Three Wishes

by Lisa T. Bergren

  “Did you sleep well, Señorita Ruiz?” Doña Elena asked, as servants brought in heaps of scrambled eggs and piles of fresh tortillas and stood waiting for everyone to be seated. The men entered the dining room then, as if they’d smelled the food. Álvaro, the little, chubby baby, squawked angrily, as if smelling it too. Adalia bent to shush him, but I saw the flash of her smile.

  “I slept well,” I returned. “Thank you for asking.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Gentlemen, you know my family,” Javier said, “but allow me to introduce our guest, Señorita Ruiz. She will be staying with us for a while as she recuperates from an injury.”

  Rafael Vasquez edged over to me and took my uninjured hand in his, bowing to give it a quick kiss. “Please tell me it shall be a long while, Javier,” he said, never releasing my hand or gaze.

  “Oh, I quite doubt it,” I returned, forcing a demure smile. “I must be on my way at the earliest opportunity.” The other man, named Patricio Casales, gave me a happy nod and waited his turn to take my hand. While Rafael was all smooth movement, like a star dancer, Patricio was like an exuberant puppy.

  “What is your rush, dear woman?” Patricio asked, helping me scoot my chair farther in as Javier and Rafael took their seats. “This is one of the finest ranchos in all of Alta California. You would be hard-pressed to find better accommodations.”

  “Unless, of course, you chose to sojourn on Rancho Vasquez,” interjected Rafael, nodding my way as a maid poured steaming coffee into his cup. “An invitation that I hope you shall accept, my lady, if your host proves…difficult.”

  Javier’s eyes shifted toward him for a second. Did I read irritation in his expression? But he only sat back as the maid moved on to fill his cup and then Patricio’s. Javier glanced my way then, casually lifting his cup. “By all means, you should visit Rancho Vasquez and witness for yourself the second-best rancho in Alta California.”

  Rafael smiled good-naturedly over the jibe. After all, he’d baited his host, but it didn’t take a weather expert to feel the cooling mist move in among the men.

  “Forgive them, Señorita,” Patricio said. “It is rare for us to have a female guest at any of the ranchos, and such a beautiful guest tends to make my friends…contentious.”

  I gave him a grateful smile. He was round-faced and yet strong, with the shadow of a beard clinging to his curved cheeks. But I liked his tone, his demeanor, utterly lacking in the competition that the other two seemed all tied up in. He was pure, friendly gentility.

  The men began to speak of the ships that had just left and who was due in the following week. The rest of us dived into our breakfast, which included fresh oranges. I’d glimpsed a vineyard on the way in, but there were also orchards? I lifted a segment on my fork and leaned toward Francesca. “There is an orchard on Rancho Ventura?”

  “Indeed,” she said primly. “We raise apples and oranges. Even some tangerines. The ship captains pay a pretty penny for them, when Mamá allows them to leave our storerooms.”

  Doña Elena let a small, proud smile tickle her lips and stabbed a juicy bite, leaning down the table to hand it to her gleeful grandson, who immediately stuffed it into his mouth. “They are good for the bones, as well as the blood.”

  “The sailors want them to avoid scurvy, of course,” Jacinto said earnestly.

  “Scurvy makes them so ill they can barely walk!”

  “I’ll show you the orchards when we go out later this morning,” Estrella said to me excitedly, her cheeks dimpling.

  Javier shifted in his seat down the table. “You intend to go out today?”

  “Is that not allowed?” I said. I thought his tone odd. “Estrella offered to give me a tour of the rancho.”

  “Why wander about?” he asked, sipping from his cup. “I thought you didn’t intend to tarry long.”

  “Yes, well,” I said, “as long as I’m here…I’d love to see what your family has built.”

  He visibly took this in and seemed oddly miffed. Because he thought me nosy? Or still considered me some sort of potential spy—for who, exactly? Or because he regretted he wouldn’t be my escort? I had no idea. I really couldn’t figure him out. I just seemed to agitate him at every turn.

  “I can go with you,” Francesca offered.

  “You must see to your chores first,” Doña Elena said to her daughters. “Then you may go.”

  “I’ll help,” I said. “We’ll be twice as fast together.”

  But Estrella frowned. She shook her head. “Oh no, Señorita Ruiz. It’s improper for a woman of your age, and a guest of this house, to do such a thing.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but with one look at Francesca and Doña Elena—so similar in their prim, grand countenance—I took a bite of egg instead. As I chewed, my mind whirled. So I was supposed to just sit around and look pretty? It’d be impossible. All my life, I had worked from sunup to sundown. In the restaurant. At school. Back at the restaurant after school. At the county shelter, feeding the homeless, cleaning, cooking. In Abuela’s apartment. My only break had been my early morning runs or late night swims. The prospect of having nothing to occupy my time but thoughts of home…

  No. I’d have to find something to do. Maybe our tour today would give me some ideas.

  The men talked among themselves, occasionally drawing in each of the children or Adalia or Doña Elena into the discussion but clearly avoiding me. It was as if none of them knew what to ask me for openers, which was fine by me. It left me clear to just observe the connections between them all, here an intimacy, there a friction. It was like watching the hundred-plus families that had come to eat at my abuela’s restaurant, ignoring me as I served beyond a few curious glances. When we were done eating, we all waited. It was only when Doña Elena set down her fork that Javier said, “Mamá?”

  She waved at him in dismissal, and all three young men rose at once. I liked his deference toward his mother. Asking to be excused, in his own way. It made me feel like he couldn’t be all bad, despite the way he unnerved me.

  Servants came and cleared our plates, and eventually the rest of us rose and followed the men out. Only Patricio looked my way as he exited, casting me a playful two-fingered salute. Estrella and Francesca walked out with me, and I glimpsed the young men leaving through the front door. Apparently, they were free to do as they wished, and they had plans. Adalia, who seemed to be kind of depressed, carried the fussy Álvaro up the stairs, apparently to change his diaper or put him down for a nap.

  “Here,” Estrella said, taking my arm. Francesca followed behind us. “You can wait in here for us to be done with our chores.” She led me into a sprawling library, with the embers of a morning fire dying in the hearth and a strong shaft of sunlight streaming through the open window. On one side of the room a towering bookcase held hundreds of leather-bound volumes. Beside it stood a wide desk and two chairs. Several melting candles were at its center, under glass hurricanes. And the safe had to be behind the massive oil painting behind it…I stepped toward it as if called, knowing my golden lamp was inside.

  “You might find a new novel to entertain you,” Estrella said.

  “What?” I asked, distracted, then, “Oh, yes.”

  “Come along, Estie,” Francesca said from the doorway, urging her little sister to hurry, rather than linger here with me.

  I turned toward the older girl, just a few years younger than I. About the age of a freshman, I judged. “What are the chores you must do?”

  “I must see to some correspondence for Mamá while she oversees the kitchen and discusses the supper menu with Cook. Estrella is to make her bed and refold her clothes in her trunk that got rumpled when she undressed last night, then she will play with Álvaro for a while to give Adalia some rest.” She turned to her sister, and they exchanged a few words I couldn’t hear. Apparently in agreement, she turned back to me. “We should be back with you in no longer than an hour or two. Do you need anything else to be comfortable in our abse
nce?”

  “No,” I said, swallowing a desire to beg them to let me do something to help. Anything. But my first offer had been turned down—I sensed that Francesca would frown upon a second. And there was the safe…when else might I have the chance to check it out? “I’ll see you soon. Thank you.”

  They left, and alone again, I moved over to the window, observing how thick the walls of this place were. Deep enough to hold in the heat through the damp of winter…or keep it out during the hottest summer day.

  I saw a group of men and women trudging down the road toward the vineyard, half of them carrying hoes over their shoulders. Off to do some weeding, apparently. And then Javier and his friends came into view, reaching for their horses’ reins, tied to the posts out front.

  It was the baby’s squawk that alerted me to Adalia’s presence, and I turned in surprise. She stood beside me, looking out at the men too. “Do you fancy him?” she asked me soberly.

  I blinked rapidly, trying to come up with a suitable answer. “You mean Javier?”

  “Of course,” she said, giving me a quizzical look. “Or was it Rafael who caught your eye?”

  “None of them!” I sputtered. “I was simply looking out the window and they came into view.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said, moving to the settee and setting Álvaro down beside the table. He stood there, slapping the wood with his pudgy, open palm, then shifted down the edge, big, brown eyes focused on a delicate pitcher at the end. “Uh-uh,” she clucked, smoothly lifting it out of harm’s way, placing it on the mantel above the fireplace. She fished a leather disc out of her pocket, which she handed to him. The toddler immediately thrust it into his drooling mouth, gnawing at it. Some sort of primitive teether, I assumed.

  I sat down across from her. “It must be difficult for you, caring for Álvaro by yourself.”

  Her sad eyes met mine, and she tilted her head to the side. “It makes me miss Dante all the more,” she said quietly, eyes darting toward the open door to the hallway as if afraid she might be overheard. “While he wouldn’t have been much good at caring for the child, he would have been grand at loving him alongside me.” She cast a wistful gaze at Álvaro, as he took out the damp leather disc and rammed it against the table.

  I nodded. How many times had I caught myself over the last two days, thinking I needed to share this or that with Abuela? Wondering if she could help me think through this crazy situation, and help me get back home, only to remember that she was gone. Farther from me than ever, never to return, even if I did get back to my own time.

  “At least you have the Venturas. They seem to love you both.” I’d watched the children make faces and kiss the baby every chance they had.

  “That’s true,” she said, “but without Dante…” I felt the grief in her then, like a yawning chasm. Perhaps Dante had been her bridge to this family, and without him, she felt somewhat alone, even surrounded by them all. But wasn’t that a choice? Couldn’t an adopted member of the family feel as much a part of them as blood kin?

  Adalia seemed to remember herself, as if she felt she’d said too much, and abruptly shut her mouth. “Never mind me. I just wanted to tell you, Zara, warn you…” Again, her words trailed off, as if she wondered if she should say anything at all.

  I frowned. “Warn me of what?”

  “The Venturas can be very charming. Javier even more than my husband was,” she said softly. “Guard your heart, if you wish to leave this place. Because it may surprise you how quickly you find yourself marooned here in the villa, with little hope of escape.”

  I stared at her. Did she know? Know the truth of how I got here? “Believe me, I don’t have any intention of staying.”

  “Nor did I, when I first visited. And then one thing led to another…”

  “Where did you live, before this?” I asked, as a servant came in, swooped up the baby after a nod from Adalia, and wordlessly left the room.

  “South of here, in a town called Los Angeles. My family lives there still,” she said wistfully.

  I glanced to the doorway myself then. “Could you not return to them?” I asked in a whisper. “If you are so unhappy here?”

  “Oh, I am not unhappy, really.” She sighed. “I’m not sure I can be happy anywhere again. Love is like that, you know. True love. When you love a man and you allow him to hold your heart in his hands, and then he dies…he takes a piece of your heart with him. So it’s not that I’m unhappy. It’s only as if I’m not quite whole anymore.”

  I nodded. “It must hurt a great deal.”

  “More than you can imagine.” Her eyes met mine again. “So that is what I wished to tell you. Hold on to your heart, if you wish to leave this place. Because no one is better at wooing a girl than one of the Venturas.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that twice,” I said, smiling a little. “Jacinto, with that gap-toothed grin? He had my heart from the start.”

  She laughed, surprised, and then covered her mouth as if embarrassed. “Forgive me. I’ve said far too much.” She rose as if to leave. “It’s just that…when I saw Javier look at you yesterday…and then this morning—”

  “No, thank you. Thank you for sharing. And Adalia, I think…I think you will find wholeness, in time. I think you might even find love again, after your grieving eases. And maybe in that love, you will find that missing piece of your heart restored. Maybe, maybe you just need a fresh start.”

  Her sad eyes blinked in surprise, as if absorbing that thought. She nodded and then bustled away, as if suddenly wanting to flee from me, leaving me to think that it had been my turn to say too much.

  I sat there for a time, thinking about what she’d said. I had to leave this place, escape myself. And to do that, I needed to get my gold lamp back. I stood and moved toward the oil painting behind the desk. I’d seen the hinges, and knew it must hide the safe behind it.

  But then two servants walked past the door, eying me curiously, and I lost my nerve. Instead, I moved toward the bookcase on the other side of the room, cocking my head sideways to read the gilt-inlaid titles, all in Spanish. The Count of Monte Cristo. The Inferno. Songs of Robert Burns. Highland Warrior. I mused over that one. Sounded like a modern Scottish romance, not something from the 1800s. I would’ve laid a bet that Estrella had read that one for sure. She’d likely read everything here…I stepped back and looked over the shelves, wondering about a world in which this was the max of what they could read. What they could buy. What they could lend. We had…what? Thousands of books at our fingertips, between libraries and e-books and used books and Barnes & Noble…

  But staring at these precious, honored tomes on the shelves, I felt the weight of their value. It made me appreciate all the more everything I’d read in the past. My breath caught as I wondered if my TBR stack would consist of one preciously obtained book at a time from here on out, rather than the five or six library books I routinely had waiting for me at home. Library books. What would the fines be like if I didn’t get back to return them for weeks? Or months? Or…ever?

  The thought made me a little sick to my stomach, and I reached out to grab hold of a shelf, forcing myself to breathe. Of course you’ll get back. Somehow, Zara, you’ll get back. And you’ll go to college. And buy that Kindle you’ve been wanting, and have gobs upon gobs upon gobs of books to read. Stacks…

  But my ears were ringing, as if I were reaching across time for that segment of space, that lost era of my own, and yet couldn’t quite make out the voices that would help me find it again. It felt farther away than ever. As if it was disappearing…a sand castle disintegrating behind me in the waves. I sat down heavily as my vision tunneled, and I knew I was dangerously close to fainting. I leaned over, forcing myself to take deep breaths. I wasn’t the sort of girl to panic. I was Zara Ruiz, a good student, a level-headed girl. Breathe, girl, breathe…

  “Señorita?” said a tentative voice from the doorway. I straightened, too fast, and had to lean over and force myself to breathe some more. The
servant girl—one I recognized from the dining room—rushed over to me, setting down a tray with a teapot and cups beside me on the table. She touched my back. “Are you all right? Should I fetch Doña Elena?”

  “No! No,” I repeated, softening my tone. The last thing I wanted was the grand old lady coming in here, seeing me as pale as a ghost, when nothing had happened to me at all that I could even explain. Add it to the list…

  “Here,” she said, pouring a cup of tea. “Sip from this,” she said, placing the cup in my trembling hands.

  Obediently I drank some of it and then set it on the table, irritated that my hand shook so much that I could barely center the cup on the saucer.

  “Did something happen, Señorita?” she asked, kneeling before me. “Are you ill?”

  No, unless you believe getting catapulted across almost two hundred years is a form of illness…I stared at her helplessly, then forced myself to shake my head. I moved my fingers around the cup, concentrated, and brought it to my lips again, letting the hot liquid remind me that I was alive, that none of this was a dream.

  But why? Why had I been sent here? Now?

  I focused in on her. “Thank you for your help. I am Zara. What is your name?”

  “Maria,” she said. She was clearly native to this land, and it was likely a name imposed by Spanish missionaries, not her own Chumash family.

  “Maria,” I repeated. “I am pleased to meet you.”

  “Thank you, Señorita.”

  “Zara,” I said, leaning back in the chair. “Please call me Zara.”