Lupita watched him carefully. “Gracias, hermanito. But you did not have to—”
“I wanted to. You’ll never go without again, Lupita. Not ever.”
“As long as I have you back, Santiago, I will be content. The house that you bought, it is a big house. You will live there, too. You and Russia. You will live there with me and the children. We will be happy again, little brother.”
Happy. The word echoed through him, reminding him of what he’d been forcing himself to forget. Lowering his gaze, he glared at his hands, his stained nails.
“Happily ever after,” he whispered too softly for Lupita to hear. Closing his eyes, he tried to subdue the sorrow he knew would never go away.
“Santiago?”
Raking his fingers through his hair, he returned to her bedside. “Russia and I won’t be staying here, Lupita. Russia—she’s returning to her—her Prince Charming.”
“Who?”
Quietly, Santiago told his sister all about the gentleman of Russia’s dreams. “There will be a wedding,” he concluded. “Not here in Misericordia, but in Whispering Oaks. Russia will be the bride. But—but not mine.”
* * *
“You are a good woman, Russia.” Having disregarded Dr. Gamoneda’s instructions that she stay in bed, Lupita sat in the front room, watching Russia tend to the infant, Manuel. Santiago, she knew, was at the house across the street, supervising its reconstruction. She would take full advantage of his absence. “Good with my children, good with my brother.”
Russia tapped her nails on the arm of her chair in a nervous fashion, uncomfortable talking about Santiago with his sister, afraid that her ragged emotions would escape for Lupita to see. “Cain’t never have no children o’ my own. Reckon that’s why I like bein’ with yours so much. And as fer Santiago—it ain’t hard bein’ with him, neither.”
Smiling slyly, Lupita reached over to the small table beside her chair and turned up the lamp. She would not break her promise to Santiago. Wouldn’t mention his love for Russia. But keeping that vow did not mean she had to stay completely silent. Perhaps all the young people needed was a gentle push, she decided. “The children tell me that you spend much time with them. They tell me also that Santiago is always at the old house he has bought for me. You have not talked to Santiago very much in the past week?”
Russia shook her head, lifted Manuel to her shoulder, and began walking the baby around the small room.
“You are not avoiding my brother, are you, Russia?”
“Uh…no. It’s jist that— Well, I’m takin’ care o’ the kids, and he’s busy at the house.” She stopped before a small bookcase across the room, her back to Lupita. “Busy,” she repeated. “We both been real busy.”
Lupita smiled again. “Yes, my brother is busy. He was always busy when he was little, and from what he tells me about the past sixteen years, he has stayed busy. It is time for him to be busy with other things now. More important things than chasing criminals. He needs a woman in his life, Russia. You are aware of this?”
Russia wrapped the blanket around Manuel more tightly. “How’d you get this here little baby, Lupita?”
Lupita accepted Russia’s evasiveness with patience and understanding. “Padre Rodriguez found Manuel in a basket on the altar in the church three months ago. We could not find the parents, but whoever they are, they did not want a blind son. Manuel, Pablito, Lourdes, and Blanca, they all need someone to love them. And so I love them. Love, it is a necessary thing in this world that is so cruel sometimes, isn’t it, Russia? So important that when one finds it, one should never let it go. Santiago, he needs to find love. He needs a woman to love him. A good woman who will give him all that he deserves to have. In return, he would make that woman very happy.”
Russia’s heart shed the tears she wouldn’t allow to come to her eyes. A good woman. A decent lady who could give him the children he yearned for, the children he deserved to have. “Yeah, a princess,” she murmured. “He needs to find him a—”
“Lupita!” Santiago bellowed upon entering the room and seeing his sister out of bed. “What are you—”
“Santiago, what has happened to your manners?” she scolded him. “You are yelling at me. Come and take me to bed. I am tired and want to sleep. You will keep Russia company while she tries to get Manuelito to go to sleep. He is an owl, that one, asleep all day and awake all night.”
Feigning a yawn, she hoped little Manuel would, indeed, remain restless tonight. If he did, Santiago and Russia would have no choice but to be together.
Together, she thought as Santiago carried her to her bedroom. Her brother and Russia belonged together. She could see that. She would pray that they would soon see it, too.
Santiago put his sister to bed and took a moment to reprimand her for getting out of it in the first place. When he returned to the front room, he saw Russia sitting by the fire, rocking Manuel. She hadn’t heard him come in; he was able to watch her unobserved.
Her lustrous hair caught the mellow light of the flames.
In long waves, it cascaded to the floor, sweeping across the small rug as she rocked.
Even from where he stood he detected her scent. She wore ginger tonight. It filled the room with its pungent fragrance.
She had on a pink-and-blue-striped gown. The colors, combined with her golden hair, reminded him of the rainbow that had shimmered behind her that day she’d been sitting in all that emerald clover. Rainbows, he remembered. And rapture.
Rainbows and rapture, Russia Valentine. He’d love her for all eternity. “Russia,” he called softly.
She looked up at him, her heart beating wildly at the sight. A shiver of awareness sped through her.
He was as dark as the shadows behind him. Big. Lord, he was so big. His presence in the room made it seem smaller.
“Russia,” he said again.
She ached when he said her name. His voice, velvet and gold, would sing through her mind forever.
His eyes glittered softly, reflecting fireshine and gentleness. His gaze touched her tenderly, like a caress.
She watched him come toward her. It was as if he walked on air. Each of his steps was fluid with grace, yet his body bulged with strength.
How she loved him. More than life itself. Love. She marveled at its power, it unselfishness.
Still aching inside, she watched him stop beside her. His body heat reached her, making her pulse leap.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” he murmured huskily. He balled his hands into fists to keep from touching her.
“What with all the stuff to do…” she began. “You been busy with the house, and I—I didn’t never know what a handful children can be.” She gazed down at Manuel. “I’ve done failed in love, Santiago,” she announced, not quite ready to tell him the words that would take him from her life forever. “This little blind baby’s done stealed my heart away. Wanna hold him?”
Before he could object, she placed the baby in his arms.
He looked down at Manuel, watching him yawn and wave his tiny hands.
Russia felt a catch in her throat. He held Manuel so tenderly. It was so strange seeing a tiny, helpless infant in those huge arms. He cooed to the baby. A soft, comforting sound that caused Manuel to smile.
He would make a wonderful father someday, she mused sadly. He’d be strong yet gentle with his children.
His children. Not hers.
She turned to the fire. Staring into the flames, she gathered every shred of courage she possessed. Feeling it fill her, she slipped her hand inside the pocket in her gown and withdrew a shining object. Clasping it between her fingers, she faced Santiago again. “Here it is,” she whispered, fighting to hold onto her valor. “The ring that the one-eyed man give to me.”
Santiago stared at the ring, wondering if the familiar rage would come back to him. He summoned every memory connected with the piece of jewelry.
He felt nothing. The ring was only a ring now. “Russia—”
> “I—You—Ever’thing we set out to do is done now. It’s…it’s time to talk about this ring, ain’t it?”
He knew what she was leading up to, and fought to keep a look of calmness on his face.
Russia glanced at the ring, then back at Santiago, her heart thundering with dread. “I lied,” she squeaked. “You done so much fer me, Santiago. More’n I ever deserved. I blackmailed you into doin’ all of it. The ring—Santiago…this ring and the man who give it to me—I—I jist cain’t remember!”
“You can’t remember? Russia, what—”
“The man!” She bowed her head, staring at his boots. “I ain’t—Santiago, I ain’t got nary a idea about who or where he is.”
His mouth dropped open. “What?”
She covered her face with her hands. “Santiago, go on and shoot me. Hang me. Spear me. Gimme poison to drink. Throw me in the river and lemme drown. Go on and—”
“Russia—”
“It was the only way I could think of,” she sputtered, dropping her hands and clutching her skirts. “That day I first seed you… Them men in the saloon tole me all about you, and I knowed in my heart that you was the only man in the whole wide world who could git Wirt fer me. But I didn’t have a damn cent to my name. Poor’s what I was. So poor that if eagles was a dollar a pound, I couldn’t’ve buyed a hummin’bird drumstick.”
She looked up at him. “And you weren’t ’specially thrilled about helpin’ me none neither. Even when I offered to be your…your whore night after night, you didn’t act all-fired-up excited. So when you laid eyes on this ring and started carryin’ on about it, I knowed it was the way. The one way I could git you to help me.”
“Santiago, I cain’t even recall when or where it was I meeted the one-eyed man. All I remember is that he weared a black patch over his missin’ eye, and he was real big and real mean. Wouldn’t pay me. Come to my room, did what he wanted to do, then left. What he didn’t know, though, was that his ring had failed off. I finded it in the bed the next mornin’. Keeped it as payment. I didn’t have no nice jewelry, so I put it on the leather string and used it fer a necklace.”
“I done you real wrong, Santiago. Wronger’n wrong. Useless is what I am, and I know it. Yeah, jist as worthless as a bucket o’ spit. Crooked, too. I’m so crooked, I reckon when I die they’ll have to screw me into the ground. I was gonna tell you, Santiago. Honest I was. It’s jist that I couldn’t never find the right time to do it.”
When she stopped speaking, he realized she was waiting for his reply. He could think of no words to say to her.
Disbelief soared through him. To think that she’d had him doing her every bidding! That he’d been chasing a criminal all over the universe! That he’d put up with her terrible singing, her numerous accidents, and that bottomless pit of a stomach of hers! All because of the bait she’d held before him. All because of her promises. And she’d known from the very beginning that those promises were empty!
Santa Maria, he’d been minding his own business, had been going along with his own plans, and she’d blown into his life like some wild wind. She’d swept him off course. She’d—
His train of thought stopped abruptly. Vivid recollections swirled through him. She’d blown into what life? he asked himself. She’d swept him off what course? He’d had no life before meeting her. He’d been on no definite course.
Still, he remained astounded, not quite able to shake his startled feelings. “You lied to me,” he said, his voice filled with amazement. “Knowing what you knew about me, you still had the utter gall, the fearless nerve, to lie to me. God, Russia, what would you have done if I’d flown into a rage after hearing the truth about the ring?”
She couldn’t decide what his mood was. Did his question mean he wasn’t in a rage? “I—I didn’t never think on that. Reckon I’d have runned like Satan’s breath was burnin’ the hairs on my neck.”
For one long moment, Santiago felt nothing but his astonishment. And then, gradually, his shock gave way to amusement. He felt his chest rumble with laughter. In the next instant, it exploded from him. He laughed harder than he could remember ever laughing.
As he laughed, he thought about what a different man he’d become. His time with Russia had reminded him of so many things. All the things Lupita had instilled in him when he was little. Forgiveness. Caring and kindness. Compassion. The courage to forget wrongs. The things that were once so important to him just didn’t matter anymore.
Only Russia mattered.
“Santiago?” she said in a small, timid voice. “You was laughin’. Y’ain’t mad?”
“Would it do me any good to be mad?”
She thought about that for a moment. “Might make you feel better if you was to hit me once or twice. Wanna do that?”
He’d cut off both his arms before ever striking her. He shook his head.
“I really am sorry, Santiago.”
“I know.”
“Y’didn’t never tell me why y’wanted to find the ring man. Who is he, anyway?”
“No one, Russia. He’s not important anymore.”
He gazed down at her for a very long time, loath to say the things he knew he had to say. It almost killed him to think about them. He could only imagine how it would feel to actually say them.
He drew himself up to his full height. “You seem well, Russia,” he began slowly. “Well enough…to ride.”
When he paused, she realized this was the opportunity to tell him what she was going to do. Pain crept through her heart. “I am. Ready to ride.”
He had no reason to ask where she was so ready to ride to. He already knew. Sorrow clawed into him. His body rigid with it, he walked to the cradle and placed Manuel on the soft blankets. “It’s late. I’ll stay with the baby. You go to sleep. We leave at dawn.”
“Dawn.” The word escaped her on a ragged whisper.
“For Whispering Oaks. You—You still want to go, don’t you?” Every nerve in his body tensed as he waited for her answer. His last shred of hope in the world was that maybe she’d changed her mind.
Russia yearned to tell him no. No, that she didn’t want to go to Whispering Oaks. That she wanted to stay with him.
But a woman’s voice came to her. Santiago, he needs to find love. He needs a woman to love him. A good woman who will give him all that he deserves to have.
Lupita’s words. Words she herself already knew. A good woman. A decent lady. A princess.
“Russia?” Santiago pressed.
She wouldn’t cry, she told herself. Instead, she lifted her chin and made herself smile at him. “Well, o’ course I wanna go to Whisperin’ Oaks. How far away is it?”
His sole hope withered away. Somehow, with some fortitude he didn’t realize he possessed, he managed to return her smile. “If we hurry…we’ll make good time. We should get there within a few days. If we hurry.”
She clasped her hands together behind her back, wringing them. “Yeah. We’ll hurry.”
“Whispering Oaks,” he muttered.
“Yeah, Whisperin’ Oaks.”
“Nice town. Ben— Ben Clayton… He’s nice, too. Whispering Oaks and Ben.”
She continued wringing her hands. “Yeah, ole Ben…I reckon he’ll be glad to see me, won’t he?”
Santiago couldn’t answer.
“Santiago, do y’think you’ll stay in Whisperin’ Oaks fer a while after we git there?”
“Me?” He pushed his fingers through his hair and shuffled his feet on the floor. “I— No.”
She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. “Where… After Whisperin’ Oaks…where will y’go?”
“Somewhere,” he answered lamely. “I’ll come back here to Misericordia, of course. To see Lupita. Her women friends will be taking care of her and the children for a while, but I’ll come back to make sure she has everything she needs. And then I’ll—I’ll…”
“Go out and try to find your princess?” she prompted quietly, hopefully. “It’s what you should do, y’k
now. You could go to some place far away, Santiago. A place where nobody knows you. Where them terrible stories about you ain’t never hit.”
“China, maybe.”
She smiled, trying very hard to be brave. “You ain’t gotta go that far. What about East? One o’ them eastern cities like Philadorfa.”
“Philadelphia.”
“Whatever,” she whispered.
Grief curled through him. God, he would miss her. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep standing there pretending to be unaffected.
He folded his arms across his chest, across his broken heart. “Yes, I suppose I could go there. East. Maybe I will.”
She nodded, swallowing hard. He’d go out and find his princess. Some prim and proper virgin who’d be everything he always wanted. She’d pray every night that he met with success. “Manuel’s asleep,” she commented, glancing down at the cradle. “Guess I’ll go to bed now, too.”
He nodded.
So did she.
He watched her turn and walk out of the room. I love you, Russia Valentine, he told her silently.
She stopped at the threshold and looked over her shoulder. He was still standing by the cradle. As if guarding over little Manuel. As if Manuel were his son.
She told him with her heart what she could never tell him with her lips.
I love you, Santiago Zamora.
* * *
It was still dark when Santiago urged Quetzalcoatl out of the stable the next morning. Silently, Russia followed on her mare.
They left Misericordia slowly. It took many long minutes to reach the edge of town. There Santiago stopped altogether. He stared at the ground to his left. A small lamp attached to the side of a wooden post shed its yellow light on a huddled form. The form of a woman.
She wore rags. Her feet were bare. Her black hair hung in lifeless strings around her frail body.
Santiago gazed down at her when she held up her hands to him. Her fingers looked like dead sticks, gnarled and brittle. She was ill. He couldn’t know what disease preyed upon her broken body, but whatever it was, he had no doubt it would kill her. Moved to pity, he dropped a small pouch of gold onto her lap.
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