Renegade Love (Rancheros)

by Fletcher, Donna

  Esteban walked out of the Mercantile and all eyes turned on him. Some men even followed him out to stare at him as if he was an oddity. Her husband stopped before stepping off the planked walkway and turned his head slowly to glare at each and every person who stared at him. They quickly averted their eyes, the men rushing back into the Mercantile and the men on the streets hurrying off.

  He stood there a few minutes until everyone dispersed, and then he climbed into the carriage placing the wrapped package with sealed letters tucked beneath the string, under the seat.

  They drove on passing several more buildings until they finally entered St. Lucita Plaza, the center of the small town and the gathering place for the peasants. It was busy this time of morning. The women were assembled at the well not only to collect water but also gossip. The men went about their daily chores, stopping occasionally to talk and barter.

  It was a familiar scene to Rosa and one she missed. She was eager to see her friend Marinda and discover what news she had to share. Who had had babies? Who was falling in love? Who had taken ill? But the more she saw the way the people bowed their heads or averted their eyes not only at Esteban, but at her as well made her realize that things had changed. She feared that she was no longer one of them and that she would not be welcomed at the well to share gossip. She had felt homeless, adrift after losing her parents, not knowing where she belonged. She felt that way again now, the people she once called friends glaring at her as if she was a stranger just like at the hacienda. Where now did she belong?

  To my husband. The thought startled her.

  She looked at him and saw how stiff he sat, his eyes straight ahead, acknowledging no one, as if he could not be bothered. Her posture had grown taut as well and she realized neither of them smiled. Don Alejandro had always greeted the townspeople with a smile when he rode through the Plaza. She, herself, had always had a smile for her friends. She had always looked forward to such pleasant exchanges, especially having to live with two people who offered only berating and not an ounce of pleasantry.

  Would the townspeople believe her new life with Esteban difficult since she had yet to greet them with a smile? Would they think she too was as fearful of him as they were? The thoughts no soon as entered her head than a smile spread across her face and her hand went to squeeze her husband’s arm as she said, “Please stop the carriage.”

  Esteban eased the horses to a stop, concerned that his wife felt ill. Before he could inquire, she was climbing out of the carriage, taking the basket of oranges with her. He watched her call out greetings to various people she knew and hurried over to a few children at play to give them each a plump orange. They smiled as Rosa ruffled their hair and they took the offered fruit without hesitation. She gave another orange to an old woman sitting on a bench, though not before peeling the skin off it for her. She then hurried over to her friend Marinda and the two women hugged like long lost sisters reunited. They spoke a few words, laughed, spoke a few more words, and then Rosa handed her the basket and what was left of the oranges.

  He watched how stares turned to smiles as Rosa called out to people by name and asked how they were or asked about a family member that had been feeling poorly. Then before she reached the carriage she called out that she would light a candle for the sick and they all smiled and nodded.

  Esteban jumped out of the carriage and a few men that stood close by scurried away. He went to his wife, took her hand, and assisted her into the conveyance. He then snapped the reins as soon as he returned to his seat and they proceeded to the mission.

  Rosa continued to smile and wave at anyone they passed and when he brought the carriage to a stop in front of the mission he turned to her.

  “Do you think to show the people that you have tamed the beast?”

  “No,” she said forcing her smile to remain and ignoring the tremble in her legs. “That I have survived the beast.”

  Esteban sat shocked as she climbed out of the carriage, though it didn’t take long for him to respond. He bolted out of the vehicle to grab his wife’s arm as she walked away from him and swung her around to face him. He was angry that she should think that she needed to survive him. That is what he had thought about his capture—he had needed to survive—no matter what he had needed to survive.

  “So you think to survive me?”

  “Isn’t that what we both have done? Survive how best we could?” Her curiosity gave her the courage to seek an answer to his prior remark. “Or is there more you wanted?”

  This time Padre Marten interrupted an answer. He spread his arms wide in greeting. “Welcome my children.” He turned to Esteban, his glance settling with a scowl on the hand that grasped Rosa’s arm. “Have you come for confession?”

  “There aren’t enough prayers in heaven to cleanse my soul, Padre.” Esteban released his wife and returned to the carriage to grab the leather satchel. He handed it to the padre. “From my father.” He reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a few coins. “My wife wishes to light some candles for friends.”

  Padre Marten accepted the coins and nodded to Rosa.

  “Do not take long,” Esteban said and walked over to the carriage. He would give her a few minutes to see to her task. He wanted to be on his way home. He preferred the solitude of the hacienda and he was beginning to enjoy time alone with his wife. He was aware that could prove dangerous, but he had decided to chance it.

  Is there more you wanted?

  Her question suddenly assaulted him, though it was his own words that she had tossed back at him. He did want more from her, so much more and it wasn’t only about consummating their vows. He was beginning to see his wife differently than he had first thought. There was courage beneath her meek demeanor that was tempered by her kind heart. And he realized that while her courage had been stumped on by the Curros, they had been unable to rob her of her kindness.

  He, on the other hand, had been robbed of every ounce of kindness he had ever possessed and he wanted to know how she had managed to hold on to her humanity while suffering such abuse.

  Esteban glared at the mission doors that stood open. What was keeping her? He almost climbed down out of the carriage when he reminded himself that it hadn’t been that long since she had entered the church. He would give her a few more minutes and if she didn’t appear, he would go in and get her.

  After barely a few minutes had passed Esteban lost his patience and hurried out of the carriage and into the church to collect his wife. He remained in the shadows when he saw that the padre was speaking with her. He moved closer with such silent steps that they did not hear him approach.

  “It is good of you to light candles for your friends,” the padre said standing to the side of the metal rack that held numerous candles.

  “And for my husband, who is also my friend,” Rosa informed him with a smile.

  “Esteban is your husband, not your friend,” the padre said sadly. “I doubt he knows what it is to be a friend. And a candle lit for him will do him little good if he doesn’t attend confession.”

  Rosa softly blew out the flame at the end of the slim stick she had used to light the candles and replaced it in the glass holder along with the others to be used again. Her heart pounded and her hands trembled. She always got like that when she worried about speaking up and more often than not she kept her thought to herself. This time, however, she felt compelled to defend her husband.

  “You are wrong, Padre. Esteban knows how to be a friend and is a good friend to me.”

  “You barely know him, my child.”

  Rosa raised her chin a notch. “I know that he has suffered and is deserving of compassion and forgiveness for the horrors forced on him.”

  “He need only attend confession to receive that.”

  “Perhaps, but shouldn’t he be welcomed into the safety and sanctity of the church until that time?”

  “There are rules—”

  “That restrict rather than console an injured soul,” Rosa interr
upted.

  “A sinful soul is far different than an injured soul.”

  “My husband is not sinful. He is a good man and good friend.”

  “And is he a good husband? Is he kind and proper in all his husbandly duties?”

  Heat rushed to stain her cheeks apple red and she clenched her hands together tightly so the padre would not see how they trembled. She knew what he was asking, for without the consummation of their vows their marriage was not valid. But why would he question such a thing?

  “Did you expect her to be bruised and unable to walk after I got done exerting my husbandly duty?”

  Padre Marten gasped as Esteban stepped out of the shadows and extended his hand to his wife.

  Rosa took it, relieved he was there, though as usual she was amazed that she had not heard him approach. He tucked her against his side, his arm going around her waist, and she rested there quite comfortably.

  “A marriage can be dissolved if vows are not sealed,” the padre said. “Do you want that, Esteban?”

  Instinctively, Esteban eased Rosa closer against him. “I can assure you, Padre, I slept with my wife and I also can assure you that this marriage will never be dissolved.”

  Padre Marten nodded. “I accept your word, Esteban, for I do not believe you would lie to me in God’s house. And it pleases me to see Rosa so happy. She deserves happiness. And think on the confessional, Esteban, for you will certainly want to attend the baptism of your first child and the many children that I am sure will follow. Bless you both.” The padre made the sign of the cross in front of them. “Now I must go and administer to the sick.” He turned and soon disappeared behind the altar.

  Esteban took his wife’s hand and led her from the church. He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her into the carriage, as if she weighed nothing, then he climbed in beside her and snapped the reins.

  Rosa wasn’t surprised when he directed the horse away not only from the mission but the town itself. This way would take a bit longer to get home, but it was apparent that he didn’t want to ride through town again. She was glad she had gotten a chance to give Marinda the oranges and had told her that she would return another day to visit with her.

  Her thoughts were far too concerned with the incident in the church to even consider a visit with her friend. She wished that she could discuss it with Esteban, but she worried that she had expended her courage for the day and would not fare well against his biting temper if unleashed.

  So she sat in silence focused on the lovely day and the beautiful landscape, trying to forget that their marriage was not truly valid in the eyes of the church. The thought turned persistent and soon the landscape lost its appeal and all she thought about was... that she wasn’t truly Esteban’s wife and wouldn’t be until... the image hit her hard.

  She and Esteban naked in bed together and he kissing her while his fingers slipped between her legs and...

  Her hand flew to her stomach where it felt as if thousands of butterflies fluttered inside her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his hand quickly covering hers.

  His hand completely devoured her small one and she noticed how long his fingers were and once again the image hit and it was as if she could feel his slim fingers penetrating her. She pressed her hand to her stomach harder, hoping to ease the ache.

  Esteban pulled the horse to a stop and turned to his wife. “What’s wrong? Don’t you feel well?”

  What was she to say to him? I’m thinking of you naked, kissing me and touching me.

  She shut her eyes against her wicked thoughts, though he was her husband so how could they be wicked? She hurried to say, “My stomach is a bit upset.”

  “Can you make it to the stream? It’s not far and the cool water may help you.”

  She nodded thinking how she would like to dunk herself in the water and chase away the throb between her legs.

  They were there in no time and Esteban helped her down out of the carriage and kept his arm around her waist until they got to the stream. He helped her sit near the bank, and then dunked his handkerchief in the water, rinsed it, and gently pressed it to her flushed cheeks.

  “I would ask you if you were pregnant, but I know that is not possible. So why does your stomach trouble you?”

  He had the most gorgeous sinful dark eyes she had ever seen. Marinda had been right when she had warned her that day not to look upon Esteban. His eyes captivated and captured, never letting go, not that you wanted him to. You were lost once he had firm hold of you with one penetrating glance.

  Penetrating. Damn, why did she have to think about that again?

  She closed her eyes and shook her head trying to rid herself of the persistent image. Then she opened her eyes only to meet his eyes once again and feel her body continue to tingle with pleasure.

  “You will tell me the truth,” he said, as if she had no choice.

  But how did she tell her husband that she had never expected to tingle at his touch or at the mere thought of it? She was too new to this marriage, yet to be sealed, to speak so intimately with him. And to outright lie to him was no way to start a marriage, especially after just coming from church.

  So when she finally spoke it was the truth. “It upsets me to see how people treat you.”

  “They fear me,” —he paused for a moment—“don’t you?”

  “Fear has no place in a marriage.” And she surprised him with a generous smile. “My mother and father smiled, laughed, and hugged often. My father would tell me how rich we were, though it was not the type of wealth you could see. He told me that love—true love—grows and thrives and produces a harvest of happiness with each passing year.”

  “So you don’t fear me?”

  “I don’t want to fear you. I want us to be friends.”

  “So you said.”

  “You said you wanted more.”

  “I do.”

  “What more do you want?”

  “I want all of you,” he said adamantly.

  She wasn’t sure if it was a tingle of fear or passion that ran through her, but since there hadn’t been an ounce of menace in his voice she tended to believe that passion was the culprit for her reaction.

  “As my wife you belong to me, but can you give every part of yourself to me, Rosa? Can you surrender yourself completely?”

  The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Can you do the same? Surrender yourself completely to me?”

  He sprang to his feet. “It’s time to go.” He didn’t offer his hand. He turned and walked to the carriage.

  She stared after him for a moment, and then went to get to her feet. He was there before she realized it, his hands at her waist lifting her to stand. When she raised her head, she caught a spark of anger in his eyes.

  “I surrendered myself once... I’ll never do so again.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Rosa watched her husband walk away from her, his strides unhurried, though determined. As soon as they had reached the hacienda, he had helped her out of the carriage, then turned and walked away. She couldn’t help but feel as if he abandoned her. Was he walking away from their marriage? Their vows had yet to be sealed, so in the eyes of the church they were not truly married. Would it remain that way unless... she surrendered completely to him? Would he settle for nothing less?

  She entered the hacienda, her mind troubled.

  “Rosa.”

  She turned to see Dona Valerianna in the small parlor where the woman spent a good amount of time on her embroidery. Rosa joined her, though she would have preferred to go to her bed chamber and be alone.

  “Was there a letter from my daughter?”

  Rosa hadn’t realized that she had the package and letter that Esteban had picked up from the Mercantile pressed to her chest. She had scooped it up just before he had scooped her out of the carriage.

  She handed the package to Dona Valerianna.

  “A letter from Crista,” Dona Valerianna said with exc
itement as she slipped it from beneath the thin rope tied around the package. “And the package I have been waiting for,”—she smiled and handed it to Rosa—“for you my dear.”

  Rosa stared at the package wrapped in brown paper. It had been so long since she had gotten a gift and the ones she remembered receiving had been small items that her father or mother had handmade.

  “Take it, it’s for you,” Dona Valerianna urged and Rosa did.

  Rosa carefully untied the string and peeled away the brown paper. Words eluded her as she stared at drawing paper, a tin of charcoals, and a tin of graphite sticks. Never had she imagined having such precious drawing tools.

  Rosa turned to Dona Valerianna with tears pooling in her eyes. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem adequate.”

  Dona Valerianna reached out and patted Rosa’s arm. “You have a talent and you should have what you need to grow that talent. And I so want to display your drawings throughout the hacienda. I have also inquired about sending for an easel, paints, and canvas for you.”

  “That is too much,” Rosa protested, already feeling the woman had overindulged.

  “Nonsense, I hope one day you will do a portrait of the family so that we will all live on for future generations to know us.”

  Rosa did not believe herself that talented, though she would love to attempt such a painting, but first she would practice with these drawing tools and grow her talent as Dona Valerianna suggested.

  “Now I must see what my daughter has to say,” Dona Valerianna said breaking the wax seal on the letter. “Oh my, she’ll be leaving Spain in the next week or so.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “I have missed her so much and she is so happy to be returning home. I cannot wait to tell Alejandro.”

  Raised voices had both women jumping. Esteban and his father were arguing, not an unusual occurrence as Rosa had come to learn, but one that never failed to upset Dona Valerianna.