The Staircase

by Ann Rinaldi

  "With all due respect," the man answered, "I would prefer not to do so until tomorrow."

  "Oh?" the Bishop said.

  "I know tonight is the last night of the novena the nuns are making to Saint Joseph. And out of respect for that, I would start when it is finished."

  "You know about the novena?"

  "The little girl told me."

  "Ah, yes. Of course, you are right. We must wait out of respect to Saint Joseph."

  I started back down the hall to change my dress as Mother Magdalena had instructed me to do. Had I told the beggar man about the novena? I could not remember.

  AFTER FRENCH CLASS I approached Sister Roberta. "The Bishop is coughing," I said.

  She was stuffing some books into a leather case. "One week here and already you're giving me intelligence about the Bishop's health." But her eyes were twinkling. Then they got sad. "Thank you, Lizzy. I've been so busy. But then, he had no business coming back a week early from his trip, did he?"

  "I have to get permission to go with you," I said.

  "I have free time this afternoon."

  "Mother Magdalena is still angry with me. She'll never allow it."

  "Well, I do have some say around here. If I get you off from classes, will you come?"

  "Can you do that?"

  "I have uncommon powers," she said as she went out to the hallway.

  I stared at her broad back. She's heard about our trip to the witch's house, I told myself. I wonder who else knows? Probably everybody.

  But she must have had uncommon powers, because that afternoon, we set out for the nearest branch of the river. Sister Roberta had packed some delicacies in a basket. I rode Ben, and she rode a horse from the stables—sidesaddle, until we got away from town. Then she hitched up her skirts and rode astride.

  The warm November sun felt good on my face and my aching body, even through the purple school uniform. That afternoon, Sister Roberta showed me how to recognize the herbs she needed and how to take the bark from the wild choke-cherry tree.

  While we worked, we talked. "I heard about the hanging of the prisoner last night. Terrible," she said.

  I told her I had met him, and I told her how.

  "Mrs. Lacey is a curious person. But a good friend to have," she told me. "Tell me, why don't you, about the witch's house? Is it as everyone says inside?"

  "How did you know?" I asked. I felt myself blushing for my foolishness.

  "By now everyone knows. Not much can be kept secret in that school. Well? Does she really have an owl named Sitting Bull?"

  I told her about Dolores's house. "You don't hold with magic, then?" I asked.

  "Magic is all around us," she said, gesturing to the river, to the herbs, to the birds overhead. "Believing keeps us alive. Did you hear yet about the magic of the bell in San Miguel Chapel over on De Vargas Street?"

  "No, but I saw the chapel."

  "Mrs. Lacey hasn't taken you there yet? The church was built in 1610. The bell came from Spain. The story is that an old blind man would go to the chapel at noon every day and pray to Saint Cecelia, who is the patron saint of musicians. Whenever he prayed, the bell would ring. On its own. And for as long as it rang, he could see."

  I stared at her. She went on, casually picking herbs.

  "They knew he could see because he could tell them what the church looked like. He could name the colors in the paintings, talk about the carved work around the altar. But as soon as the bell stopped, his blindness returned. The priests tried ringing the bell themselves, but it did no good. He was blind when they rang it. Only a few years ago did the bell fall from the tower in a storm. Now it sits on a wooden frame on the floor. The blind man died, and it has never rung by itself again."

  I shivered in the warm sunlight.

  "Now that's believing," she said. "If you want to call it magic, then do."

  I told her more about the witch's house. The conversation was pleasant in the quiet of the riverbank. I knew I could trust her. I told her about my cats back home and how the Bishop had said I could have a kitten. I told her my fears that I would never hear from my father. It was almost as good as having my friend Cassie at my side.

  "OH, THE STAIRCASE!" Mrs. Lacey stopped midway in our climb up the hill to the cemetery later that afternoon and clasped her hands over her slight bosom. "I can't believe we finally have a carpenter to build it! And all thanks to you, Lizzy. You were sent here for a reason, child! God bless you." Her eyes glistened with tears. "Now my Robert will rest in peace."

  "But why wouldn't he until now?" I made bold to ask.

  We recommenced our climb. "Because of my sins," she said.

  "God doesn't punish one person for another's sins," I told her. "Even we Methodists know that."

  "In this case, I'm afraid He will, Lizzy. Because Robert's sin was caused by me. I'll tell you about it sometime. Meanwhile I have a more immediate worry. And since you are my friend, I will share it with you. And then you must share one with me."

  I trudged wearily up the hill, leading Ben, who was lugging the heavy blankets Sister Roberta had sent for Delvina. I was pure spent from my expedition with Sister Roberta earlier, but I couldn't neglect Mrs. Lacey any more. The welts from the switching were starting to hurt again, despite the salve Sister Roberta had given me to put on them. And my limbs still hurt from sleeping on the board bed. Too, it had been a long trip through town this day, what with Mrs. Lacey shaking her fists at certain people and stopping to scold them for hanging her friend Billy the Kid. She was all mooded up over it and cast down at the same time.

  "Suppose I don't have a worry to give you in return?" I asked.

  "You do. You have many. And that's the way it works. Friends share worries. And good news. Do you have any good news?"

  "Only that the carpenter told the Bishop the staircase will be spiral."

  "Spiral—how brilliant! Now, why didn't any of the other carpenters the Bishop spoke with come up with that idea? I tell you, this man was sent to us by God, Lizzy."

  "Tell me your worry," I said.

  She sighed. "I'm failing, Lizzy. I know it. My mind is going and I have many ailments. Every day I feel weaker and weaker. Sometimes I can scarce fetch the strength to come here to the cemetery."

  "I could come for you," I offered.

  "Dear girl, that is not my worry. It is that if my mind goes altogether, the nuns will baptize me Catholic before I die."

  "But you're Methodist. They know that."

  "Yes, but I left my home in Richmond in such a hurry, I have no proof that I was baptized anything. And they always require proof, these Catholics. Everything about you must be printed on a piece of paper, for them to accept it. Promise me." She reached out her hand and gripped my arm. "Promise me you will not let them baptize me Catholic. If I am to meet my Maker, I would do so Methodist. It's a good religion. It's held me in good stead all my life."

  I looked at her with doubt in my eyes, I am ashamed to say. "How can I stop them?" I asked.

  "You can't. But if you find out that they've done it, you can have it voided."

  "Void a baptism?"

  "Yes."

  "How?"

  "Simple. A bag of asafetida around the neck will do it. What the nuns use for croup."

  I blinked at her, unbelieving. "Asafetida?"

  "Yes. It voids the baptism. Don't look at me like that. I know from what I speak. I have it from the highest sources here in Santa Fe. Where they know about things like spells and wishes, sin and forgiveness, and the art of magic."

  "Who?" I demanded. "Who told you this?"

  She stopped climbing again to look at me full face. "Do you think you are the first to visit Dolores la Penca? Do you think you discovered her?"

  "Oh, Mrs. Lacey, I'm so ashamed of that visit. Everybody knows about it and is belaboring the matter."

  "They're jealous. And curious. They all would like to visit her. Even the nuns, believe me."

  I remembered then Sister Roberta's interes
t and questions. "Did Dolores tell you that's the way to void a baptism, then?"

  "She did. And though others may scoff at her, or pretend to scoff, she holds sway over everyone with her opinions, believe me. People dare not disbelieve her."

  "All right, Mrs. Lacey," I said. "I will do whatever you wish if they baptize you."

  "Good. Now, tell me what your worry is," she pushed. "I know something is troubling you."

  A lot of matters troubled me. But I gave my attention to the one at hand. "Sister Roberta wants me to keep her apprised of Delvina's condition. She wants to bring her into the convent just before the baby comes."

  "Well! I wondered when those Polly Pureheart nuns would get around to putting their attention to a real problem. Come, we will ask Delvina. Today."

  "You mean I can meet her?" I stood dumbfounded.

  "Well, do you know a way to ask her without meeting her? Perhaps you do," she said, leading me across the mesa. "Perhaps you learned something from that witch after all."

  11

  WE BOTH HEARD THE sound of a baby crying, at the same time.

  We stopped and stared at each other. Then Mrs. Lacey said, "Hurry." And she betook herself across the flat dry ground toward the only remaining building as if she were fourteen again. It was an old two-story, crumbling building. I followed her.

  Inside, on the first floor, she led me to a small room that had holes in the walls that gave a magnificent view but also let in the cold.

  On the floor, huddled in old dusty blankets, was a young woman. The baby was wailing out its misery, for it was that time of day when the cold started to descend.

  "Oh, Mrs. Lacey," she said, reaching out her hand. "Oh, you have come. Madre de Dios, I thought you would never come."

  Never had I seen such a beautiful woman in my life. Her face had the sweet roundness of perfection to it. Her eyes were so blue they would make the sky jealous. Her hair was richly dark and fell about her shoulders where it had become unpinned.

  In her arms she held a tiny likeness of herself. A newborn baby. It had stopped crying now and was mewing like a cat.

  "Delvina, Delvina, child. How did you have this baby by yourself? And when?"

  "Last night," she said in a gentle voice tinged with tiredness. "But I was not alone. Lozen was here. She helped me."

  "Lozen! Oh, I wish I had seen her. How good of her. And when did she leave?"

  "She stayed the night with me. She fetched water, made a fire. See? There are the remains." She pointed, and sure enough, the charred remains of a wood fire sat nearby.

  Then she noticed me. "Ah, this is the muchachita bonita who comes with you every day to visit Robert's grave, is she not?"

  "Yes, this is Lizzy Enders."

  "Hello, Lizzy, how are you?"

  "How are your" I asked. "You need help. Sister Roberta at the school wanted me to ask you when you expected your lying-in."

  "Tell Sister Roberta it came sooner than expected."

  "I've brought blankets. Here." I spread them over her. "But you and the baby need to get into someplace proper and warm. Sister Roberta wants you to come to the convent. She said they have a place for you."

  "Oh, I don't know. It wouldn't be safe."

  "It's safer than here."

  "For everyone in the convent, I mean. If my husband finds out I'm there, there's no telling what evil he'll try to do."

  "The Bishop is back," I told her. I thought of the Bishop's strong, distinguished face, of his no-nonsense manner. "He won't let any harm come to anyone. You must come today!" I appealed to Mrs. Lacey. "Please!"

  "Lizzy is right. And she is going to get on her horse right now and ride back and have a wagon brought for you and the child. Aren't you, Lizzy?"

  I got up. "Yes."

  Delvina lay back on the blankets. "I'm afraid I'm not as strong as I thought," she said. "I don't feel well. So all I can hope is that the nuns will find a place for my baby."

  I was already running across the ground toward Ben. "I'll be back very soon," I yelled over my shoulder.

  BLACK SHADOWS ALREADY LAY in the lee of adobe walls as I rode Ben back through town. It was against the law to race your mount in the street. I had been told that by Mother Magdalena. Weariness sat on my shoulders and on top of my head as I walked Ben as fast as I could. I thought about the other law Sister Roberta had told me about the day she told me to keep her apprised of Delvina's condition.

  "Midwives must be licensed in Santa Fe. And that license must be granted by a municipal judge. Also, they must have a certificate from their parish priest that says they know how to administer baptism. That's why we must get her back here. She must have a proper midwife."

  I giggled, wondering if Lozen would be considered licensed.

  Then I frowned, worrying about the baby. I hadn't even asked if it was a boy or girl. And suppose it died before we got it back to the convent? It would end up in Limbo. And I would be blamed. I should have brought it along with me and not left it in the cold. But then I wouldn't be able to manage Ben so well.

  Maybe I or Mrs. Lacey should have baptized the baby. Was it possible for a heretic to do so? Oh, I was so tired and confused! I'd been on the run since early this morning, I'd scarce slept last night, and my head buzzed with weariness. I rode past the plaza. The last of the merchants were packing up their wares. Some Indians from nearby pueblos, who also came to sell, had wrapped themselves in blankets to guard the meat they would leave hanging overnight in the cold. It hung on ropes suspended from the portal of the Governor's Palace. I knew those shapes were venison, turkey, and even bear. But they took on a dark, menacing appearance.

  I passed the U.S. Army quartermaster's depot, two blocks from the convent. "We're almost there, Ben," I said.

  When I got inside the gates of the school, the first person I saw was Gregorio. I was so glad to see him that I slipped off Ben, nearly fell, and he came to help me up.

  "Muchachita, what has happened? Where is Mrs. Lacey?"

  I was unsteady on my feet and held on to Ben as I blurted out my story. Then I collapsed.

  Gregorio carried me inside. I protested, but he would not listen. In through the kitchen, where he shouted for his wife. "Bring her to the nuns. Get Bishop Lamy from his supper!"

  In the next minute the whole place became alive with mayhem. Ramona sat me at the table and sent a servant for Mother Magdalena and the Bishop. Both came into the kitchen and I told my story again. Bishop Lamy didn't shillyshally. He ordered Gregorio to get out the wagon and go and fetch home Mrs. Lacey, the baby, and Delvina. Sister Roberta was to go with him. She ran for some remedies.

  "I want to go, too, please," I begged. "They won't know whereto find them."

  "They know where the fort is," Bishop Lamy spoke kindly but firmly. "And the deserted building. That woman Delvina should have been brought here sooner." He turned to Mother Magdalena.

  "You know who her husband is, Your Eminence," she said. "I couldn't endanger my girls."

  "This is my church," he said. "And my school and convent. It is a safe house. A place of asylum." Then he stopped himself. If he was going to have a difference of opinion with Mother Magdalena, he would save it until later. He looked at me. "This child is exhausted," he said.

  "She went with Sister Roberta this afternoon to pick herbs." It was Elinora. All the girls who boarded were in the kitchen now, too. It was supper hour, and they'd come in from the student dining room to see what the fuss was about.

  "I told you, Elinora," the Bishop said, "that you were to keep silent the rest of this day, did I not?"

  Elinora flushed, sniffed, and went back to the dining room. Apparently she and her uncle had had their little "talk." She did not look at all happy.

  "Who delivered the baby?" the Bishop then asked me.

  I had hoped nobody would ask. But he was smart, this bishop. I looked up at him mutely, hoping he would not insist. He saw something in my face, I suppose.

  "Tell me, child."

  I kn
ew everyone was staring at me, but felt only the eyes of the Bishop, pulling the truth out of me like a bad tooth. "She said Lozen," I told him.

  He showed no surprise. He did not ask who Lozen was. Others did. "Who? Who?" The question went around the room until the Bishop held up his hand to silence everyone.

  "Feed this child," he then told Ramona. "Some of that good sopa de vermiale, then see that she has a hot bath and is put to bed in the guest room. Make sure she is all right. Call me if she isn't."

  He nodded and smiled at me encouragingly. And I knew then that he knew about Lozen. I did not have to explain. He turned and left the room.

  Everyone went back to their business. I ate the sopa de vermiale, which was vermicelli soup and very delicious. I was about starved. Then Ramona took me upstairs to the guest room. I'd never seen it before. It had a highpost bed. One of Gregorio's assistants soon had a roaring fire in the hearth. Another servant filled a copper tub with hot water. I took a hot bath while Ramona went to fetch my nightgown and my clothes for the morning. I took the bath without my chemise and pantalets on and enjoyed the sensuous sudsy hot water into which Ramona had put some lavender. She came back and washed my hair, pouring more hot water over it. Then, while I sat in front of the fire in my nightdress, she dried my hair with a towel and brushed it until I was drowsy. Then she pulled back the quilt on the feather bed, left a lighted candle, and said she would be back.

  I lay in the feather bed, feeling as if I were in Mama's arms, watching the flickering shadows from the candlelight on the whitewashed walls. In a wall crevice was the Virgin, the snake under her feet. I was so weary her face looked like Mama's. I tried to stay awake, to listen for the sound of the wagon outside when they came back with Mrs. Lacey and Delvina and the baby. But I was a weak-spined sissy-boots. And I fell asleep.

  12

  WHEN I AWOKE the next morning, it was to the smell of coffee as I lay in a feather bed in a room with a crackling fire and no Elinora to badger me. I thought I was in heaven.