Three Wishes

by Lisa T. Bergren

  “If-if I told you,” I stuttered, “you wouldn’t believe me.”

  He squinted at me, straightened, and took a step away from the wall. I lifted my hands. “Stay where you are.”

  His squint deepened as he took another step. “I will not harm you, Zara. But those words…they are truth. You think that I wouldn’t believe you. Why is that?”

  “Because I…it’s…impossible.”

  He took another step forward. “So you remember something.”

  “I remember,” I said, still with my hands up. “But I am afraid.”

  His gaze hardened. “Because you fear how I might respond if I knew of it?”

  “I’m afraid how everyone would respond,” I muttered. “Stop,” I said, raising my hands as he continued to advance.

  “Tell me, Zara. Trust me. As I trusted you this day with something most intimate.” He took another step forward, until my fingers brushed up against his chest, halting him. “As I trust you now, when I am more than aware of how you are able to…defend yourself.” He stared down at me, all earnest need in his eyes. Practically begging me to be vulnerable with him here, now.

  “I-I can’t,” I said. “Not yet,” I added impulsively, when I saw the pain run across his face. But he didn’t move away from me.

  “Is it because of the beach? What you saw? Those men, chasing me? Is this why you don’t trust me?”

  No, you idiot, I thought in frustration. It’s because you might take me to the local priest and have him dunk me in the river until I confess I’m a witch. Because even in my time, big guy, no one time-travels. No one.

  It was fantasy. The basis of movies. Books.

  Not real life.

  And surely I was going to snap out of it and return to my awful, normal, sad, transitory life any sec. And all of this would disappear. The rancho. Doña Elena. The girls. The boys. The workers and their mountains of hides. The massive herds of cattle morphing back into massive herds of suburban houses, like Cinderella’s guards back into mice.

  “There is a reason I gamble with men like those of the Guadiana,” Javier said, a muscle twitching along his jaw. “But you,” he said, reaching up to brush a curl away from my eye, a bit hesitant, “need to give me a chance to explain.”

  I stared up at him. “Javier,” I whispered, half in complaint, half in warning, “truly you needn’t explain yourself at all. I am but a guest in your household. Gone as soon as I’m…well.”

  He dropped his hand abruptly. “Of course,” he said, nodding curtly. “What could possibly hold you here?”

  I stared back into his eyes amid their fringes of black lashes and recognized the magnetic pull between us anew, wondering for a sec just what could possibly make me leave, with this, this in the mix. I sniffed and forced myself to take a step back. “I am most grateful for your hospitality. But now? Now I think I need to rest.” I rubbed my forehead, feeling an ache in full-throb mode there.

  He studied me and then reached for his hat and rolled it in his hands, an uncharacteristically nervous move. “Of course. Rest well, Zara.”

  “You as well, Javier,” I said gently. I reached for the door and watched him exit. He turned in the hallway, looking back at me, and Ay de mí, I had to admit that I might never see another model-quality dude check me out like that again. The afternoon shadows seemed to catch every perfect curve and angle of his face, and I wished I could snap a pic of him with my phone to remember him and this crazy moment. It was like a dream.

  But it wasn’t a dream. This was some sort of alternate-reality life. And I had to stop this before it got completely out of hand, keeping me from returning to my real life. My real life, I repeated silently in my head, willing myself to remember.

  So I shut the door firmly between us and, on shaking legs, made my way to the bed. I pulled down the covers and climbed in, fully dressed. I didn’t care. I was wiped. The day had taken everything in me and it wasn’t even over yet. But I hadn’t gotten any closer to my golden lamp. “Tonight,” I muttered to myself, letting my eyelids fall. Tonight I’ll find my way into that safe…

  CHAPTER 9

  That night at supper Javier seemed to pointedly ignore me and focus on Patricio, Rafael, and two sea captains who had just arrived in Bonita Harbor. From what I could gather, this was much of the focus at the ranch—entertaining guests, who were either trading with the Venturas or trying to do so, brokering deals when they went back to the harbor. The household had prepared all day for the big meal, and platters upon platters of food were set before us. Javier poured the first glasses of wine—presumably imported, since I’d seen that the vines were yet young and there’d been no casks of wine on our tour—and the house servants made certain the glasses remained full.

  He grew agitated every time his guests turned his attention back to me, over and over, in their hunger for any sort of female company they could get. And since young Francesca and I were the closest to eligible that they might find—with Adalia clearly in her mourning black—the two kept finding pauses in the conversation to return their focus on me, the It Girl of the moment. It had come out that I’d lost my memory and was “convalescing” here until it returned. And as more wine was swallowed, the men apparently decided that it was all a ruse, a way for me to finagle my way into the estate and close to Javier.

  “I wish I’d have such luck,” Captain Donnovan said in his light Irish accent, looking down the table at me and lifting his glass. “Were I to fish such a maiden as you from the sea, I’d make certain you had the best care for as long as I could manage to make you stay.”

  Javier cleared his throat. “That would not go over well with your men. Captain Worthington said women aboard a ship are considered bad luck. As much as he doesn’t believe it, his men do.”

  Captain Donnovan took another sip and squinted his green eyes in my direction. “I’d wager this one would be worth risking mutiny. Especially if she maneuvered her way alongside me.”

  I was just thinking of my retort, enraged by what he was hinting at, when Doña Elena frowned and rose, also clearly disapproving of this line of conversation. “Yes, well, our guest is not leaving the safety of this rancho until she regains her full faculties. The good Lord has seen fit to set her upon our beach, and we see it as our Christian duty to care for her until she is fully recovered.”

  Captain Donnovan gave me an exaggerated, admiring wink, as if I had them all just where I wanted them. I was about to give him a piece of my mind when Javier rose. “Mamá, it was a fine meal as usual. Thank you, and please pass on our gratitude to the cooks.” He nodded in the direction of the four servants who stood at the edge of the dining room, hands behind their backs. They gave him shy smiles. “Gentlemen, let us return to the harbor for a…nightcap.”

  And gambling, I figured. They would gather at the harbor house for some cards and more liquor, undoubtedly. But I’d seen Javier be very judicious about how much wine he was drinking—only a glass while his guests had four from the tiny, delicate crystal goblets. No doubt to set them in a place to negotiate the best deal possible for his goods, as well as to win at cards. Patricio and Rafael had been freer with the wine, but not nearly as free as the other two visitors.

  We all stood, and I lined up alongside Estrella and Francesca. The captains said their farewells, shook the boys’ hands, kissed Doña Elena’s and Adalia’s, and briefly held each of ours. Captain Donnovan, as short as I was but clearly very strong, held mine longer. “Miss Ruiz,” he said, covering my hand with his other. I sensed Javier stiffen behind him but didn’t look his way. “Should you have any need of travel southward, I shall be returning in a month’s time. Please do not hesitate if I may be of any service to you at all.”

  “Thank you, Captain Donnovan,” I said, giving him a brief curtsy, as I’d seen Estrella do before me.

  Reluctantly, he let my hand go and moved on to Francesca as I said my farewell to the other captain. I felt some relief when they all disappeared through the tall, wide front door an
d a servant shut it behind them. The girls asked me to play a game with them in the library, but I begged off, blaming a headache but really just wanting some time alone. I wanted to get out of this dress with its too-tight waist, open my window to the sea breeze, and try to find my breath again.

  But Doña Elena was following me up the wide, curving stairs. I paused and looked back at her in question.

  She took my elbow and urged me into my room, clearly not wanting the servants—or her children looking up at us from below—to hear us. She closed the door behind her and crossed her arms, reminding me of her son when he’d stood in my room that afternoon. A servant had lit a lantern beside my bed. Outside, I could hear the men’s horses as they rode down the road.

  “What is it, Doña Elena?” I asked.

  “My son tells me he is keeping a certain item for you in the safe,” she said. “I wondered if you would describe it to me.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because it is important that I know.”

  “Why not ask him to see it?” I asked, confused and frustrated. There was none of the warmth in her there’d been earlier. She was agitated, as if doubting me. Was it something Captain Donnovan had said? Did she think—as Javier did at the start—that I’d somehow planted myself here? That I was some sort of spy? Or worse, some sort of girl trying to worm her way into Javier’s heart and home?

  The tightening of her face made me realize that she had already asked him, and he’d refused her. Why? Probably thought she was meddling… I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and lifted my hands. “It is gold, about this big. Once a teapot of sorts, I think, but it was missing its spout. With odd, foreign writing on it.” I shook my head. “Barely visible writing. It is very old. Half of it is covered with white sea creatures that need to be scraped off.”

  “Sea creatures?” she said, her eyes distant.

  “On half,” I repeated. “Those hard, crusty things? It’d been in the water a very long time.”

  “It sounds very valuable,” she said.

  I nodded. “I think so.”

  “And how did it come into your possession?”

  I swallowed hard. She was looking at me so keenly, so earnestly, that I thought about telling her. Telling anyone would be a relief to me. But no, she’d think I was crazy and probably toss me out the door. Chase me down the road with a broom. So much for the future daughter-in-law concept… No, I needed her, this house, this place, until I could figure out what was next. “I…I don’t remember,” I said.

  Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped toward me. “Did someone give it to you? Tell you to come here with it?”

  “What? No!”

  “How did you get to Pirata Cove?”

  “Pirata? Oh, I call it Tainter Cove. I…I don’t remember how I got there, exactly.”

  “Why did you strike my son?”

  “It was…instinct. I was afraid. I didn’t know him. He grabbed my arm and was accusing me…like you seem to be doing now.”

  She looked at me as if trying to see through me—she was just an inch or so taller than I, but she felt much taller. “You do not wish to harm me or my family?”

  “What? Of course not!”

  “And you did not hear of Javier somehow…of his wealth? His position?”

  “No,” I said, willing every ounce of the truth into my eyes as I stared back at her. “I’d never heard of your son. He was the one who found me.”

  “What did you know of that lamp before it was in your hands?”

  I shook my head at her, exasperated. I had to give her something to get her off my back. “I keep telling you, I knew nothing. The last thing I remember is that I found it in a tide pool. At Tainter Cove,” I said. “I was walking up the beach, and I sat down with it, looking it over.” I shook my head again and lifted my hands. “That’s the last thing I remember. Honestly.” At least, it’s the last thing I remember before I was here, in your time.

  “Tainter Cove,” she repeated softly. Her dark eyes shifted over mine, searching, then grew still. It was as if something had been confirmed for her, deep within. But she gave me no indication of what that might be. “I believe you, Zara. But you must show me the spot soon. When we return from the charreada. For now, you must rest.”

  I held my breath, managing to nod, and she slipped out the door and shut it carefully behind her. I didn’t bother to ask for specifics about the “charreada” Estrella had told me about, hoping I might be out of here before that was something I had to deal with. My mind went over our conversation, her odd reaction—so much hidden behind her eyes and that down-turned mouth—and yet her trust too. I’d just have to go through it with her. Show her the tide pools…

  I sank to the edge of my bed, head dropping into my hands.

  How could I show her the tide pools when they were fifty feet under the sand? Sand that wouldn’t erode away for more than a hundred years?

  Maria came and helped me out of my dress and into my night shift, but as soon as she was out the door, I put on my maxiskirt and cami, which I’d found washed and neatly folded in my chest, along with my other clothes. It was then that I found my abuela’s shawl too. I cried out and lifted it in my hands, cradling it to my face, weeping. Javier had obviously found it and placed it in my chest, when he came to my room. Sitting there, my tears spent after a while, I started to feel a bit more like myself in my own clothes, with the shawl about my shoulders.

  It was quite late, and the house had grown silent. Outside, a three-quarter moon was sinking toward the west. Leaning on the sill, I thought I heard a howl on the wind—the distant cry of the wolf dog?

  Inspired, I took my lantern, opened my door with a soft creak that made me wince, and moved along the hall and then down the sweeping stairs. I thought about going outside but then recalled the guards on the roof. If they weren’t dozing, they’d surely stop me and question me before I could whistle for the wolf. There seemed to be some subtle, ongoing threat for the inhabitants of this villa, and it was clearly frowned upon for girls to leave alone.

  So I prowled the lower level. Wandered into the big kitchen, with a long, wide stone island, where they clearly were set up to roll out tortillas. The place smelled like home—of burned oil and onions and cumin and cinnamon. I set my lantern down and leaned to rest my cheek on the cool surface of the central island, again thinking of my grandmother and her hours and hours of cooking. I stretched my arms out, my fingers splayed, wanting to remember her, reach her across the abyss of time.

  “What are you doing?” asked a small voice.

  I rose, startled, wiped the tears from my face, then pulled my shawl tightly around my shoulders.

  It was little Jacinto, in a nightshirt that draped to his ankles, holding his own lantern.

  “I was…thinking,” I said.

  “In the kitchen?” he asked.

  “Yes. I do some of my best thinking in the kitchen.”

  “But you are a lady. Kitchens are for servants.”

  “As well as some ladies,” I said, wiping my eyes again, hoping the boy wouldn’t notice. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. Mamá says that milk helps you go to sleep, so I came down for some.” He padded over to a door in the floor and lifted the heavy wooden lid until it stood upright. A cellar, I decided. A place to keep things cool. He went down the steps and came up again with a tin can in his hand. “Want some? Are you having trouble sleeping too?”

  “Yes,” I said with a nod. Maybe some lukewarm, 1840 milk was exactly what I needed. If I didn’t sleep, how would I deal with Doña Elena tomorrow? Or Javier? I shook my head, determined not to think of either of them any more tonight. If I did, there would be no sleeping at all.

  The boy fetched us two ceramic cups without handles and, biting his lip, carefully poured from the tin can, managing to spill only a few drops. He wiped those away with his hand, licked it, and set the lid on the can again. He took it back to the cellar, closed the door, and
came back over to me and the cups. He handed one to me with some ceremony.

  “Gracias, Jacinto,” I said, raising my cup toward his. “Salud.”

  He gave me his gap-toothed grin. “Salud,” he said, clinking his cup against mine.

  I took a sip and almost spit it out.

  It was thick, almost like cream, and I dimly realized that it was like whole milk. It was whole milk. I’d always been a one-percent girl myself. Apparently that wasn’t an option among the cellar shelves. “Mmmm,” I said, forcing an appreciative smile. He grinned back at me, his brown upper lip now sporting a white mustache. The kid was adorable.

  “Would you like to play backgammon, Señorita?” he said. “I like backgammon.”

  I smiled at him. “Maybe one round. If I can recall how to play.”

  He led the way down the hall, across the wide red tiles, smooth beneath my bare feet, and opened a giant, carved door to the music room I’d glimpsed yesterday. Three guitars and a mandolin were on one wall, a harpsichord in the corner. I followed him in, staring at the guitars, as he rummaged through a closet for the game. The instruments were elegant, gorgeous antiques, honey- and red-hued in the lantern light. Well, not antiques, obviously, in this age. But I’d never seen anything like them. I lifted one that was about my size. “Who plays them?” I asked, sinking to a hide-covered stool.

  Jacinto turned to me, clearly confused as I tentatively strummed the strings. “No one, since Papá died. But girls don’t play guitar. Only the harpsichord.”

  I laughed under my breath at him. “This girl does,” I said. And then I found the first chord and played my favorite old Spanish song, an intricate, gentle tune that spoke of night and stars and love on the wind…I’d always loved playing. Periodically, Abuela or others in the restaurant would convince me to play. But it’d always been more of an intimate exercise for me. An extension of my thoughts and feelings. A prayer of sorts rather than a performance. And in the welcome embrace of the song, I closed my eyes, giving myself fully to each note, building in intensity, then slowing, softening…