by Ann Rinaldi
"Of course I do! She ran away and married when she was sixteen! Did Mother hit you hard?"
"Not too hard."
"Good. That means her heart wasn't in it. She herself wasn't sure you were guilty."
I would have hated to think what I'd feel like if her heart was in it.
"Here, I've brought some salve for your hurts. Put it on immediately. It will help. Go to sleep now. We'll talk another time. I'll be by early in the morning to get the pillow, blanket, and brick." She stood up. "Who is the man you brought back with you?"
"A beggar. He's traveling. He needs food and work. He's a carpenter, Sister. I thought he might help with the staircase. But now, after Mother Magdalena is so angry with me, she likely won't listen about him."
She was nodding slowly, yes, yes. And in the flickering light of the single candle, I made out a look in her eyes as if she knew more than I was saying. "She'll listen," she promised. "Now go to sleep. It's late."
THE CLATTERING OF KITCHEN utensils and the smell of bacon cooking woke me before first light. I lay shivering, not knowing where to hurt first. The heavy blanket, pillow, warming brick, and cocoa cup were gone. Who had taken them? And then I remembered. Sister Roberta. And a good thing she'd taken them, too. In the next instant, the door opened and Mother Magdalena stood there, her frame blocking all light and warmth from the kitchen. Over her arm she had some clothing. I recognized the calico dress Mrs. French had made for me.
She was going to send me away this day, I told myself. She was putting me out. Where would I go? I should have written to Uncle William already, yet here it was a week gone by and I hadn't. Likely I'd have to go up to the fort and live with Delvina. All those thoughts tumbled in my mind.
"Well? Up, lazy girl."
I sat up. My body screamed from stiffness and pain.
"I see you've slept in your uniform."
"I had nothing else. And it was so cold."
"Did you reflect on your sins?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"And did you reflect on what lying and disobedience bring you?"
I said yes, again. Humbly. It was what she wanted to hear. And I wondered if she knew that most of the girls told her what she wanted to hear, and not the truth. And I almost felt sorry for her.
"Well, on your feet, then. The Bishop wants to see you."
"Ma'am?" I was jolted awake.
"The Bishop. He will see you after mass. Put on these clothes so you don't look like the scalawag you are. Then have your breakfast here in the kitchen. Go use the necessary, wash, comb your hair, and make yourself presentable, now."
Then she was gone. The Bishop! So the Bishop himself was going to dismiss me, drum me out of the academy, as Uncle William said they did to derelicts in the army. My thoughts scrambled ahead of me in the cold room, like mice running from an owl. I tripped on things, shivered, hurt from the switching and sleeping on a board, and my teeth chattered when I tried to wash, because the water in the basin had a thin sheeting of ice. I didn't wash. I combed my hair. It was flyaway and curly and brown. How I envied girls with smooth bouncing curls! I ran outside to the necessary, ran back in again, and begged Ramona for warm water, to wash properly in the kitchen. She gave me some frijoles, eggs, and bacon for breakfast, which I ate hastily because I wanted to run out to the barn, not only to feed Ben but to see if the beggar man was all right.
Quickly I crossed the back courtyard in the cold. The barn was warm, and the familiar smell of hay and horses and manure comforted me. I fed Ben, promising him I would take him out later when we went with Mrs. Lacey. Not knowing if there would be a later. Or if it would be sooner, when the Bishop dismissed me.
"He's a beautiful horse," someone said.
I turned around. It was the beggar man. He was feeding the Bishop's white mules.
"You know about horses?"
"I know they are one of God's finer creatures."
"Did they feed you and take care of you and your mule?"
"I have been provided for, thank you."
"Well, I have to go now. I have to see the Bishop."
He smiled, and I blushed. It sounded so pompous. "I mean, I think he's angry about Elinora's and my being out last night, and wants to scold. But if I get a chance, I'm going to tell him there's a carpenter in the barn looking for work. I promise."
He nodded knowingly. And went back to caring for the white mules.
THE HALLS OF THE SCHOOL were full of people who had just come out of the chapel after hearing the Bishop's mass. I had to push my way through. I found the Bishop in his study, at his desk. It was the kind my mama had called a secretary. On it were two silver candlesticks. The ceiling was heavy cedar beams; Indian blankets were on the floor. A fire burned in the hearth, and there were wooden chests, decorated with leather, under both windows. The Bishop wore a black robe, with a red sash around his middle.
"Ah, our little heretic." He smiled and got up.
I did not know what to do. If I'd been wearing boots I'd be shivering in them. I knew that. Was I supposed to throw myself at his feet, as Elinora had done? Call him "Eminence"?
I was darned if I'd throw myself at anybody's feet. Uncle William would never forgive me.
And then I saw it. The cat. Pure white it was, on a cushion in the corner by the hearth, nursing four white kittens.
I forgot all about the Bishop. "Oh," I said. And I ran to kneel by the cat. I stroked its soft head, and it purred and licked my hand. "Oh, what adorable kittens."
The Bishop coughed. It was a dry sound, and I remembered how Sister Roberta had said he always returned from his trips with a cough. And we hadn't yet fetched bark from the wild chokecherry tree for his cough syrup. I must remind Sister Roberta.
Or was the cough intentional, for me, because I hadn't greeted him properly? Embarrassed, I stood up. "I'm sorry, sir. I had to leave my cats back in Independence."
I curtsied.
One hand rubbing his chin, he nodded, pleased. "You like cats, then?"
"Oh, I love them. But Daddy wouldn't let me bring one on the Trail."
He gestured to a chair and told me to sit. I did so. He took a chair a bit away from me. "Isabella is a good mouser," he said.
"Isabella?"
"Yes, I named her after Queen Isabella of Spain. The kittens were born while I was away."
I looked at them longingly "What will you do with them all?"
"They will go in the barn, after Isabella has taught them to be mousers. Well, what do you think of Santa Fe?"
We were making pleasant conversation, yet somehow I felt something more was going on here. I felt that he was taking my measure. Very well, then, I would show him I was no phonypony like all the other girls around here. I would show him I had mettle. If he was going to dismiss me, there would be no changing his mind, anyway.
"I tend to think what Zebulon Pike thought, sir. The adobe houses look like flat-bottomed boats on the Ohio River."
He laughed. It had a boyish sound. "I tend to think so, too. For years after I came here I missed Paris." Then he coughed again, and I knew it was a true cough. "Excuse me." He took a sip of water from a nearby glass. His finely knit brows came together. "I hear you lost your mother on the way to Santa Fe."
"She took the fever. We buried her in the desert. She was too young to die."
"Achaque quiere la muerte para Reverse a los mortales," he said.
"I don't speak Spanish."
"'Death needs no pretext to carry off the living.' I have seen much of it, child. I am sure your beloved mother is with God, looking down on you this minute."
A hush seemed to come over the room. Of a sudden the chatter and the bustle from the hall was gone. I saw the goodness in this man. I felt it like a warmth between us. And a sense of peace came over me.
"I hope she is looking down," I said. "I hope she tells God to not let you put me out of the academy."
He cocked his head. His dignified, gentle hands made a peak on his crossed knee. "You think I am goin
g to put you out?"
"After last night, yes sir."
"But last night was not your fault. Do you think I do not know that?"
"How?" I asked. "Elinora told you—"
He held up a hand to silence me. "People tell me all kinds of things, child. Sister Roberta came and cautioned me. It seems my niece lied."
I held my breath. The way the words tripped off his tongue left no room for surprise. Or anger. He smiled sadly this time. "She wants to make a good impression on me. She needed a scapegoat. I will have a talk with her about her ways."
A talk? Anger flooded my veins. "I was punished," I said.
"I know, dear child. For which I do apologize. Believe me, when I have a talk with Elinora it will affect her worse than Mother Magdalena's punishment affected you."
He looked at me levelly as he said this. And I believed him. And almost felt sorry for Elinora.
"I hope the blanket and pillow and warming brick kept you from being too cold in the penance room last night."
I gasped. "You know about that?"
"Sister Roberta does not go against Mother Magdalena's wishes as blatantly as I fear she might. I suggested she provide things to make the night bearable for you. Was it?"
"Yes sir, thank you."
"As for the punishment you received at the hands of Mother Magdalena, you must understand. She is responsible for the safety of all these girls. She sometimes gets overzealous. I do not believe in corporal punishment. But she cannot allow running on the streets at night. Mayhem occurs. Last night when you and my niece were running about out there, a prisoner was dragged from his cell in the jail and hanged by a mob."
I drew in my breath. "They hanged Billy the Kid?"
He coughed once more and gave me a narrow, questioning gaze. "They hanged the one prisoner in the jail. I did not hear he was Billy the Kid."
"Oh, sir, forgive me. Mrs. Lacey calls him that."
"Ah, yes. Mrs. Lacey has a fanciful imagination."
"But why did they hang him? It's so terrible!"
"Yes, it is, child. But terrible things happen on Santa Fe's streets every night. That is why Mother Magdalena punished you so severely. She believed you to be at fault. Let me say that the good are often punished unfairly. However, I mind that you do not wish to hear any homilies now. So please, allow me to make amends."
"Amends?"
"Yes. Tell me some way I can make your life more bearable here. I know you miss your father and your home, and mourn your mother. Is there something I can do to keep you from thinking we still cherish the methods of the Inquisition?"
The Inquisition? What is that? I must look it up.
He was watching me, studying me closely with blue eyes that had a fire and a tenderness in them, all at the same time. "A favor I might grant?" he pushed.
I nodded. "Two. But not for me."
He laughed again. "A true American. And not such an infidel after all. Ask."
"There is a man in the barn. A beggar. I brought him home with us last night, even though Elinora—well, never mind that. Gregorio put him in the barn. He has no work, and he is a carpenter. I thought that since you need a staircase built in the chapel you might give him work."
"Ah, the staircase." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Such a dilemma. The nuns have been conducting a novena to Saint Joseph, and I have been praying on the matter myself. They look to me to perform miracles, which, of course, I can't. But perhaps you, with your outsider's opinions of us, have the best solution for the moment. Have the hungry carpenter take a look at it. Hunger has pushed some men to greatness. It provides a special vision. Yes, I can do that. What else?"
"Ramona is in desperate need of a new cast-iron stove in the kitchen. The one she has smokes. And burns her cakes and pies."
"A new stove for Ramona," he said.
"Yes, sir, if it isn't too much to ask."
He nodded, seeing more in my face than I willingly let him see. He stood up and held out his hand. "Come, child, kneel so lean bless you."
Well, I supposed kneeling now wouldn't be throwing myself at his feet. I did so. Oh, it felt strange, kneeling before a Catholic bishop. But then he put his hand on my head, and his touch was gentle, like the warmth of the sun. And he prayed in Latin over me.
How can you be angry or contentious when somebody prays over you? You can truly be an infidel and it will make your mind humble even while your spirit soars.
When he was finished, I stood and curtsied again and started to flee the room.
"Wait."
I stopped. "Yes sir?"
"Would you like a kitten?"
My eyes went wide. "For my very own?"
"Ownership of one of God's creatures is a responsibility. You must always care for it. And respect it."
"Oh, sir, I would love a kitten!" Then I scowled. "Respect it?"
"You must always respect yourself. Your fellow humans, the beasts God made. All are worthy of respect. Even the juniper tree."
I nodded, touched. This is a great man, I decided. I wished he were my uncle. No offense, of course, to Uncle William. "I will respect it always," I said.
"Very well. Sister Roberta cares for my office. She has the key. I shall tell her to allow you in here, when I am not busy, to visit and to pick one out. Also, you may tell your beggar-man friend that I wish to see him. Now."
I could not believe my good fortune. I curtsied again. "Thank you, oh, thank you!" And then I fled.
I heard him coughing, as I ran down the hall.
10
OUT IN THE HALLWAY the first one I ran into was Mother Magdalena.
"And where are you off to in such a hurry? Class?"
"No, ma'am. I'm on an errand for the Bishop."
"I see. I assume that after this important errand you will appear in class? Properly dressed?"
"But my uniform is all wrinkled."
"Ramona has pressed it for you. I expect you to get back immediately to your routine, which includes taking Mrs. Lacey to the cemetery this afternoon. She has been asking after you."
Inwardly I groaned. I had forgotten to visit Mrs. Lacey with her breakfast. I hoped Ramona had remembered.
Mother Magdalena dismissed me with a curt nod. I thought it oafish of her not to apologize for switching me when I had been declared innocent. But I was too excited about the beggar man to care. Or to worry anymore about my aches and pains.
He was in the barn, sweeping. "Oh sir." I ran up to him. "Sir."
"I am not accustomed to be so hailed." He stopped sweeping. "Yes. You have seen the Bishop?"
"Yes. And he wants to speak with you right now! About the staircase!"
"I owe you many thanks. Where do I find this bishop?"
"In the house, in his study. I can take you to him."
He brushed himself off, rearranged his shawl, and ran a hand through his long graying hair. "I am not presentable."
"Oh, he doesn't mind. Come. I have to go to class."
"Wait. Let me get my tools."
I don't know what I expected when he spoke of tools. But it was a small sack. "That holds your tools?" I asked.
"A saw, a T square, and a hammer." He looked at me with those old brown eyes of his. "What else is needed?"
I nodded and we walked together across the courtyard. "Where do you come from?" I asked.
He raised an arm and pointed in the direction of the Santa Fe Trail. "Out there," he said, "in the land of vast spaces and long silences. Where the red bluffs are. And the flowering cactus. Where the desert changes colors."
I nodded. "I came on the Santa Fe Trail, too."
I took him in through the kitchen. Ramona looked up from her work, smiled at him, and said, "Me alegro de verte bien" to him. He nodded and smiled.
"You understand Spanish," I said. "What did she say?"
"I am glad to see you in good health.'"
"Does she know you?"
"No, but it was a fine welcome."
The door of the Bishop's stu
dy was open, but he was again at the desk, writing. I knocked on the doorjamb. He looked up, smiled, and came toward us.
"Bishop Lamy, this is the carpenter," I said.
Then, horrified, I turned to the beggar man, realizing that I did not even know his name. How should I introduce him?
"Thank you, Lizzy, you may go," the Bishop said. I left. I walked slowly, and before I knew it the Bishop and the carpenter were coming up behind me on their way to the chapel at the end of the hall. They were deep in conversation as they walked by me, unaware I was even there. But I heard some bits of what was said.
"No room was left for the staircase to the choir loft," Bishop Lamy was explaining. "The only alternative left for a builder now is to tear down the choir loft and rebuild it. But that would be a great expense. The other choice is a ladder. But how can I have these little girls climbing a ladder? You see my problem?"
There were some words I did not hear. I halted in front of the door to French class. At the end of the hall, the Bishop had opened the door to the chapel, and they stood just inside. The Bishop was pointing to the back of the chapel, and then together they walked out of my sight.
Quietly I crept down the hall to the chapel door and peeked in. They were at the end, in the space where a staircase should be. They were in a world of their own, talking. Then I saw the beggar man step into the space, reach out his old hands, and make motions as if he were measuring. He stepped around in a circle, his hands extended, his eyes looking upward. Measuring. All the while his lips were moving silently.
"Yes," he said to the Bishop, finally. "I can build your staircase. But it must be a spiral one."
"Spiral!" The Bishop's voice was filled with pleasant surprise. "I never thought of that! And the nuns had several carpenters in to consult with. No one mentioned doing it spiral. But can you do it?"
"I can."
"Fine. I will open an account for you at the lumberyard in town. You have only to go and order what you need. Give me an estimate of cost this afternoon. Can you do that?"
