The Spanish Exile (Islands of the Crown Book 1)

by Allen, Jewel

  “Just tell...”

  The woman slammed the door shut. Chucho the mule brayed.

  Great. That was just great.

  He moved to kick the door, but stopped. Instead, he wheeled around and cursed.

  A voice from a window above said, “Watch your language, young man.”

  Conchita leaned against the window sill, her tresses cascading down. Her nightgown threatened to slip off one shoulder. For a moment, all Raúl could do was stare.

  “Did you come here just to gape at me?” she teased.

  Raúl shook his head out of a daze. “Apparently, your landlady doesn’t like soldiers.” The mule brayed again. “Nor does her mule.”

  “Unlike his owner, Chucho is sweet. And fast. She still races him, believe it or not. She rides him to the races just outside of Madrid, at dawn.”

  He imagined Mother Rita kicking the mule forward. “Oh, I believe it. She doesn’t seem to like soldiers.”

  “Don’t mind her. Her son is in prison. Serves the wretch right, if you ask me. She hates anyone to do with the law. But you didn’t come here to talk about her, surely?”

  “No. I’ve come for a favor. A disguise.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “That’s a poor excuse to disturb my rest, indeed.”

  “Yes, it is,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.” His chest eased. He liked seeing Conchita smile once again.

  “Tell me more.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll tell you in private. Can you meet me in the theater in a half hour?”

  “All right. At my dressing room door. In an hour.”

  He thanked her and mounted his horse just as the front door opened. Mother Rita held a rolling pin in her hand. She looked so feeble, yet so earnest, Raúl almost felt bad he was out of her reach. But then she took aim, threw the pin, and struck his horse on the rump.

  He didn’t need more encouragement to leave.

  Conchita looked over her shoulder as she unlocked the dressing room. “Go on in, quickly now.”

  “Why the secrecy?” Raúl asked.

  She placed a hand on her hip. “To protect my reputation.”

  He slipped into the room. Conchita shut the door and everything went completely dark. He could only hear her soft footfalls, her bumping into something, and her muffled complaint. Sunlight flooded the room as she drew the drapes back.

  Dust motes danced in the sun’s rays. The morning light turned Conchita’s skin paler than usual. She had pinned her hair up.

  “You should always leave your hair down,” he said, as she made her way to him.

  She twirled a strand around a finger. “I don’t feel ‘done’ otherwise.”

  “But first.” He reached for her.

  “Raúl,” she protested, not at all vigorously.

  He walked her back until she ended up against the wall. Letting anticipation build, his lips grazed hers. He pulled back, watching as her tongue darted out to lick her lips and their shallow breaths mingled. Saying her name like a prayer, he kissed her deeply. Her mouth was soft and warm and divine. After a few minutes, his head lifted from a sensual fog as he became aware of her hands pressing against his chest and her face turned to the side.

  “Sorry,” He planted a gentle kiss on her cheek, then laughed shakily. “I can’t get enough of you.”

  “Exactly,” she said, her voice husky. “We need to take things a little slowly right now. I don’t know if we can handle a bonfire.”

  “Of course.” He nuzzled her neck, savoring her sweet-smelling perfume. “Then marry me.”

  She froze. “What?”

  “Marry me.”

  “Raúl, you aren’t serious?”

  He looked deep into her eyes. “I am. I love you, deeply, madly. Do you love me?”

  She nodded, her eyes glistening with emotion. “Yes.”

  “Then –“

  Her fingers stilled his words. “I know what you said. This is so sudden.”

  “I have loved you forever. It’s not like you don’t know me.”

  “Listen, I’m not saying it couldn’t happen. But, just...give me some time. All right?”

  He kissed her fingers. “All right. But not for long.”

  She wrapped her arms around her body and put some distance between them. Pointing at her fragile-looking stool, she motioned for him to sit.

  Her withdrawal puzzled him, but he respected her wishes. He sat gingerly on the stool, which felt surprisingly solid. In the mirror, he caught her glowing reflection. “You’re beautiful, querida.”

  She smiled. “You make me feel beautiful.” She stroked his hair. “Why the need for a disguise?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “I want to go back home.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t understand.”

  Raúl turned to watch birds fly past the window. “Mama is dead.”

  “Oh!” she cried, kneeling beside him. “I’m so sorry. I hadn’t heard.”

  He leaned his temple against hers. “I just found out last night. I wanted to go and pay my respects, without Papa knowing that it’s me. I don’t think I’d be welcome.”

  “After all this time? Surely you and he can patch things up?”

  “I doubt it. To be honest, I don’t really want to.”

  “Raúl, look at me.” She held his face between her hands. “Time is short. You must let go and forgive.”

  “I’ll consider your advice.”

  Pulling his face close to hers, she pressed her cheek against his. They stayed this way for several moments. He refused to cry, but his heart felt like it was breaking into pieces.

  She straightened up and looked at his reflection. “What would you like for your disguise?”

  “Can you turn me into an old man? Not a nobleman. Just a gypsy.”

  She pursed her lips, looked at his face, then at the collection of bottles on the dresser. “I have just the thing.”

  Applying plaster here, powder there, she worked on his face for several minutes. Afterwards, he stared at the old man in the mirror.

  “Do you have any wigs?” Raúl asked. “Or false teeth?”

  She made a face. “Probably nothing you’d want to wear. Wait. I know. I’ll be right back.”

  While she was gone, Raúl contemplated his reflection once again. Mama was dead. His fist tightened until he could no longer make his muscles respond.

  Something blocked his view. Conchita held what looked like a dead rat. He made a face.

  “It’s just a wig.” She giggled.

  The room suddenly felt even smaller and more intimate. Outside, a horse neighed. A vendor shouted. But all that seemed so far away, and not part of their world. He caressed her cheek with his thumb. When she didn’t move away, just staring at him with those beautiful dark eyes, her lips parted, he leaned forward. Closer and closer, until his lips brushed hers. She tasted sweet, like honey.

  She grabbed the wig and hovered directly above him. Her perfume made his head swim. Suddenly, his throat felt parched. His glance traveled from the tiny pulse point on her delicate throat to her full lips. Her pink tongue darted out to moisten them. His face slowly rose to meet hers.

  “There.” She pushed dentures into his mouth.

  They tasted vile. He looked in the mirror at this old, buck-toothed gypsy.

  “Is that acceptable?” She smiled.

  “Marvelous,” Raúl lisped, his ardor doused.

  At the door, she let him out first. “Good luck.” She touched his jaw, then disappeared into the room.

  Raúl took a deep breath, then set out to visit his past.

  59

  ith his finger, Raúl traced the initials carved on the trunk of the old tree at the bend of the road. He remembered that summer day when Julio and he ran off from the schoolroom, done with the day’s work. He sighed, then squinted into the noonday sun, down the path.

  Raúl entered the orchard that marked the edge of the Calderón property. The trees stood on the precipice between winter and spri
ng -- dark, tortured limbs sprouting buds that promised warmer weather. Soon, they would fill out with lush growth. Flower buds would appear and open to a thousand bees, attracted to a scent that in his childhood tantalized him through his bedroom window.

  That was such a long, innocent time ago.

  He tethered Dante to a tree and walked the rest of the lane down on foot. He opened his satchel and took the wig out. Shaking it, he tried to ignore the dust and whatever else lurked in the coarse curls. Thank goodness for the cooler weather. Even so, he perspired under the disgusting thing and his scalp itched.

  The Calderón house looked shabbier than he remembered. A thin ribbon of smoke curled out the chimney. Nearly a dozen scrawny chickens pecked the ground. Portions of a low brick wall crumbled into a loose pile. The fountain – from Paris, his father once boasted – stood empty and dry, bleached from the sun.

  Sadness shrouded the place. Had it always been this melancholy?

  Raúl walked up the front steps and lifted the rusty ring knocker. It protested with a loud squeak and boomed out once, twice, thrice. For a long while, no one came to the door. He should just take off his disguise and walk in, as though he had never left. He raised his hand to knock once more, and that was when the door finally opened. The uniformed manservant, whom Raúl did not recognize, eyed his torn garments. “If it’s scraps you want, go to the back.” He would have shut the door on Raúl’s face had he not positioned his foot in the way.

  “I’m here to pay my last respects to Señora Calderón.”

  “What do you think this is,” the servant said, “a public performance? This isn’t for just anyone to see.”

  “Can I at least talk to the master of the house?”

  The servant stared then pursed his lips. “Wait here.”

  Raúl let him close the door. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the man never returned. But a few minutes later, the door opened.

  The servant’s expression was smug. “He is not available.”

  Raúl began to shake. His legs and his hands just started to move of their own volition. Partly from the long ride. Maybe partly from the shock of being back. “I have traveled a long distance. I will pay my respects today.”

  “But that is impossible. I already said...”

  “Gregorio,” came a female voice from within the house. “What seems to be the problem?”

  Gregorio eyed Raúl dourly. “This gypsy will not leave.”

  Raúl pushed his way past the servant and stared at the female stranger. This woman was young and heavy with child. She wore black, which emphasized the paleness of her face. Red rimmed her eyes, as though from crying.

  Raúl looked her up and down. “Who are you?”

  The servant shoved him out the door. “Get out. You don’t address gentle folk that way.” He slammed the door shut.

  A moment later, it opened. The woman stood there, half-hiding behind the door. “I am the new lady of the house.”

  “New lady?” Raúl echoed.

  “I am Selina, Julio’s wife.”

  “Ah. Is Julio here?”

  She shook her head. “He’s out. By the lake. But not for long, I’m sure.”

  Yes, that was like Julio.

  He hesitated. “And Don Pedro? Is he home?”

  “He’s not available,” she repeated the servant’s words.

  “He’s drunk, isn’t he?” Raúl guessed.

  She averted her gaze, then nodded.

  Raúl pushed his way past her, past the servant, and past an astonished group of mourners who sat on chairs, then to the plain wood coffin.

  Mama deserved better.

  Mama looked pale and peaceful, her hair grayer than he remembered. Permanent furrows dented the space between her eyebrows. Then his gaze fell on her hands.

  Fingers gnarled, like dried twigs, clutched her rosary. The beads had been brown once. But now they were worn white. That thumb, moving them, like a well-oiled chain.

  Those hands touched his head as a little boy. Combing it for the day, with Raúl impatiently waiting and running off the minute she was done. Those hands turned the pages on books of adventures and faraway lands at bedtime.

  “Goodbye,” he murmured. He got down on his knees and put his hands together, trying to remember how to pray.

  Have mercy on me, Mama. Pray for me, Mama.

  Behind him, the matrons prayed the rosary, and he listened, following along. But their words gave him no comfort. They just reminded him that Mama could no longer pray for him.

  Raúl stood up and backed away, then fled out the door.

  60

  Raúl staggered onto the porch and sat on the steps, burying his head in his hands. In the sun, he shivered.

  Selina touched his shoulder. “Señor?” He didn’t answer. She asked someone to fetch some brandy.

  Still with a trace of contempt in his eyes, Gregorio offered Raúl the liquor. Raúl took a swig that burned his throat. Moments later, calmness filled his veins.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Selina. “Please, tell me how she died.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “She was sick for quite some time. She had a weak heart. Sometimes it was all she could do to walk from one part of the house to another. The servants just found her in the library, her rosary still in her hands.”

  “How could her husband be drunk on the day of her funeral?” Raúl wondered aloud.

  “Have you never lost a loved one before?” Selina said. “The pain can be too much to bear.”

  “I can imagine,” he murmured, leaning over as tremors racked his body.

  “There were other reasons,” Selina continued. “Guilt, maybe.”

  Raúl froze. “Guilt over what?”

  She didn’t answer right away. “It’s a private matter.”

  “Of course.” He stood up. “I’m going to go see Julio.”

  She looked at him curiously. “Are you a friend of his?”

  “I knew him from when he was a boy.”

  Shading her eyes from the sun, she said, “He mounted his horse and went away, just for a little spell today. I expect him back soon.”

  Raúl gazed at the house. “Will you be living here now?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “We have to sell it. There are debts...” She looked away.

  “Where will you live then?”

  If she thought he was being a nosy stranger, she didn’t say anything. “In the caretaker’s cottage just down the lane.”

  “Julio will like that, staying in these parts.”

  “Yes. Yes, I believe he will.” A curious expression crept in her eyes. “And you are?”

  “A friend.” He paused. “Once upon a time.”

  Raúl found Julio standing on the bank of Esmeralda Lake, the site of many a town fiesta. Its waters seemed even more green than he remembered.

  Julio skipped a stone. It traveled almost to the center of the lake. He had gotten better skipping stones over the years. Raúl watched the ripples grow wider and wider until they dissipated.

  Raúl’s boots made a crunching noise on the gravel. Julio froze in the act of skipping another stone and turned. His eyes held no hint of recognition.

  Raúl limped closer. “Good afternoon.”

  Julio looked the same, yet different. His eyes were still blue but he had gotten taller and leaner. “Good afternoon.” His voice had changed. Lower. Deeper.

  “Your wife said I might find you here.” Raúl gestured towards the lake.

  Julio looked at him curiously. “What can I do for you?”

  Raúl walked to the bank, just an arm’s length from Julio. “I am an old family friend. I came to pay my last respects to your mother.”

  Julio’s voice thickened with emotion. “Thank you.” He hefted a pebble. With a grunt, he flung it. Raúl couldn’t tell where it landed. “Are you from these parts?”

  “No,” Raúl lied. “I’m from Madrid.”

  He thought about blurting out his identity. As he hesitated
, his hands began to sweat. Why was it so hard? He wanted to ease into his return, but now he wasn’t sure how to do it.

  Julio studied Raúl’s face. “How did you know my mother?”

  “I knew her as a young man. From trade. I worked with your father, too.” He looked off in the distance. “They were supposed to purchase something important, something priceless, but they didn’t.”

  Julio picked up another pebble. “My father surely would have recognized a bargain if it was one.” He skipped the pebble, but it didn’t go as far as the others.

  “You would think.”

  Julio shielded his eyes and looked at the sun. “I should head back. It was nice to meet you, Señor...?”

  Raúl plucked the wig off his head. My, that felt good. He stripped the plaster from his face and the dentures from his mouth. Julio’s mouth fell open. Recognition and shock in equal measures filled his eyes.

  “Julio,” Raúl said. “Brother. Do you recognize me now?”

  “Yes,” Julio said. “Yes, I do.” Then he rushed Raúl and punched him in the face.

  Raúl fell in the lake with a splash. He sputtered out of the water and staggered to his feet. Julio’s eyes blazed with anger.

  Of all reactions, Raúl hadn’t expected that. He got on his feet and massaged his sore jaw. “You throw a mean punch now. What did you do that for?”

  “That’s for breaking Mama’s heart.”

  Raúl frowned. “She broke mine when she didn’t push Papa to pay for my ransom.”

  “Well, Mama never forgave Papa for not ransoming you. After you left, they weren’t the same. He stayed away a lot on business. Took to heavy drinking. Gambling.” Julio’s nostrils flared. “Satisfied?”

  He continued, his voice shaking. “Mama sat by the window for months, forgetting she had another son. She was under the delusion that any day, you would be coming home. It was as though I died. No one cared that I lived.”

  “I cared,” Raúl murmured.

  “Then why I haven’t see you at all these years?”

  Raúl rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know. I really have no good excuse. I just...I just stayed away like Papa wanted me to. But I should have come to see you, you’re right.”