by Carla Kelly
But Diego was awake. “I was thinking, Maria,” he said, then looked at her. “Maria? Wake up.”
She opened her eyes.
“That is better. Now, just for a moment. I was thinking I could walk ahead to Santa Fe tonight. You and the girls are safe here, and perhaps I could bring back help, or at least horses.”
Maria shook her head. “No. We must stay together. Suppose you were killed? Suppose you could not go any farther? How would we know what had happened?”
He sighed. “I suppose you are right. It was just an idea. I am not so sure I could leave you, anyway. I have had enough of leave-taking.”
“I, too. Let us stay here tomorrow and start walking again after dark. Besides, you saw all those Indians on the Taos road.”
“So I did. Do you imagine ...”
“... there is anyone left in Santa Fe?” she finished.
“Querida, we could be the only Spaniards left in the entire province.”
“I have thought of that, too,” she replied, snuggling back down in the hollow of his shoulder.
“Well, what happens to us?” he asked, leaning against the rock wall and resting his head on Maria’s.
“I do not know, Diego mio,” she replied, her eyes closed. “Let us think about it tomorrow.” They slept then, while the moon crossed the sky and gave way to a new day on the river kingdom.
Maria woke first. She opened her eyes, wondering why she wasn’t in her own bed, smelling hot chocolate brewing in the kitchen, listening for the rattle of pans. Her head was in Diego’s lap and his arm was heavy across her body. Then it all came back to her. She sat up carefully, trying not to disturb Diego, who still slept. He did not wake when she pulled herself out from under his arm. She felt his forehead. He was hot with fever.
“Is he dead, Maria?” whispered Catarina from across the cave.
“No, no, child,” Maria replied quietly, stifling her own fears in front of the children. “Just ill. Let us come away and not waken him.” She went to the sisters and sat with her arms around them.
“Maria, I am hungry,” said Luz. Her eyes were big in the gloom of the cave.
Maria pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “You know what your brother says. This is one of those times we have to cut our cloak to fit the cloth.”
Luz was silent a moment. “But I’m still hungry, Maria.”
Maria smiled. “I know. Words are cheap, especially when your stomach speaks a different language. We will find something to eat tonight.”
“But that is a long time,” argued Luz.
“Then go back to sleep,” said Maria, coaxing Luz to lie down. “The time will go faster then, will it not?”
Luz put her head in Maria’s lap and sighed. “Perhaps. I am so hungry I would even eat bread pudding.”
Maria patted the child. “That tells me something. But think of it this way, my child. Think how good whatever it is will taste tonight when we do find something!”
Luz nodded and closed her eyes. Catarina curled up on Maria’s other side, looking up at her. “And you, Catarina,” murmured Maria. “How goes it with you?”
“I find adventures are not as much fun as I thought, Maria.”
“They seldom are, my child.”
Maria closed her eyes and dozed restlessly. She awakened to Diego, standing over her. He sat down and pulled Catarina gently to his lap, stroking her shoulders as she slept on. “Maria querida,” he said softly, looking at his little sister, “do you think we will ever sleep like that again?”
Maria’s eyes filled with tears. She bowed her head over Luz and tried to gulp back her sobs. Diego quickly pulled her close to him and put his arm around her. Catarina stirred but did not waken. Diego’s fingers were gentle on Maria’s neck.
“I am sorry,” he whispered. “But I think I will never close my eyes again without seeing Cristóbal hanging at the end of my scarf. My own brother. Dios, what a sin I have committed! Or Erlinda, lying on that chest. Or Mama’s eyes.” His voice faltered, and he hugged Maria tighter. She put her arms around him in wordless attempt at solace, and they slept again.
When Maria woke again, the shadows were lengthening across the cave front, and Luz and Catarina were gone. She jumped up, waking Diego, who grabbed her ankle in a sudden reflex as she tried to run.
“Hold still, Maria,” he ordered, “don’t run out of the cave!”
“But Luz, Catarina!” she implored, trying to pry his fingers off her ankle.
“You listen to me, Maria, for once!” She stopped struggling and he let go of her ankle. He looked around the cave, then crawled to the front, where he found his dagger. “Stay here, Maria. I will find them. ”
She squatted on her heels by the cave entrance. She could almost see the girls running slowly across a field, their hair floating behind them, followed by Indians, all the Indians in the river kingdom. Indians large and dark like Popeh, Indians slim and graceful like Cristóbal. But not Cristóbal. He was hanging dead at the end of Diego’s scarf.
Diego was back almost before he was gone, shepherding his two sisters in front of him. The girls carried something between them, and they called to her even as Diego hissed at them to be quiet.
They carried honeycomb. As the girls clambered up the rocks toward the cave, Maria saw that one of Catarina’s eyes was swollen shut, her face puffy. In spite of her obvious discomfort, she grinned at Maria.
Maria stepped out of the cave, braced herself against a boulder and reached for Luz. Diego boosted both sisters up to her and followed them in. The girls set the honeycomb down on a rock by Maria carefully, as if it were gold. They stood together, their backs straight, their hands behind them, looking up at Diego. Maria saw the muscles in his face working as he tried to control himself. He turned away, quivering with anger.
Maria put her arms around the girls and shook them. They were sticky everywhere she touched. “Luz, Catarina, how could you!”
Tears rolled down Luz’s sticky, dirty cheeks. “Maria, we did not think Señor Gutierrez would mind if we took just a little honey. It was a beehive by itself in his field.”
Diego let out an explosive sigh and turned around. His face was white under his growth of beard. “Niñas ..." he began, but could not speak.
“My darlings,” said Maria, shaking them again, and then pulling Luz to her. “I am sure that Señor Gutierrez does not mind.” He will probably never know, she thought. “But suppose an Indian saw you! Niñas, we would all be dead now.”
Catarina burst out, “Like Mama and Erlinda?”
It was the first time either sister had mentioned the events at Las Invernadas. Catarina exploded into helpless sobs that came from deep within her. Diego drew her to him and held her close. “Go ahead, hermana mia," he crooned, all anger gone. “You will feel better.” He rocked her in his arms, humming one of his Indian tunes.
Luz looked at Maria. “I want some honey,” she said simply.
Maria smiled in spite of herself. “Well, then, you shall have some. Get your brother’s dagger and choose your own slice. ”
Luz took Diego’s dagger from his belt and knelt by the honey. She frowned, holding the dagger first this way, then that way. She hesitated and looked at Maria. “Erlinda would say I should be fair,” she explained.
“Erlinda taught you well,” replied Maria, the words almost sticking in her throat. “Make it even, and then you say the blessing. ”
Luz glanced up from her effort. “Me?”
“You know the words. Diego will not mind.”.
Luz brought the dagger down, separating the honeycomb into lumpy fourths. She put the dagger on the rock and crossed herself. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts,” she prayed, her eyes shut tight. “And please do not let Señor Gutierrez be angry. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, Amen.”
She crossed herself again and picked up the honeycomb in one swift motion. Catarina sat up on Diego’s lap, watching her sister eat. She wiped her eyes and jo
ined Luz, picking up a section of honeycomb.
“After you, Maria querida,” said Diego, wiping his knife on his leather breeches and putting it back in his belt.
Maria picked up the honeycomb with thumb and forefinger. It was dusted with a fine coating of grit, but she pulled off a piece and put it in her mouth, enjoying the flavor of Señor Gutierrez’s honey.
Diego sat cross-legged on the floor of the cave and put the remaining piece in his mouth. He closed his eyes and chewed on the wax. “I haven’t had anything to eat since the night we came back from making your San Francisco, Maria.”
“That was long ago, Diego,” she said, licking her fingers.
“Seems like years.” He chewed and swallowed, then flashed a wolfish grin. “The governor did not even offer me any wine when I threw myself into his office.”
“I can’t imagine what he was thinking,” Maria handed Diego the rest of her honeycomb.
He shook his head, but when she continued to hold the gray lump out to him, he took it from her with a smile. “I’ll pay you back someday,” he said.
“No need,” she replied, and quickly wiped her sticky fingers in his hair. Catarina whooped with laughter, and Luz’s eyes were wide as she watched her brother anxiously.
Without missing a beat, Diego grabbed Maria with his one good arm, turned her on her back and sat on her. Maria freed one hand and began to tickle him.
Giggling, Catarina came closer, while Luz stuck two fingers in her mouth and continued to stare at her brother. But gradually she started to laugh, too.
“I surrender!” Diego finally gasped and flopped down next to Maria on the ground, still laughing. Then he grabbed her again and pulled her over on top of him. Her hair came undone from her few remaining hairpins, and his hands tangled in its thickness as he kissed her on the mouth. He tasted like honey, and Maria started to laugh again.
“Will you never be serious?” he murmured, then tried to let go of her hair, but it clung to his hands in sticky patches. He pulled her close again. “I vow we are yoked together, Maria,” he said, his voice caressing. “Marry me. ”
She sat up quickly. “Oh, no,” she said, tugging at her hair even as he drew her close again.
“What possible objection can you have now, querida?” he asked, pulling her down until her head was on his chest again. “I am poor. You are poor. We have not one possession between us, so it cannot be money anymore. Can it be that you do not love me?”
She didn’t answer, lying there with her cheek against his doublet, a smile on her face. Luz and Catarina had turned back to the flecks of honey remaining on the rock.
“Well?” he said. He tried to tip her head up, but she would not look at him. She lay listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, her eyes closed.
“Well?” he prompted again.
Maria sat up. “I love you, Diego,” she said.
His eyes opened wide. “Somehow, I did not think I would ever live to hear you say that,” he said. “So you will marry me,” he said, pulling her hand to rest on his chest.
“I didn’t say that,” Maria replied. “I said that I loved you.”
He sat up suddenly. “Dios mio! You are a difficult woman!” he shouted, and then looked around him as the sound echoed in the cave. Luz and Catarina were still seated by the rock, picking at the honeycomb. Diego lay down again, whispering in her ear. “Will you marry me, Maria? ”
She turned to look at him. “And I have a question for you, querido. Do you really think we will live much beyond tomorrow or the next day? ”
He was silent, looking at the stone shelter above them. “I doubt it, Maria, but do answer me this: If by some miracle we get to Santa Fe and find a priest, will you marry me?”
“Of course,” she replied promptly. “My grandfather—and he knew what he was talking about—always used to say that it is poverty that makes the man.”
Diego laughed. “So you think I will be better for being poor? Make you a better husband, eh?” he said, his hand caressing her hip.
She put his hand back on his chest, her voice suddenly serious. “I think it will be a long time before you presume to call anyone your Indians again. I only hope your education does not begin too late.”
“Aiyee, you have stabbed me. But perhaps your abuelo was right. Perhaps I have learned something.”
Maria ran her fingers over the gypsum bandage on Diego’s arm. His skin was still hot to her touch, but his arm was not as swollen. He touched her sticky face, then licked his finger. “You are sweet to me, Maria, and in spite of everything, I am a happy man.” He held her close to him, gently rubbing her neck. “A day at a time, a sunrise, a sunset, another day. Do not think beyond that. And I am a happy man. Who would have thought it?”
They sat that way for a while, then Diego rose and went to the entrance to the cave. “We are close to the Gutierrez estancia. Perhaps there will be something to eat. Then we will follow the river and branch off toward Santa Fe.”
Diego motioned to his sisters. “Let us go. Catarina, you walk with me, and you, Luz, stay with Maria. Do not say anything, no matter what you see or hear. Do you understand?” Both girls nodded, impressed by the steel in his voice. “And do not ever, ever leave us,” he added quietly.
Diego let himself down from the cave, holding his good arm up for Catarina and then Luz. When the girls were standing beside him, Maria followed. She took Diego’s hand and steadied her way down the rocky pile. When they were on level ground again, Diego put his arm around her waist, leaning toward her. “Over there, across the river, is the Gutierrez place. Can you see it?”
She shook her head.
“Well, it is there, or I suppose it was there. I propose that we cross the river, hide the girls in the Gutierrez cornfield and look around.”
The silence of death was on the land. Maria shivered in the cool night air. The stars bright overhead seemed to dangle just on top of them. The trees thickened as they neared the river, the smell of piñon almost overwhelming. But along with the piñon was another smell, a sweetish odor. The smell was death.
They crossed a little-used road. Maria could make out several large whitish lumps lying across the narrow path. Diego drew closer to examine the bodies and then returned to his women. Maria covered Luz’s ears. “The Gutierrez family?” she whispered.
He looked at her, then glanced away. “No. Cousins of my mother’s from Taos.”
They reached the river quickly. Diego and Maria had to hold the girls back to keep them from rushing to the stream to drink. “It is such actions that will see us all dead, Catarina,” Diego whispered to his sister as he held her back. “I will go ahead and look around first, and then you will follow with Maria.” He disappeared among the trees.
The girls crowded close to Maria, shivering in the cool of the night. “Pobrecitas,” Maria said, “and still you wear only your nightgowns.”
“It is night,” said Luz, her teeth chattering.
“Ay, you have hit on it,” Maria replied. “How you sound like Diego!”
Diego was coming back through the trees. “I see no sign of anyone at the river, although there were some tracks from a fairly recent crossing. I would beg you to move silently.”
They hurried to the river. Although the water was still low with the season of drought, it was swift, and came to the girls’ waists. Luz gasped when she stepped into the water. She bent forward for a swift drink, lapping like a small animal. Catarina crossed the stream, then knelt at the water’s edge for a drink.
“While we are here, get the honey out of your hair,” Diego said to Maria. She knelt in the stream and ducked her head under. Diego waded slightly downstream where the water was deeper. Maria followed him, calling to him, “Diego, don’t put your arm under or the gypsum will melt.”
“Help me.”
She followed him to where the water was waist deep and held his bandaged arm while he put his face in the water and worked the wetness through his curly black hair. They walked s
lowly upstream together, dripping wet, their arms around each other. “That is better,” said Diego. “I think I would rather be wet than sticky. Now, if we can only find some ....”
The word died in his throat. He was looking at the bank behind his sisters and pushed Maria down in the water.
An Indian stood watching them from the riverbank. He stood behind the children, who huddled together by the water’s edge, staring up at him. Diego lumbered upstream in the water, calling to his sisters, his voice agonized. He took out his knife as he struggled through the water. Maria stood and followed him, pausing only long enough to pick up a rock from the streambed.
As she watched in helpless fear, the Indian slowly pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back, placed it against the bow he raised, and aimed at the girls.
Luz rose suddenly and pushed Catarina in the water, where she floundered and drifted slightly downstream toward Diego. As the Indian watched, Luz started up the bank toward him, her teeth bared, her expression terrible. She paused to pick up a stick and her face went pale with anger as she struggled up the riverbank, and the Indian began to laugh at her.
Diego was still struggling against the swift current, his arm raised with the knife in it. Maria snapped her arm back and threw the rock, sobbing in fury because she was sure she would miss him.
The rock hit the Indian in the stomach. At that moment Diego threw.
All of them watched the knife spinning end over end through the air. It struck the Indian between the eyes. He dropped to his knees. Luz gasped and put her hands to her mouth as she scrambled out of the way. With his fingers still clawing at the handle that protruded from his forehead, the Indian tumbled down the bank, a dead man.
Luz stumbled back to the river’s edge, reaching for Catarina. The two girls stood in the water as Maria waded toward them. “He was going to kill you, Catarina,” Luz said simply.
“But what of you, Luz?” Catarina finally managed to say when she found her voice again.
“But you don’t understand,” Luz insisted, the same doggedness in her eyes as when she climbed the bank with her puny stick. “I love you!”
