by Carol Grace
“It’s just a soufflé,” she said breathlessly.
“That’s not what I meant.”
She pulled away and opened the oven to check on the soufflé. She could get used to it, too, having Josh come home every night to her. But she didn’t dare. She had to get back to the farm as soon as possible, to make that break as easy as possible before she was hopelessly entangled, hopelessly in love. She was in love, she admitted to herself, but not hopelessly, not yet.
They ate on the balcony. He told her about the weavers’ new alpaca sheep and about the new group of hat makers who had just applied for a loan. They laughed. They talked. They drank coffee and lapsed into a comfortable silence. Too comfortable. Catherine stood and looked into the living room.
“Where have you been sleeping?”
“On the floor in my sleeping bag.”
“I’ll take the floor. I’ve been in your bed for days now. It’s your turn.”
He took his coffee and stood by the door to the balcony. “No, it isn’t.”
“I’m much better. I won’t put you out much longer.”
His eyes made a tour of the long shirt that grazed her knees. “You look better, but you’re not well yet.” He set his cup down and crossed the room to tilt her chin with his thumb. “What’s your hurry? The women seem to be doing fine without you. The truck’s being repaired. Until then they’ll ride in with Tomás.”
“I feel guilty. Farmers aren’t allowed to get sick or take vacations. I’m restless.” The first part was true. There were always cows to be milked and horses to feed. The last part wasn’t. She wasn’t restless. She was happy to lie in bed and look at the view from Josh’s window all day, then make dinner for him at night. But she didn’t want him to know how happy she was. He might get the wrong idea. And she knew that when she got well she would be restless and she’d leave.
The next night Josh brought a flat of strawberry plants the women had sent her and a clay pot. “They said they noticed my balcony had a southeast exposure, perfect for strawberries.”
Catherine pressed her finger into the damp soil. “They’re right,” she said. The next day she planted them in the pot, a feeling of contentment stealing over her as she felt the sun on her back and the soil between her fingers.
A week went by. The women sent tomato plants next and squash seedlings until the balcony was almost full and Catherine told Josh to tell them to stop. So they sent food instead, and Catherine cooked more dinners. After dinner they talked and laughed and fell silent and thought.
“Will you water these plants when I leave?” she asked one evening.
“If you’ll take them when I leave,” he said.
She nodded. She didn’t want to know when that was. He hadn’t asked her again to go back with him. He didn’t talk about going back to Boston, so she didn’t, either. But she figured he didn’t have many weeks left here.
He finally had to admit that she was well enough to leave. The doctor had made a final examination. The bump had receded on her forehead. The pain still came when she made a sudden movement, but the color was back in her cheeks. Wearing the cleaned and repaired pant suit she’d started out in on that rainy day, she stood and looked around the apartment, her gaze lingering on the balcony where they’d spent so much time.
Josh stood at the door, holding his breath. The pain in his chest made him wonder if he hadn’t broken a few ribs, too. The past weeks had been a taste of what could be, and he wanted more, a whole lifetime more. But if she didn’t feel it, didn’t want it, it was better that he know now. If there was going to be a painful separation, he wanted to get it over with now.
Finally she turned and gave him a bright smile. He exhaled slowly. That was it. Nothing. This magic time had meant nothing to her. Just a brief interlude, an inconvenience. He smiled back, feeling the skin tighten at the corners of his mouth.
He drove her back to Palomar. It was a warm, sunny day, and they drove past the place where she’d gone over the bank. Only a few rocks were left on the road to remind them how slick it had been, to bring back the fear and terror he’d felt looking down through the trees.
They exchanged looks, but he didn’t stop. And he didn’t linger at the farm. He said he’d let her know when he got the report from the geologist on the mine, and she said she’d see him at the bank. He kissed her on the cheek and she turned and hurried into her house.
She went through the rooms, opening windows and airing them out. It was good to be back, good to be able to walk out the front door and into the fields. But at night she set two plates on the table by mistake and suddenly her eyes filled with tears. She put her head down on the kitchen table and sobbed uncontrollably for no reason.
She told herself it was a delayed reaction from the accident. She told herself she’d been holding the tears back all this time. When Josh was around, she had to be brave, but now that she was alone, there was no need. By the second day she admitted it to herself. She was alone and she was lonely.
She didn’t do anything about it, though. What could she do? Tell him she missed him? Tell him she loved him? Loved him, but not enough to go back with him. Not enough to spend the rest of her life pulling weeds from a postage-stamp yard.
When they went to town, she looked for him at the bank, but when she saw him he smiled briefly and hurried away. He must be busy tying things up before he left. He looked worried and harassed. He had circles under his eyes. But then she didn’t look very good, either. She hoped he didn’t notice. Probably not. He never got close enough.
Jacinda got close to him. She told Catherine the truck was fixed. He’d have someone bring it to the market next week. Jacinda was the one who told her when he was leaving.
Out in the berry patch Jacinda looked puzzled. “What is wrong with Señor Bentley that he has not yet asked for your hand in marriage?” she demanded. Catherine didn’t know what to say without unleashing a full-scale argument. “This is the correct way to do it,” she continued, “then take you back with him. Why not?”
Catherine reached across Jacinda to pick a handful of berries. “Perhaps he thinks I wouldn’t go.”
Jacinda pursed her lips. “What nonsense. Anyone can see you love him.”
“Sometimes love isn’t enough. As you know, Mr. Bentley works in the city and lives there, too. You saw his apartment. Can you imagine me in such a place?”
“If you loved him,” Jacinda replied.
“I’m afraid I don’t love him enough for that,” Catherine said slowly.
“There is only one way to find out,” Jacinda said.
Catherine waited, but Jacinda didn’t say what that was.
The day before he was to leave Catherine hadn’t gotten the plants from Josh’s balcony, nor had she heard from him about the results from the mine. So instead of riding home with the women, she gathered her courage and went to Josh’s apartment. He wasn’t there, but the doorman remembered her and let her into the penthouse. The living room was full of boxes, the same boxes she’d helped him open only a short time ago.
She thought of the picture of his father and how he’d come to terms with his inheritance. It no longer seemed important to him if the mine paid off or not except for the others. For himself he’d found something more valuable—his father’s memory.
She sat in the dark on the floor of the balcony, her body trembling, waiting for him. She was trying to decide what to say. She held her hands up to her eyes to block out the peripheral light so she could locate Scorpio, the constellation that had gotten her into this situation in the first place.
She pictured herself on the farm where she’d grown up, but the outlines of the house and the fields were just as fuzzy as the outline of Scorpio. It had been almost two years since she’d left the land of her birth. Long enough to grieve over the lost land and her lost heritage. Josh had learned to put his loss behind him and move on. Wasn’t it time she did the same?
The front door opened. Josh stumbled on a box in the dark and swo
re. She jumped to her feet. The door swung closed behind him. She waited while his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, wiping her damp palms against her skirt.
“I didn’t know anyone was here,” he said after a pause.
“The doorman let me in. I didn’t want you to leave without ...” All of a sudden her nerve deserted her and she faltered.
He crossed the room and joined her on the balcony. “Without saying goodbye. Of course. I meant to come by the market, but they had a surprise party after work. Then it was too late. I thought you’d have left.”
His voice was cool and reserved. How could he talk to her that way if he really loved her?
She looked around at the bare walls, at the hallway to the bedroom, toward the kitchen. “I’ve missed you,” she said, the pain rising in her chest. “I’ve missed this place.”
He stared at her. “I thought you hated this place.”
“I thought I did, too. But I discovered I’d rather live in the city with you than anywhere else without you.”
“Even Boston?” he asked incredulously, afraid to believe his ears.
She felt her lips curve into a smile. She hadn’t smiled much since she’d left this place weeks ago. “Even Boston.”
He put his arms around her and held her tightly. “Is that a proposal?”
She slid her arms around his neck. “I know I’m supposed to wait until you ask my parents for my hand, but I’m an American, and American women sometimes take matters into their own hands.”
“Thank God,” he muttered against her ear.
“I’m not free for three months, though. Until then I belong to the Peace Corps.”
He pulled back to see happiness spilling from her dark eyes. If she didn’t have three ribs still mending, he would have crushed her to him and swung her around the living room.
“I’ll need three months to find a place for us to live, someplace with a field or an orchard that’s within commuting distance to the city,” he said.
She pressed her hands together, unable to resist the tidal wave of joy that threatened to engulf her. All this and green grass, too.
“Josh,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. I meant what I said. I’ll live anywhere with you. I came here to teach people how to farm. But I learned much more—how to let go of what’s gone, and how to love. You can’t take all the credit,” she said, taking his face in her hands. “Just most of it.” She brought his mouth down to hers and gave him the most profound kiss he’d ever had.
Moments later he broke away and looked down at her. “If you were completely well...” he said shakily.
“I’ve never felt better in my life,” she assured him.
He lifted her into his arms. “Are you trying to get me to take you back to that bed in there?” His eyes were smoky blue.
“Mmm,” she answered, lowering her mouth to his for another kiss.
He stopped at the doorway to the bedroom. “Catherine,” he said, “you still can’t do anything that requires vigorous movement or concentration.’’
“Those are the only kinds of things I want to do.”
“Me, too, but we’ll wait until your ribs are back together again. I’ll give you three months to heal and plan the wedding.”
She gazed off dreamily. “It’ll be like Magdalena’s in the village church.” He set her on the bed, and she looked up at him, her eyes wide and luminous. “Sleep with me,” she said. “I thought about you sleeping in this bed with me every night I spent here.” She saw the worry lines form in his forehead. “No vigorous movements,” she promised. “Just hold me. All night long.”
She wore his one clean shirt that wasn’t packed and her cotton bikini panties. He wore the flannel shirt he was planning to leave behind and pin-striped boxer shorts. Josh pulled the comforter up over them, carefully tucking it over her shoulders. He held her gently, as if she might break, remembering the time when she almost did.
She shifted to feel the weight of his body against hers. His hard planes and muscles pressed against her soft hollows. She sighed with happiness.
His hand cupped her breast and he felt her heart race. He couldn’t sleep. He wouldn’t sleep until he got on the plane tomorrow. “Oh, no. I almost forgot.”
She turned to face him. “What?”
“The report from the geologist.”
“It must not be good news or you wouldn’t have forgotten.”
“Good news and bad news. The bad news is that there was no silver in any of the samples. The good news is that the rock you picked up is zinc, ruby zinc, to be exact. You have good taste in rocks.” He caressed her bottom lip with his thumb.
“Why, is it valuable?” She absorbed his touch and the clean male scent of his skin.
“It is if there’s enough of it. So they’re going to send a team to do a survey.”
“That would be the icing on the cake,” she said, her cheek against his. “So it does work.”
He inhaled the fragrance of her hair, still unable to believe that she was here in his bed, in his arms. “What?” he asked lazily.
“Sleeping on a piece of wedding cake. I dreamed about you that night.”
He kissed her eyelids. “Will you dream about me tonight?”
“Every night,” she promised. “Until you get back.”
Epilogue
A hush fell over the small village church when the bride appeared on the arm of her father. Her dress was white satin and had been worn by her mother and her grandmother before her. The women whispered that her mother had brought it on the plane all the way from California.
The groom’s blue eyes never left the face of his bride. They’d been separated these past few months, and he drank in the sight of her like a thirsty man who’d been too long in the desert. The service was in Spanish, but the vows were in English. The kiss was all-American, all-promising and all-consuming.
The guests who threw tiny grains of wheat at the couple in front of the church were dressed in their Sunday best. The men, home from the mines for good, wore their dark suits for the second time in recent months.
The reception was held at Jacinda’s, where a tent had been set up to protect the guests from the sun and shade the bountiful buffet the women had been preparing all week.
Catherine introduced Old Pedro to her father. “He’s the richest man in town,” she explained, “with his shares of the zinc mine.”
Pedro looked down at his scuffed shoes. “Money does not buy happiness,” he told them. “I was happy before the mine was reopened. I am still happy. Fixing drainpipes, making gutters. But for them...” He waved a gnarled hand at the men clustered around the barbecue in their shiny suits. “The money from the shares belonging to their fathers and grandfathers has changed their lives. They have come back to work in the village where they belong. To help with the plowing, or building or keeping their wives happy.” His smile revealed a gap between his front teeth.
Catherine realized she’d never noticed it because she’d never seen him smile before. He wasn’t the only one smiling. On the other side of the tent Jacinda took Josh aside to extend her congratulations. Josh didn’t think anyone could be happier than he was, but Jacinda was basking in the glow of another successful wedding. And she wasn’t too shy to take all the credit for it.
“Señor Bentley,” she said, twisting her gold necklace around her fingers. “I remember the first day I saw you with the mangoes in your hand. It was then I knew you were destined for our Catalina. Since that time I have worked long and hard for this day.” She sighed dramatically and wiped her forehead with her handkerchief.
Josh was glad he remembered enough Spanish to thank her profusely for her efforts. When the brass band began to play, she waltzed away to join the dancers. Beyond the twirling figures of the guests, Josh saw Catherine framed by her parents on either side of her. When he reached her, her mother drew a glass jar from a bag and presented it to Catherine.
“It’s just dirt from the farm,” she explained. “I sav
ed it for you. I thought you might want it—” her voice caught “—for sentimental reasons.”
Catherine held the jar up and gazed at the dirt inside reverently. “Look,” she said to Josh, “I can use it to start my garden at our new house.” Her eyes misted over as she looked from her father to her mother.
“We knew you thought it was wrong to sell,” her mother said.
Catherine shook her head, unable to speak.
“But we did what we thought was best,” her father finished.
Catherine hugged her mother tightly. “I know that. And what’s even better than the dirt are the memories you gave me of a happy childhood. Nobody can ever take them away from me.” She looked over her mother’s shoulder at her new husband. “Ask Josh. He’s heard about the barn kittens and the sweaters you knit me until he can’t take any more.”
“Not true,” he assured her. “I can take a lot more. Just try me. How about a dance, Mrs. Bentley?”
She looked around. “Who, me?”
He took her into his arms. The brass band had retired and the guitarist played a Spanish love song. They moved across the patio in time to the music, and he gazed into her eyes as if they were alone under the tent, with the breeze blowing the scent of fresh hay from the fields.
“Have I told you how glad I am I came to this country?” he said with his lips against her ear.
“You found the treasure you’ve been looking for all your life,” she murmured.
“You’re so right,” he said, his hand against the white satin, pressing her close.
She blushed. “I meant the mine.” She held up her hand to look at the ring he had made from the rock she had discovered in the mine.
“That, too. The zinc, my father, myself and you. And not necessarily in that order.”
She smiled against his cheek. “I showed my parents the picture of our new house. They think on five acres I can grow enough hay for a couple of cows and a horse or two.”
He moved his head to look in her eyes. “Save room for the pair of llamas I’m giving you.”
Her eyes filled with tears again. “Oh, Josh, really?”
