elegant woman put down a watchband she’d been polishing and approached him from across the counter.
“I’m just looking at rings,” he blurted. Where had his famous easygoing charm flown off to? His heart was racing like a cutting horse. He took a calming breath.
She smiled. “For you or for a lady?”
“A lady. A young lady I’m thinking about…” His hand went around the back of his neck.
Her eyes lit. “An engagement ring?”
“Yeah.” Now that he’d said it out loud, confidence took over. “I’m just beginning to look around. She doesn’t know yet.” Boy, that was the understatement of the year.
“All right. Did you just want to look, or do you want me to show you something specific?”
“How about that smoky topaz in the front window? I like that.”
“Topaz for an engagement ring? That’s kind of unusual.”
“Would it be wrong?” What did he know about rings?
“No, not wrong. Just different.” She walked to the window, unlocked the case and brought out the velvet display tray holding the topaz ring. “Diamond solitaires are traditional, but this is a personal thing. You know what she’d like best.” Back at the counter, she slipped the ring off its little blue velvet finger and handed it to Owen. “What’s your lady’s name? Tell me about her.”
Boy, this woman was good. He was ready to buy this ring already. “Her name’s Bernadette. She’s small, kinda dark-skinned. Long, curly black hair and black eyes. She’s a very brainy woman.”
“Brainy, huh?” The clerk gave Owen an embarrassing once-over. He was glad he’d worn a cap to cover the streaky hair. “Obviously she is if she’s got you looking at engagement rings.” She laughed when Owen squirmed. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. Would you like to look at some diamonds, too? Just to compare?”
“No, I really like this one.” He flattened his palm and held it up to catch the light. He might be impulsive, but he knew he had good taste. He hadn’t had any trouble deciding on Bernadette.
Besides, his hour was nearly up.
“I’ll take it.” He pulled out his wallet.
If the woman thought he was a certified mental patient, she hid it well. She took the ring from him, found a velvet-lined box and began the process of setting Owen back a couple months’ pay.
“I want some earrings for her, too.” He couldn’t give her the ring for a while, and he wanted something to give her tonight after dinner.
The clerk looked up from the computer cash register and blinked. “Sure. Pierced?”
“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, trying to picture Bernadette’s dainty ears. “Yeah, I think so. In fact, I think she’s got two in each ear.”
“Okay, then, look at these. It’s kind of a new thing.” She opened anothe
r case and showed him a stand of long, gold spirals that connected with each other on thin, delicate chains. “They’re called threaders.”
“Hey, that’s cool. I’ll take two pairs of those—one’s for my mom.” He cleared his throat. “Can you wrap them separate from the ring?”
“Absolutely.” She winked. “Bernadette is a very fortunate young lady.”
Recklessly, he plunked his credit card onto the counter. “I hope she’ll think so.”
Owen’s behavior had been very peculiar all afternoon. Ever since she’d met him outside the dollar store, he blushed every time she looked at him. Then he would tug on the bill of his cap, look away and ask her if she was hungry. Or thirsty. Or too hot or tired of carrying her packages.
Finally, just to shut him up, she let him buy her an ice-cream cone. They sat on a metal bench under a tree, a little way down from a big Mexican restaurant where a mariachi band, playing on the front steps, entertained passersby. A slight breeze blew fragrant odors from the restaurant, along with the sounds of the trumpets and guitars. Peppers, corn, cilantro and a hint of the bougainvillea blooming in pots near the bench.
She ate her ice cream, relaxing.
Then Owen stretched his arm along the back of the bench.
Get over yourself, she told herself, glancing at his hand dangling near her shoulder. Let him be himself.
And Owen was affectionate. He was a wonderful uncle to Eli and Isabel’s children, answering Danilo’s endless questions and admiring Mercedes’s drawings as if they ought to hang in the Louvre.
“You keep looking over your shoulder,” he said. “Mr. Hit Man couldn’t have followed us here.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Let him think she was nervous about that. She certainly hadn’t forgotten it, though she felt safe enough for now.
“Let’s take inventory. You got what you needed at the dollar store?”
She nodded, blushing. She’d had just enough money for a few intimate garments, some toiletries and makeup. “I’ll have to see about a trip to the Salvation Army thrift store when we get to Memphis, though. Now I know how people feel when they have a fire or flood.” She gave him a rueful look. “I didn’t realize how attached to my belongings I was.”
“I’m amazed how well you’ve gotten along without them. My mother would be going into a decline.”
“I’ve met your mother and she’s not that shallow. She’s a beautiful lady who loves to give. I know she’s been personally supporting a couple of my orphans.”
“Yeah, she’s all right. She’s beginning to get over my dad.” Owen scratched his nose. “I think she’s even got a boyfriend. How weird is that?”
“Not weird at all. Sounds perfectly normal to me. It’s been, what, two years since he died?”
He nodded. “About that. Seriously, I’d be glad to see her find a good man who’d keep her company. With Eli stationed over here now and me working so much…” He withdrew his arm from behind her shoulders and reached into his pocket. “Hey, I want to show you something I got for her. See what you think.”
Delayne Carmichael wasn’t the only one in her family who loved to give. Owen opened a small white box. Inside it lay a pair of fine earrings, long twists of gold unlike anything she’d ever seen.
“Ooh. Pretty….” She took out one of the earrings and let the central chain dangle across her index finger. It glinted in the late afternoon sun. “She’ll love these.”
“You like them? They’re not too gaudy or anything?”
She looked up at him. His brow was puckered, anxious. “Gaudy? Oh, no. They’re really elegant. She can wear them with anything—jeans all the way to eveningwear.” She held the golden spirals up to her own ear. “See?”
His eyes crinkled in a smile as he stared at her. But he wasn’t looking at the earrings. Something flared under her rib cage, something dangerous and as wild as the eagle he reminded her of.
When had this happened? When had she turned the corner from friendship and mild infatuation toward a growing spiritual admiration and love?
“I’m glad you like them,” he said, “because those are yours. I bought Mom some, too, but hers are silver and they’re still in my pocket.”
“They’re…mine?” All the breath left her body. “Owen, you can’t—”
“Yes, I can. I told you, I spend my money on what I like, and that means you. Come on, Isabel bought you those jeans and shirt and shoes. Can’t I buy you a pair of earrings?”
She carefully laid the earring back in the box with its mate. The box jiggled in her shaking hand.
Owen placed his palm under hers, steadying it. “You don’t have to tell anybody where they came from,” he said gently. “You’ll just know I gave them to you because I love you.”
Her gaze flashed to his. His blue-green eyes were so tender, his heart offered to her openly. She wanted to cast herself into his arms, even in this public place. “I have to tell you something,” she whispered.
“Not now. Put on the earrings and let’s go have dinner.”
“We just ate ice cream.” She gave a watery chuckle.
“Then let’s go on a boat ride and then have dinner.”
“Owen…”
He covered the earring box with his other hand, cupping hers between his. “I’m getting tired of arguing with you, lady. Will you please put them on?”
She closed her eyes to hide from his emotion. “Okay.”
It took three tries to get the delicate gold spirals threaded properly in her earlobes, and she had to ask Owen to carry the studs she’d been wearing in his pocket.
Finally, he surveyed her with obvious satisfaction. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply and took her hand to tug her to her feet. “I saw the boat-tour ticket booth across from the Hilton. Let’s go stand in line.”
Oh, dear Father, she prayed silently as they waited their turn for a boat. How did this happen? Why? You know I’m committed to serve the Mexican people. He loves me, he said! It’s not fair to him, because I have to tell him what I’ve done and it’ll change everything.
Sickening fear knotted her stomach, more painful than the terror of stopping a bullet. She’d known rejection before. But not from the man she loved.
She remembered the day she’d met Miranda Gonzales, a godly young woman who’d reached out to a brokenhearted teenage call girl. She’d been sitting on the toilet in a Peabody Hotel restroom, sobbing her eyes out because one of her lovers had decided to go back to his wife. That had turned out to be the best day of her life.
You don’t have to tell him. Let him think you were just a giddy college student and had a few boyfriends before you knew the Lord.
Meg had advised her a long time ago that she didn’t have to reveal anything she didn’t want to about her past. She’d read somewhere that sharing too many details gave glory to the adversary and wasn’t a necessary part of confession.
That was true to a point. But when her past affected her relationship with a potential life mate…
She couldn’t forget Owen’s face when she’d told him she’d been promiscuous. Shock. Momentary distaste, though he’d quickly recovered.
Oh, dear God, why did that happen to me? Why did I let it happen?
At six o’clock that evening, Briggs hit the entry point from Del Rio, Texas, going into Acuña, Coahuila, Mexico. The difference between Reynosa and Acuña was stark.
Driving a Dodge Rendezvous through the little old town, he found poverty butted up against old money like a bum sleeping next to one of the Hilton heiresses. The middle of town wasn’t so bad, though the roads could use some improvement. But the farther he got out of town, the deeper the slums.
He simply could not understand Americans who volunteered to live in poverty like this. Tiny cinderblock homes, many of them roofless, defined a patchwork stitched together with plywood, tar paper and cardboard. Most doorways and windows were uncovered, glass almost nonexistent. A thin procession of light poles lined the main highway, with a fri
ghtening number of wires extending from each pole out into the sprawling colonies.
One good streak of lightning and the whole place would go up in flames.
Once he turned off the paved road, he was in a tenement of sorts, at least fifty years back in time. Gimpy vehicles were parked along the rutted dirt roads, with an occasional yellow school bus—obviously somebody’s home-sweet-home—sitting off in a weedy patch of rocks.
Twice he stopped to ask directions—“¿Orfanato?”—and both times wound up more lost than before. Eventually he came across a young man, coming home from a day at one of the American factories on this side of the Rio Grande, who spoke enough English to get him where he was going.
Four or five twisting turns up a knotted hill and there it was: Niños de Cristos Orphanage. Two neat, whitewashed one-story buildings with tin roofs and cracked sidewalks. Off to one side a play yard with children climbing all over a swing set, a slide and monkey bars. Somebody had cared for this place.
He stopped near the front door, where a couple of little girls sat reading, and got out of the car. “¡Hola!” Smiling his charming smile, he approached the children. They looked up at him with interest but no fear. “English?”
One of the girls shook her head, but the other said, “Yes, sir. Un poco.” She gave him a gap-toothed grin. “Nicho and Faye in the kitchen.” Jerking her thumb toward the second, longer building, she went back to her book.
Nicho and Faye were the substitute houseparents, an American husband-and-wife team sitting in while the Malone woman was off on her hurricane-relief endeavor. Briggs had discovered this while pretending over the phone to be the pastor of a church interested in financially supporting the orphanage.
He could go find the houseparents, make up some story about why he needed to search Bernadette’s room. Or he could go in quickly, get the job done and leave without them any the wiser.
On Wings of Deliverance Page 14
