The Dancing Lady_The Ninth Day

by Mimi Milan

Josefina gasped. “Señor Villanueva!”

  She playfully slapped his chest. He released her just enough to grab hold of her hand. He turned it over and placed a kiss in her palm.

  “Eh hem.”

  They both looked up to find Penny had descended the wagon by herself. She stood over them, once again wringing her hands.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Villanueva. I didn’t mean to distract Fina.” She turned to her friend. “Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

  “Nonsense.” Josefina rolled off Nacho. They helped one another stand back up.

  Penny leaned towards Josefina, her voice dropped low to a whisper. “I can see my bad luck’s rubbing off on you.”

  Nacho let out a laugh. “There’s no such thing as bad luck, Ms. Jackson. There’s just lots of snow and ice!”

  “He’s right,” Josefina agreed. They followed Nacho into the diner and she mumbled only loud enough for Penny to hear her. “It wasn’t bad luck this time.”

  “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the woman replied as they entered the restaurant.

  “So, what do you think?” Nacho made a sweeping motion. “Welcome to Nacho’s Tacos – the finest dining in all of Noelle.”

  Josefina refrained from reminding him that it was the only dining establishment in the town. Luckily, so did her friend. They both looked around their surroundings. Josefina smiled pleasantly, appreciative of what she found. A long wooden table with benches for larger groups sat in the middle of the room. Along the walls were several smaller tables for more intimate dining.

  “The kitchen is through here,” Nacho offered.

  Penny hung back. She slid off her coat and took a seat at one of the tables. “I think I’ll stay right here while you go check it out, Josefina. It might be safer that way.”

  “Okay, nena. Don’t forget what we talked about earlier, though.” Josefina jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen.

  “I won’t,” Penny promised.

  “What was that all about?” Nacho asked as they passed through the swinging door leading into the kitchen.

  “Nothing special.” Josefina waved away his question. “The girl showed some interest in learning how to make Mexican food for when she marries. I told her I would show her what I know.”

  “Well, don’t show her too much. I wouldn’t want to lose any business.”

  “No, of course not.” Josefina contemplated his words for a moment. “Although, it would be easier to avoid sharing any special recipes you want to keep secret if you tell me what they are.”

  “I can do even better than that. It’s already past the lunch hour. I can make them for you and you and Ms. Jackson can enjoy some of my fine cooking.”

  “Really? You would do that for us?”

  If smiles could win awards, Nacho would have taken first place with the one he gave her. He beamed brightly. “For you, señorita, I would do anything.”

  A delicious shiver ran up Josefina’s spine. She wasn’t normally the giggling type, but if this pedacito de pastel continued speaking so sweetly, then she was going to come wholly undone! Most of her experience had been with men who insulted her with their expectations that payment for pleasure included the lewdest license imaginable. Her intended’s attempts of winning her affections were far more romantic.

  She glanced away, bashful. “Please, Nacho, you’re going to make me forget that I’m a lady.”

  “My apologies,” he said. “You’re right. I have taken far too many liberties.” He bent his head in an effort to meet her gaze. When she finally looked up, he continued. “I am not too proud to admit, though, that I am trying my hardest to win your heart.”

  Josefina swallowed against the firm lump forming in her throat. She felt like such a fraud. Here was a man truly interested in winning her affections and what was she doing? Planning on using him to get back to her father and sister. She hung her head again. “Nacho—”

  “Not another word, mi serenita. I will be on my best behavior from here on out,” he promised. “For now, we cook! If you’ll allow me?”

  He helped her slip out of her coat and hung it on a hook near the door. Then he deftly moved around her and pulled the lid off a pot already sitting on the cast iron stove.

  “What have you there?” she asked.

  “Beans that I left to soak overnight. They should be ready for the olla de frijoles now.” He grabbed an iron to stoke the warm embers that remained from breakfast. “The stove should not take too long to heat. It’s still warm from the pan I baked earlier today.”

  “What kind of pan do you like to make?”

  “I know how to make anything from puerquitos to orejas, but my favorite of all are conchas.”

  The sound of soft white bread baked in a decorative shell of sugar made her stomach rumble. Nacho laughed.

  “I know that sound! Better go ahead and throw in some salt.”

  “Throw in some salt?”

  “Of course.” He grimaced. “You don’t try to eat your beans without it, do you?”

  “No, never.” Josefina looked around and grabbed a bowl of white granules. She began to pour it into the pot.

  “No!”

  Startled, she jumped and even more dropped in. He grabbed the vessel out of her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He let out a slow sigh.

  “It isn’t your fault. I don’t have any of the bowls labeled and you are new to this kitchen. How were you to know which was the sugar?” He placed the dish back on the prepping table and reached for the smaller one beside it. He handed it to her along with a spoon. “I tend to use less salt than sugar, so I keep it in the smaller bowl.”

  Josefina nodded and scooped a single spoon out. She slowly sprinkled it into the pot, hesitating while she thought of the best way to figure out how much salt he liked in his food. “Each cook has their own taste. I wouldn’t want to make it too salty.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t think that would be possible with the sugar we just added, though. So, put in however much you think it will take to balance it out while I begin the eggs.”

  “Eggs?” Josefina scrunched her nose up.

  “Of course,” Nacho looked at her curiously, “for the huevos y frijoles.”

  “Oh, yes. But of course.”

  Josefina’s mind raced. She could slightly recall after her mother ran off and her father took over the cooking. He made the same meal for her and her younger sister, Elena. But then their mother returned to claim Josefina and now her mind was filled with ten years of American cooking. She had seen so many different meals in places all throughout the United States. Images from fried chicken to leftover scraps crammed her mind, making it impossible to recall the recipe of such a simple dish like eggs and beans. Were the eggs fried or scrambled? Were the beans whole or smashed? She couldn’t remember.

  Slowly adding in one more ladle of salt, she carefully glanced his way. He was cracking the eggs open and dropping them in a bowl.

  “So, you like your eggs scrambled?” she ventured.

  “Not particularly. Why do you?”

  She shrugged and placed the salt bowl down. “Not particularly.”

  “Oh.” Strained silence fell between them. Nacho finally spoke again. “Then why did you ask?”

  “I saw you putting all the eggs into the bowl. I thought you were going to scramble them.”

  “No, I just like to pour them in the pan all at once. That way they cook evenly and are easier for me to separate and flip.”

  She looked for something more to say. “Well, that is different.”

  His hand paused over the bowl. “It is?”

  “Sure,” she continued. “I would think that you would just cook one at a time.”

  He poured the eggs into the heated pan and set the bowl down on the table. Chuckling, he grabbed a cloth and wiped his hands. “Oh, I forgot. You are used to cooking in the home where things are nice and peaceful. Yo
u will see it is much different in a restaurant. Sometimes there are so many orders, it’s hard to keep up.”

  She frowned. “It is?”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Do not worry, Fina. You are strong and smart. Just cook the same you would at home and I’m sure everything will turn out fine. You’ll see.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” she said.

  He gave her arm a reassuring pat just as the kitchen door swung open. Penny stuck her head in. “I hate to bother the two of you, but a guest arrived.”

  “Guest?” They chorused.

  “Yes. It’s that doctor fellow.”

  “Ay.” Nacho slapped his forehead. “I forgot to lock the front door after we came in.”

  “We can just tell him we’re closed,” Josefina suggested.

  “Most certainly not,” Nacho replied. “Doctor Deane is one of my best customers. He eats many meals here. We cannot turn him away.”

  “No, I suppose we can’t.”

  “That’s my girl,” Nacho cheered. He turned to Penny. “Didn’t you say you wanted to help out?”

  The woman hesitated. “Um… yes.”

  “Great! Then you can set the tables.” He turned to Josefina and explained, “I just got new settings. I wanted you to see that the business is doing well. So, I had some Talavera shipped in.”

  Josefina’s mind immediately raced back to her childhood once again, and she almost admitted that it had been a long time since she’d seen the delicate pottery bless any tabletop. “I’m sure they’re beautiful.”

  “Would you like to see them?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay. Follow me.” He stopped and turned back to Penny. “Ms. Jackson, could you please see to it that our guests are seated? Then you can come back for the drinks while Fina and I get the plates and finish the cooking.”

  “That should be safe,” Penny smiled and scampered back off to the dining room.

  “This way,” Nacho motioned to Josefina. He pulled out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked a door off the side of the kitchen. “This leads to the apartment I keep in town.”

  “You live in town?”

  “For the most part,” he said and fell strangely quiet.

  She followed him down a short corridor and into the apartment, noting that it was nothing more than a one-room setup with meager furnishings. A bed was in one corner of the room with a small nightstand beside it, positioned under a single draped window that provided the entirety of lighting. In the opposite corner was a modest, slightly decorative three panel dressing screen. A picnic scene in a charming pink decoupage enhanced the dark cherry oak that framed it.

  She might not have understood much French, but she did know French things when she saw them. The fact that he could have ordered such a beautiful object in such a short period of time meant one of two things. Either he was a very wealthy man who could command immediate gratification… or the folding screen had already been in his possession.

  “It’s quite beautiful.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing really.” Clearing his throat, he further explained. “It is just meant to hide the chamber pot and bathing tub.”

  She looked around the room once more and noted that there was no indoor plumbing. Having been at Hank’s for so long, she had come to take such a thing for granted. Now she was aware of the slight inconvenience. Still, that didn’t satisfy her curiosity.

  “When did you come into possession of—”

  “Do you smell that?”

  Nacho sniffed the air. Josefina looked up to see smoke filtering into the room.

  The eggs.

  “Dios mio!” Nacho yelled. He ran out of the room, down the corridor and back into the kitchen with Josefina right behind him. Penny stood over the burnt eggs, waving a cloth over them.

  “Oh, this is all my fault,” she said. “This would have never happened if I hadn’t gotten caught up talking to Doctor Deane. I should’ve came back for the plates sooner.”

  “Nonsense,” Josefina said. Although, she herself inwardly questioned if it could have been another case of bad luck. First there was the fall from the wagon. Now this?

  Nacho found another cloth and grabbed the cast iron handle. He carried the entire thing to the back door and opened it wide. He tossed the eggs out and they landed on the snow-covered ground, the cold sizzling beneath them.

  “Fina’s right,” he said. He swung the door back and forth several times to try to air the room out faster. “This is my fault. I have so much on my mind that I forgot to remove the eggs before I left the room. I should have never left the stove unattended. That isn’t bad luck, but proof that anyone can make a mistake.”

  “If you say so,” Penny conceded. Still, the woman looked utterly dejected.

  “We do,” Josefina smiled. She turned to Nacho and gently laid a hand on his arm, halting him in mid-action from fanning out the smoke. She softly said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be in here right now.”

  “A little smoke never hurt anyone.”

  She inwardly groaned. The point was that she didn’t want to be the next one to burn something – which was bound to happen if she was asked to produce some more eggs. After what had happened with the beans, it was almost a guarantee she would make another mistake. She pasted on yet another smile as she chided him. “Nacho, amor, it is not the smoke that concerns me as much as it is my friend. Clearly you can see that she blames herself for this incident. I know that you wouldn’t want any future customer to be saddened while in your restaurant, though. It would leave a bad taste in their mouth, no?”

  Nacho took her words into consideration. “You are right, of course. Please, take Ms. Jackson to the dining room and give her one of the tables near the window. They are the best in the house. Also, a cup of café or tea to settle her nerves – whichever she prefers, naturally.”

  “Of course,” Josefina agreed. “I will also take the Talavera and set the tables myself.”

  “Yes, that will work very nice. Thank you.”

  “Come, Penny.” She escorted the bride back to the dining area where she found that the doctor had claimed one of the good tables Nacho mentioned. She wondered if he had intentions to see Cara, the Irish beauty that was part of their group. Although, if she thought about it carefully, Cara hadn’t looked too pleased the first time she saw the good doctor.

  “Doctor Deane.” She nodded to him as she showed Penny to the table opposite where he sat. “I will return in one moment with your plate.”

  She excused herself and rushed back to the kitchen, past Nacho and into the apartment. Then she popped out once again, a set of dishes in her hands.

  “Bring them here and I’ll fill them,” Nacho instructed.

  “Why not just bring the pot out to the dining room? Then I can serve everyone at the same time without having to run back and forth to the kitchen.”

  “Good thinking, wif—”

  His mouth clamped shut when he realized what he had nearly said. He grew quiet. “I am terribly sorry.”

  “Why apologize? It is normal when one feels like they’ve fallen into a routine with someone. Besides, isn’t that why I’m here – to be your wife?”

  “Yes,” he replied. One strong hand reached out and fingered the long braid hanging loosely over her shoulder. “And you will make the most beautiful bride.”

  Surprisingly out of character, Josefina blushed furiously. She glanced away. “You have quite the golden tongue, señor.”

  “No, I only speak the truth. You honestly are the most beautiful woman I’ve known. From the way you care about how your friend fares to the other you’ve agreed to help this evening with her child… Well, it’s easy for a man to have a golden tongue when the woman he plans to court has such a golden heart.”

  He dug into his pocket then and produced a small paper package. “Tenga. I wanted to give this to you yesterday, but I wasn’t able to make it out of the diner as I origin
ally planned. When I did, it was already kind of late and I got caught up talking to Seamus.”

  She placed the plates on the table beside her and accepted the small parcel. “Ay, Nacho. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I know, but I wanted to.”

  She slowly unwrapped the package. Inside was the prettiest turquoise ribbon she had ever seen.

  “It’s exquisite,” she exclaimed. “Now I feel bad that I didn’t get you anything.”

  He shrugged as if he hadn’t expected anything in return. “No te preocupes. Are you sure you like it?”

  She nodded. “Very much. I shall tie it in my braid.”

  “That will look lovely,” he said and she laced the ribbon around her plaited tress, tying a bow at the end of the tail.

  “Now I will take the plates out to the dining room and see what our guests have to say about your lovely gift. You finish up the meal and bring it out as soon as you can. Sí?”

  “Asi es,” he agreed and watched with great satisfaction as she sauntered out of the kitchen, a stack of plates in her hands and a smile on her face.

  This was the kind of relationship he had hoped for when he first married…

  Colette.

  An image of his deceased wife flashed in his mind. No, he scolded himself. This was nothing at all like Colette. She had been nothing more than…

  A whore.

  He cringed at the word – hated using it. It wasn’t the profession itself that he was against. God and Madame Bonheur only knew how many times he had visited the place over the past few years. The problem was that he had fallen in love with one of her women and then made the terrible mistake of marrying her. Oh, he had tried to make her an honest woman, though. Dios and all the santos knew how hard he worked to do right by her. The moment she told him she was pregnant, he whisked her away in the dark of night from La Maison and right to the Reverend. By moonlight he married them, summer sweltering over the couple like their unfurled passion. He could still remember repeatedly wiping his sweaty hands against his trousers as he vowed to love and honor Colette all the days of their lives.

  He just hadn’t realized her life would have been so short-lived.

  “We are closed!”