Carla Kelly's Christmas Collection

by Carla Kelly

  “You stayed too long.”

  The colonel was silent then for a long time, and Sarah wondered if he had reverted once more to the monosyllables of yesterday. She folded the papers and replaced them in the pouch, dropping it down the front of her habit again.

  “Was it worth it?” he asked simply, when they were in the safety of the trees again.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied. “I feel so angry at James for doing what he did and insisting that I stay with him, and Papa for urging us both on. And then I am angry at myself for not demanding that we leave with the army.” She touched her chest. “And still, there are these papers. It is the only gift I have left to give, isn’t it?”

  She thought of the French then and turned around slightly to look at the colonel. “I need to tell you. It’s only fair that I should tell you… Colonel, I think the French found out I have these papers and they are after them. I cannot imagine any other reason they seem to be looking for us, can you?”

  He made no reply.

  “I truly am sorry,” she said. “I don’t understand why they want these papers, but there it is.”

  “Perhaps they want to wish us Happy Christmas,” Sotomayor said at last. “Lady, I did not know you were a dangerous lady when I agreed to escort you to Ciudad Rodrigo.”

  “I am sorry, sir. Please do not leave me now.”

  “Not a chance,” and his voice was stiffly formal again. “I believe we already discussed Spanish honor on this issue.”

  “Oh, don’t remind me,” she murmured. “I always seem to be apologizing to you, Colonel.” She turned around again. “I wish you would call me Sarah, Colonel, instead of lady.” She smiled at him and then turned back to her previous view of the horse’s ears. “I harbor a vast suspicion that you have many more titles than I, anyway.”

  “It’s possible… Sarah. And you must call me Luís. I have titles and land, but the estates are all burned and the sheep and cattle run off.”

  “You can get more someday.”

  “I can get more someday,” he agreed. “Right now, I would give it all up for a bowl of wheat mush.”

  Sarah laughed. “And a sausage.”

  “A piece of cheese.”

  “An orange.”

  He laughed then, too. “I have oranges, only they are on trees so far away.” His voice was wistful as he tightened his grip on her. “You can’t imagine the perfume when the blossoms come out in the spring. Liria used to… She would leave the windows open and the petals would fall all over the floor. It was beautiful.”

  His tone was so wistful that Sarah felt the familiar prickle of tears behind her eyelids.

  “Do you miss her?” she asked suddenly. Sotomayor showed no surprise at the bald question, even though Sarah blushed as soon as the words left her lips.

  “Virgen santa, how I miss her,” he said, unconsciously slowing his horse to a walk. “I was so far away, and so busy when she died. I would have given the earth to see her one last time…” He sighed and prodded his tired horse into motion again.

  It was many words for the colonel, but he did not stop. It was as though Sarah’s impudent question had opened a door closed too long.

  “I miss her at night, Sarah, when I turn over and she is not there.” He smoothed his hair. “I used to tease her about taking the middle of the bed and leaving me the sides, but I would gladly tolerate that again.”

  “Poor colonel,” Sarah whispered. “Was it love at first sight?”

  He laughed, and the free sound of his laughter relieved her. “No. Our papas arranged the whole thing. I didn’t see Liria until the day we were married.” His voice became reflective again, subdued. “We were just luckier than most.”

  He shifted in the saddle, and Sarah knew how badly he wanted to move about and walk off the agitation that her questions were causing.

  “Do you know what I miss the most, all other things set aside?”

  “No, Luís.”

  “When I used to do something she did not like, she would get such a look in those brown eyes and scold me and call me a thickheaded orange-grower.”

  Sarah laughed then, thinking of the times her father had peered over her shoulder and jabbed his finger at those places where her translations were weak. Or how James, his lips thin in that familiar gesture of agitation, would shake his head over her penmanship as she scribbled to keep up with his enthusiastic dictation.

  “You can’t seriously miss that, Colonel.”

  He slewed himself around to look her in the face. “Sarah, when someone scolds you, that means they care. Don’t you see? If people don’t care about you, they don’t say anything.”

  “I suppose I never thought of it like that,” she replied.

  “And then, when I was properly contrite, Liria would give me such a hug. Yes, I miss her.”

  “Now?” Sarah asked, her voice low.

  “Well, not so much. The feelings are there, but they have changed. Time smoothes the emotions, like water on rock, and thank God for that. I am grateful for the time we had, and for our daughters, but life does go on…”

  He was silent then, and she did not press him. The wind picked up and she shivered. The colonel drew her cape in closer. “But right now we are cold. Too bad there are no dead Frenchmen about.”

  She made a face. “What are you talking about?”

  “On more than one occasion, I have dumped French bodies from caskets and burned the coffins to keep warm.”

  Sarah gasped and clutched the pommel. No, these people are not like we are. They are immensely practical, enormously resourceful.

  “But didn’t the smoke smell… well, funny?” The colonel threw back his head and laughed. He hugged her tighter about the waist until she gasped again.

  “You are a bit of a pícara yourself, no, Sarah?”

  “No,” she said firmly, and pulled his arms from her waist. “I would never dream of burning a coffin.”

  “Warm’s warm, Sarah. Don’t forget it. And also don’t forget, trust no one.”

  They traveled in silence and hunger across high, wild-country, windswept land that seemed to stretch beyond her puny vision, out of the edge of her sight. What must it be like in the spring, when the oceans of grass were lime green again and lambs dotted the hillsides like so much cotton wadding?

  But now it was stark and cold and frozen in the deepest winter such as she had never known. There was no snow. The ground was bare right down to the center of the earth. She shivered, grateful for the colonel’s arms around her.

  As the day wore on, they began to see houses, one here, one there, widely separate on the vast plain, and then closer together, as if seeking mutual comfort from the wind that never stopped. Luís circled the houses at a distance, coming no closer than was necessary.

  Finally Sarah could hold back her complaint no longer. “Oh, Luís, could we stop for food? Surely someone—”

  He cut her off. “Not as long as the French army is in front of us,” he said. “They will be ordering every campesino to look for”—he paused, as if unsure what to say—“a woman in a blue cloak, and maybe a soldier, too.” He shrugged and tightened his grip on her waist. “And if they are behind us, well, that would be worse. Then the French would know precisely where we are. We dare not trust anyone.”

  The cold was making Sarah drowsy. She nodded to sleep, only to be elbowed awake by the colonel.

  “No, Sarah,” he said, his voice filled with an urgency that startled her, and yanked back the blanket of sleep. “You must stay awake.”

  He stopped his horse, plucked her off the front of the saddle, and set her on the ground. “Walk alongside for a while. It will wake you up.”

  She made no protest, where yesterday she would have sighed and scolded. Without a word, she took hold of the stirrup and plodded beside the animal, her eyes straight ahead. Soon she was colder than before, without the protection of her cape and the colonel’s warmth, but she was wide awake. Hunger had gnawed a hole through her midd
le and lighted a flame in her forehead that kept her moving. Over and over she thought, I will get these papers to Oxford, I will, I will.

  Sarah didn’t realize she was speaking out loud until the colonel leaned down and touched her head. “Of course you will,” he said. “Come up now. I think you will stay awake.”

  He took her by the elbow as she put her foot over his and climbed back into the saddle. She settled herself in front of the colonel with a sigh, pleased to the point of caricature to be warmer again. I can be content with so little now, she thought as the cloak came around her.

  “Are you warm enough?” he asked.

  She nodded and rested her head against him, enjoying the comfort of his nearness.

  They traveled a shepherd’s path then, high into the mountains, rocky and difficult, and when they came out of the pass, the army was gone.

  “I did a foolish thing!” the colonel exploded.

  Sarah looked around. The plain was bare, with no sign of the French army before them raising a cloud of dust. The colonel swore again and turned around in the saddle. “Where are they now, Sarah?” he asked, more to himself than to her.

  “Perhaps they have gone back,” she offered helpfully.

  “Then I am the king of Spain, God bless that royal cuckold,” was the colonel’s reply. “Well, let us be more watchful.”

  The afternoon shadows lengthened across the land, which gradually yielded to a forested area, dotted with ice-flecked ponds and frozen grass. The colonel stopped frequently to allow his horse to graze, while Sarah dipped the tin cup over and over into the ponds and drank until her stomach gurgled. The colonel joined her, squatting on his heels, and accepted the cup from her.

  “We’re close to the border. I wonder that we have seen no Spanish troops yet, or British. They command a presence here.” He drank and then tossed the rest over his shoulder. “Or, at least, they used to.”

  “Do you mean—”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now,” said the colonel, his voice filled with frustration. “I don’t even know where the enemy is, and that is the worst blunder of all.”

  Sarah put her hand on his arm. “You have done magnificently, Luís. I would never have got this far with Dink.”

  He smiled at her. “You are more than kind, Sarah.”

  He rose and pulled her up after him, looking at her. “I wonder that you have never married. Excuse the impertinence, but is there something wrong with the English?”

  Sarah laughed and then pressed her hands to her middle. “Oh, that hurts! There is nothing wrong with Englishmen,” she said, “only I suppose no one was ever interested in someone so bookish. I am what you would call a bluestocking. It was always more fun to tag along after James into archives than to bow and dance, and knot a fringe, or paint a dreary watercolor.” She looked about her. “But I would like to come back here in the spring and try something else in oils. Spain is not watercolor country.”

  The colonel shook his head and then bowed playfully. “You have my permission when—ojalá—there is peace again, to paint my orange groves in the south. In fact, it may be that I will insist upon it.”

  “Insist?” she teased playfully, delighted at the way his blue eyes widened when he smiled.

  “Yes. I have been known to order people about. For their own good, of course, dear lady,” he said.

  She clapped her hands and curtsied back. “We shall see about your orange groves. Are there archives nearby?”

  “Silly woman,” he scolded, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “Did no one ever tell you that brains are a frivolous ornament on a woman?”

  “Many times,” Sarah replied quietly, “but I chose not to believe them.”

  “Brava, bravissima,” the colonel said as he helped her to her feet. “My Liria was a woman of great intelligence. It is good she was smarter than I.”

  He limped back to the horse and just stood there watching the animal. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  “Do you know, Luís, you should have your foot looked at by the British doctors when we get to Ciudad Rodrigo.”

  He turned around in surprise. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Well, your limp,” she said in confusion.

  He shook his head. “It will be better soon enough. Nothing to worry about.”

  They rode into the afternoon. Dark was coming fast as the valley narrowed. Sarah could see lights in the near distance. She pointed to them.

  “Ciudad Rodrigo?”

  The colonel shook his head. “No. Probably La Calera, or maybe Cailloma.”

  He started to say something else, but jerked forward, a grunt of surprise forced from him. Nearly thrown from the saddle, Sarah grabbed the pommel and then the reins as they fell from his hands. In another second, the colonel’s head drooped onto her shoulder, and she felt a wet warmth spreading over her back.

  “Colonel Sotomayor!” she screamed as she pulled back on the reins and the horse stopped. The animal tossed its head, nervous at the smell of blood, sidestepping even as she tugged on the reins. The colonel was a deadweight against her. She reached behind and felt him.

  “Don’t stop, Sarah,” he said, his voice heavy, sleepy, and faint in her ear. “I think we found the… the…”

  “French army,” she concluded, her thoughts jumbled together. Not this, not now. They fired at someone in a blue cloak. It was meant for me.

  Without another word, Sarah grabbed for the colonel’s hands and pulled them around her waist. She held them there until he managed to dig his thumbs into the waistband of her riding habit.

  With a savage tug of the reins, she wrestled the colonel’s horse under control and then dug her heels into the animal. They shot across the plain, the exhausted animal grunting in its exertions.

  The colonel managed a look over his shoulder.

  “Nothing,” he muttered. “Where are they?”

  Sarah looked back once as twilight settled in, and the sight drove all hunger and cold from her mind. It was a column of troopers, not riding fast in pursuit, but loping along like wolves to the rear of a wounded deer, animals of prey with all the time in the world.

  She headed toward the village, and the colonel tried to take the reins from her.

  “Not there,” he gasped. “Dios mío, Sarah, not these border villages. They have even less loyalty than the campesinos. Find a small farmhouse, anything else.”

  She ignored him and forced the horse into a gallop, her heart and mind trained on the village. “At some point, Colonel, you have to trust someone,” she murmured, and then rubbed her cheek against his in a gesture of comfort.

  His breathing grew more labored as he leaned so heavy against her back. “Sarah, I wanted to tell you something,” he gasped.

  “Can it wait?” she said. “Oh, please don’t exert yourself. Luís, just hang on!”

  They galloped into the village as dark took hold, still in front of the soldiers. She rose in the stirrups and then covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a cry. French soldiers were camped across the bridge just beyond the village. As she watched, another detachment rode in from the north.

  What have I done? she thought wildly.

  And there was the village. The comforting smell of wood smoke greeted her and made her mouth water, even as her stomach grew into a tighter ball from fear. As she sat on the lathered horse, wondering what to do next, a procession of villagers wound their way through the street, singing. At their head was a woman wrapped in blue, seated sidesaddle on a donkey. A bearded man led the animal, and children skipped alongside.

  The colonel opened his eyes at the singing. “God bless us, a posada,” he said. “Oh, Sarah, help me off this horse.”

  She sat where she was, remembering. Was it only nine days ago that she and James had watched a similar procession wind its way through the narrow streets of Salamanca, as Joseph sought a bed for Mary? This was the ninth night. Soon he would knock and knock and then the innkee
per would finally let them in.

  Sarah threw herself from the horse and steadied Luís as he dismounted and then dropped to his knees. She ran to the head of the procession, which had stopped in confusion.

  Her hands clasped in front of her, she ran to the Joseph. “Oh, please, please help us,” she cried. “The French.”

  Startled, the man stepped back and stared at her. He shook his head.

  Tears sprang into Sarah’s eyes and then she realized that in her agitation she had spoken in English. She took a deep breath and tried again in Spanish, her words tumbling out. “The French! They are after me. Oh, please, the colonel said not to trust anyone, but I must.”

  There was silence, and then sudden activity as the villagers swarmed around her. Almost quicker than sight, someone grabbed the colonel, ripping off a waistband and cinching it tight around his middle, stopping the bleeding, while another took his horse by the reins and ran with it into the darkness.

  As she watched in openmouthed surprise, the children stomped in the dirt and covered the blood on the ground, while a woman gently removed the bloody cloak and motioned to Mary, who leapt from the donkey, pulling off her cloak as she ran to Sotomayor. She whirled the cape around his sagging body as Joseph lifted the colonel in his arms and placed him on the donkey. He pulled the veil far over the colonel’s face and took his place at the head of the procession again, even as another man, singing loud again, jerked Sarah to his side and covered her with his cloak.

  The procession moved on again as the French troopers rode into town and shouted at them to stop. The villagers continued to move until the officer spoke to them in terrible Spanish.

  “Have you seen any strangers in this village, one of them bleeding?”

  Joseph shrugged. He looked up at Colonel Sotomayor. “María, you would have noticed, wouldn’t you?”

  The colonel shook his head. Sarah clenched her fists and turned her face toward the villager who held her tight.