by Ruth Wind
"Rain is precious," she said. "It feels good."
"You'll get sick."
"No." She pointed. "Get a chair and come watch it with me."
He did, and sat down next to her. For a long time he only stared at the rain, listening to the splattering, pattering sound of it against the roof and the ground. "Sarah came to see you," he said.
"She did."
"Are you the one who told her there was no rape?"
Octavia smiled without looking at him. "I gave her a picture that looks like you."
"I saw it." It was an heirloom, like a war standard. "I'm amazed you gave it to her."
"She said it looked like you. I think she loves you."
"But she loves her father more," he snarled, and was instantly ashamed at the petty sound of it. With a groan, he dropped his head into his hands. "Did you know, Abuelita, that they were in love?"
"So much pride," she said. "So much sorrow over pride."
He raised his head and looked at her.
Octavia took his hand. "Don't you let pride ruin your life, too, eh?"
Eli thought of Sarah, holding Joanna's baby as he slept. "I never loved anything or anyone more than I have loved Sarah Greenwood," he said, and his voice sounded raw.
His grandmother nodded.
* * *
He thought he would wait until morning, but the rain would not let him. It seemed to call out to him as he left his grandmother's house, offering him a chance, a dream. And it seemed odd to him suddenly that every time anything had happened between him and Sarah since she'd come home, it had rained. So much rain for so late in the year.
So he went to his house and combed his hair and changed his shirt. It was no surprise to find Sarah's father on the porch of his house, watching the rain. Unmindful of the feel of it on his scalp, Eli approached the gate.
"Sarah isn't here," Garth said.
"I did not come to speak to her." He swallowed. "I would like to speak with you."
For a long moment Garth eyed him, and Eli thought he would refuse. Instead, be nodded. "I'll listen."
As Eli came up the sidewalk, Garth stood. Eli walked up the steps and stopped and faced his old enemy. Suddenly he discovered a strange sympathy with the old man, the same reluctance to lay down his arms.
And in Garth's face he saw the same measuring look, the same respect, as if they were two generals who had fought a long and difficult campaign in opposite camps. Finally Garth nodded, as if in approval.
Eli spoke. "My hatred of you made me a man."
"Mine lost me my daughter." He paused. "And yours."
A hard white flame of fury stabbed through him. "Yes. And my pride will make us both lose her again." He lifted his chin. "I love her," he said simply.
"So do I."
Eli bowed his head. "I have come, Mr. Greenwood, to ask your permission to marry your daughter." Powerful emotion rose in his throat, threatening to choke him, but Eli could not tell what it was – love or sorrow or regret. Maybe only hope.
"I watched you, all these years, you know," Garth said slowly. "I watched you build that business from nothing, out of air. Every time I heard your name on television or saw it in the newspaper, I wanted to get out my gun and shoot you dead."
Eli lifted a brow. "The feeling was mutual."
"What I wanted, Eli, was for you to end up dead, drunk in a ditch somewhere, so Sarah would finally have to admit I'd done the right thing." He paused, cleared his throat. "I can't even tell you how much I hated you for being what she thought you were."
Eli met his gaze.
"I can't promise I'll ever even like you, Eli Santiago, and I don't reckon you'll ever love me, either." He paused. "But I can respect you as a man, and I can't imagine a truer test of a man's faithfulness than what you've shown all these years. If she'll have you, I will come to your wedding."
"Thank you," Eli said. He turned to go, then turned back and extended his hand.
Garth took it. "Tell your mother to go to see Sarah's show."
"I will," he promised, and meant it.
But as he left the Greenwood house, Eli felt oddly unsatisfied. It should have felt better, to finally lay down his arms. He should have been joyful that at last he and Sarah would be together.
Instead, there was an ache in his lungs that he couldn't seem to dislodge, a feeling of loss so deep he felt his heart was being sucked from his chest.
What had he lost?
He found Sarah sitting on her porch, watching the rain, as her father had been. The cat sat beside her feet, cheerfully switching his tail. Eli wondered if she knew yet that she'd adopted him. Or been adopted.
"I seem to always be coming here to tell you I'm sorry," he said, sitting down beside her on the bench. She'd changed to a pair of jeans and an oversize white sweater that made her look very young. "That's why I'm here again. I'm sorry."
She touched his hand. "What's wrong, Eli?"
The gentle words pushed some button inside him, and, alarmed at the sudden surge of emotion, he stared hard at the rain. "I went to talk to your father."
"Oh." Disappointment clouded her tone. "Wouldn't he talk to you?"
"We talked." He swallowed, feeling the emotions ease away from his throat, enough that he could speak. "He said if you will have me, he would come to the wedding."
Sarah put her hand on his shoulder. "Was it so hard for you, Eli?"
At last he looked at her. "It wasn't. Not when it came down to losing you again." He ducked his head, choked out, "I just feel this pain now, since I talked to him. I don't understand it."
"Oh, Eli," she whispered, and moved close, putting her arms around his shoulders, pressing her face to his neck. "It's grief."
There was no stopping the swell of emotion now. It pushed up from his chest, through his throat, low and deep and agonizing. Blindly he reached for Sarah, pulling her into his lap, feeling his breath grow ragged and the undeniable and unmanly heat of tears in his eyes. He gasped against it, holding Sarah fiercely, tight as he could. "What … am I … grieving?"
She touched his hair, pulled his face into her neck. "For our daughter."
"Yes." Denial was stripped away, and the sorrow roared through him. He let himself weep for her, for the child they had both wanted, the child who had been taken from them. Unashamed, he let the grief out, and found his sorrow dissolving.
"I guess I thought it would all go away," he confessed at last. "Maybe some part of me thought she'd just be magically restored to us if we all came to peaceful terms."
Sarah stroked his hair. "I know."
He raised his head, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her fiercely. "We have each other now, though. No one can take that away."
"Yes. And we'll have more children."
His throat tightened again. "I would like that. So much."
"Me, too." She grinned wickedly. "Want to start trying right now?"
"Soon. There is something I want you to do for me now, Sarita."
"Anything."
"Pack what you need for tonight, bring your cat and come to the home I built for us."
"Now?"
He nodded. "I never want to sleep apart from you again."
"But your family—"
"It won't be easy, Sarah. I don't see that we'll ever have both our families over for Christmas dinner."
She laughed.
"And maybe it's always going to be me ducking your parents and you avoiding my mother, but I can live with that."
"So can I." A sudden blaze of wonder came over her features, lighting her eyes and skin, and she put her hands on her face. "Eli," she said with wonder. "We're going to be married!"
And she promptly burst into tears.
Eli laughed, holding her close. "Yes, my love."
At last.
* * *
Epilogue
«^
October 14, 19—
Mr. Elias and Mrs. Sarah Santiago
Santiago Farms
Taos, New
Mexico
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Santiago,
My name is Crystal Madrid, and I'm writing to you because I found your names at the adoption registry. The people there said that means you won't mind if I contact you. (Actually, she remembered you guys – said you really hoped I would someday, so I hope this is okay.)
I have to do a genealogy for my history project this year, and my mother encouraged me to go ahead and look for you two if I wanted to. (She's told me I could since I was twelve, but I didn't want to until now, no offense. I'm her only kid, and my dad died when I was two, so I'm really all she has, but she wanted me to feel free about it if I ever wanted to.) I guess I am pretty curious.
It's kind of weird to be doing this, and even weirder to find out after all these years I might have been drinking tea you actually touched with your own hands. Or maybe it doesn't work that way, I don't know. My mom acted kind of funny when I first told her. She said she read a story about the family – your families – that I'd like. She saved it for you to tell me, though, if you feel like it.
Anyway. I have to do this project, and I'd like to meet you if you think that would be okay. We only live in Pueblo and would drive down for a day and a night if you can recommend a place for me and my mom to stay. She's looking forward to it, she says, but I think she's also scared I'm not going to want her to be my mother anymore. AND THAT'S NOT TRUE, okay? We really have to be totally clear on this. I'm all she has. I don't want to hurt her feelings, ever. But there's something inside me that wants to know you guys, too.
So, here's about me: I'm sixteen and almost five foot ten. Too skinny and no chest. I used to have blue eyes, but now they're gray, and I have black hair, which everyone thinks is permed and is just naturally curly. I'm not the greatest student in the world – I like to read and stuff, but math is boring and science is worse, so I don't do as well there. My big thing is singing. As long as I can remember, I've been singing – first at fairs and things, but lately I've been in some plays, here and in Colorado Springs. I might get to go to Denver to the Performing Arts high school next year, but I haven't heard back yet. (Cross your fingers.)
That's really all for now. I put my address and phone number at the bottom of the page so you can get in touch with me and let me know when would be a good time. I have to finish my project by Christmas vacation, though, so I hope we can do it sometime soon.
Sincerely,
Your daughter,
Crystal Madrid
* * * * *
