After the visit with her sister, Aurora didn’t have the energy to resist, especially since Jordan was right. “Did you find out anything about Gerald?” she asked Roberto.
He nodded. “Sí. His location, everything. I have a friend whose uncle works for the government. It took money, señorita, but he ran a check on his computer for you.”
She listened as Roberto, first in slow Spanish, then speaking faster, excitedly reported his developments. He’d found Gerald’s location in a men’s prison about thirteen hundred miles southeast, in Mexico City. The prison was new, modern and Gerald was assisting the prison staff in setting up their computer network. This had gained him extra privileges, food and more freedom around the prison than the other prisoners.
“Are you sure?” Aurora asked, unable to take in the good news as she reimbursed Roberto. “My brother-in-law doesn’t speak Spanish.”
“No, but he fixed the computers with a translation program that the guards can use for all gringo prisoners. The warden himself believes Señor Geraldo was given a bad deal. He says all women, especially wives and daughters, are bad news. That Señor Geraldo should find a new esposa who breeds buena offspring, not trouble.”
“Did you see him?” Aurora asked, so excited she accidentally switched to English instead of Spanish.
“Sí, señorita. My friend drove me there. Señor Geraldo has good rooms, good food, friendly guards. And I have even better news! The warden says if your sister’s man finishes the computer network system, he will arrange to release him when the job is completed.”
Aurora gasped. “Really?”
“The contractors have taken months to do what Señor Geraldo has done in weeks.”
“How long is this going to take?” Jordan asked with less enthusiasm than Aurora.
“A month at the most.”
“A month...” Aurora bit her lip. “I think I can make payroll for one more month, but...I don’t know. Can we trust this warden?”
“His men and the other prisoners speak well of him. They believe Señor Geraldo is too talented with computers to be foolish enough to mess with drugs.”
“I’d worry about your brother-in-law making himself too invaluable,” Jordan interrupted. “They might not want to let him go.”
“But at least he’s getting good treatment,” Aurora said. “Well, what do you know. I didn’t lie to Dorian after all.” Suddenly it was too much. Her voice broke and she closed her eyes.
Roberto stared, unsure of what to do. Jordan took action. He handed Roberto the truck keys, with a jerk of his head motioned for him to start the vehicle and placed his arm around Aurora’s shoulders.
“Hey, this is a good thing,” he said kindly. “Now we only have two of them to worry about instead of three. Right?”
To her horror, Aurora felt tears running down her cheeks again.
“Don’t worry about meeting this payroll or the next. I can help you out.”
She blinked and lifted her head to meet his gaze. “You’d do that...for me?”
“Sure. You saved my life. You found my ship.” He wiped away one last tear, then hugged her, hoping she would draw on his strength. She hugged him back.
“Why don’t you let me drive you home?” Jordan said, walking her to the passenger side of the truck and helping her in. “You can unwind a bit.”
“That would be nice. I haven’t slept well lately.”
“Be with you in a second. Let me speak to Roberto first.” He closed her door, watching her as Roberto climbed out of the truck and joined him. Jordan cast aside his perfect European Spanish and lapsed into the harsher Cuban dialect of Florida’s streets. “You’d better not be hustling the lady, señor. Because if you are, you’ll deal with me.”
Roberto drew himself up tall, which still left Jordan towering over him. “I will not lie to you, señor. I have hustled before, yes, but not with this lady. The señorita promised me a green card. With a green card, my mother and young sister can come to California and eat two, maybe three meals a day, instead of one. I tell the truth. The husband has made powerful friends. Not like his women.”
“Geraldo’s wife is innocent of crime. The daughter’s the one with the drugs—and the enemies. She let her parents take the blame rather than tell the truth.”
“The witch.” Roberto spat in the dirt.
“The mother’s the one I’m worried about. She’s in the hospital and not getting better. We need to see about getting her out first. The daughter, Tanya, has learned the going rate for a prison break. I need you to find a way to meet with her. See what you can do to get the mother home—and Tanya, if there’s a possibility.”
Roberto shrugged. “I do not work for you, señor, but for the señorita. I have accepted money from her.”
“She and I are partners.”
Roberto didn’t budge. “Not until she tells me with her own words. My family depends on the green card she has offered. Your Spanish is not local, so you are not from California and cannot sponsor me. For my family’s sake, I will not break my word to the señorita.”
Well, well, Jordan thought, impressed with the young man’s integrity. Perhaps Aurora picked herself an asset here after all. “How old are you?” Jordan asked.
“Seventeen. I am the man of the family. I provide for the three of us. Neither my mother nor my sister will ever trade shameful acts for dinero. My sister will marry a good man, and my mother will live with her daughter in a house with running water and many grandchildren to wait on her when she is elderly.”
We all have our dreams when it comes to family, Jordan thought. He switched back to European Spanish and addressed Roberto as one equal would address another. “All right, young man. We’ll be in touch.” He reached into his wallet and withdrew some cash.
Roberto backed away. “I do not take charity, señor. I earn my living. I work hard. I do not beg like these niños.” Roberto gestured toward the younger children running up to other cars in the parking lot.
“I don’t offer you charity. My father is dead, and my brothers and grandfather, as well. I am the only man left to provide for my women. I ask you in their name to take this for your women.”
Roberto nodded. “For them. Not for me.” He stuffed the money into his pants pocket, and the two men studied each other. “I will see about helping Geraldo’s esposa. And the daughter.”
“Gracias. We’ll be in touch,” he said again.
The two shook hands. Jordan headed for the truck, while Roberto made his way through the parking lot, sharing some of his change with the younger children. Jordan gave them one final look, then set his lips together and rejoined Aurora for the drive back to the Tijuana–San Ysidro border.
* * *
THE RIDE WENT smoothly until they reached the border crossing, where traffic was always backed up as cars were, one by one, inspected and waved through. Begging children were as thick as Dumpster flies, darting between the slow-moving cars, shouting, pounding on windows, offering flowers, drinks, food, trinkets and souvenirs for sale.
“Getting hungry?” Jordan asked as they inched forward through the automobile and foot traffic.
“Actually, I could use a cold drink and a screaming session,” she sighed.
“How about two sodas and forget the screams? I’m trying to drive here.”
Aurora actually smiled. “Done. But let’s get across the border first. I’ve had all I can take of Mexico for one day. These poor kids,” she said as another with straggly flowers banged violently on her window, begging in English and Spanish. “Tanya doesn’t know how lucky she has it.”
“If she doesn’t, she’ll figure it out soon enough.” Jordan started to roll down his window to buy the wilted flowers, but Aurora stopped him.
“Don’t. We can’t take agricultural products across the border,” she reminded him.
“I can at least give him a couple of bucks.” Jordan reached for his wallet.
“If you do, so many kids will fight over this car that
someone’ll get hurt. Or they’ll rob the boy of your cash. Just keep driving. At least that way, they’ll be safe. Unlike Tanya...” Aurora turned her head to face him. “She didn’t have much to say?”
“Nothing I’d care to repeat.”
“I’m not surprised.” Aurora paused. “What did you and Roberto talk about?”
“I told him that you and I were partners and to see what he could do for your sister and her daughter. He seems quite loyal to you.” Traffic stopped again, and this time children selling bottled water and chilled sodas pounded on Jordan’s window. “Is it true you promised him a green card if he helped your family out of jail?”
“Yep.”
“That’s an awfully big promise to dangle.”
“And one I can honor,” Aurora said sharply. “Especially since he’s kept his part of the bargain. He did come up with news about Gerald.”
“News you haven’t verified yet. I’ll call for you. In the meantime, you’d better be prepared to deliver if, by some miracle, Roberto succeeds. I don’t want to see him in trouble. He’s the sole support of his mother and sister.”
Aurora’s lips opened, then she closed them tightly.
“You were going to say something?” Jordan prompted.
“You’re the one who wanted to come with me. If my unconventional efforts to help Dorian offend you, please stay behind next time. If you want to withdraw your offer to help with the payroll, that’s okay, too. This is my family, my problem. I can always use my boat for collateral. I don’t need your charity or your lectures.”
Jordan inched the truck forward again; there was now only one car ahead of him. “I’m concerned about you. And now that I’ve met him, I’m concerned about Roberto, too.”
“You’re more concerned about the San Rafael and her gold. That’s your main interest in all of this. Don’t pretend otherwise,” she snapped. “You can’t wait to get into the water, and I’m slowing you down. You can’t stand it.”
“You’re wrong. My main interest is keeping us alive. What I’m—”
Jordan stopped abruptly, interrupted by a border guard tapping on his window. He rolled it down for the usual questions.
“Anything to declare? Mexican purchases? Agricultural products? May I see your paperwork?”
One guard checked the vehicle registration, plates and driver’s license, while another officer walked around the truck with a drug-sniffing German shepherd. The dog seemed bored, the guards even more so, and soon Jordan and Aurora were free to reenter the United States.
Jordan drove onto Interstate 5, the San Diego Freeway, and headed north. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he kept quiet. Aurora finally broke the silence.
“Sorry about that remark earlier,” she said. “Of course you don’t have gold fever—and if you do, that’s your business, not mine. It’s been a long day, and I’m a first-class jerk. Forgive me?”
Jordan nodded.
“Was that yes, I accept your apology, or yes, I’m a jerk?” Aurora asked.
“That was a yes, it’s been a long day and I sometimes shoot off my mouth, too.”
“You’re a nice guy,” she said. “I can’t understand why you aren’t married.”
“Who says I’m not?”
“Donna. She checked with some...friends of hers. You didn’t file a joint tax return last year.”
“Why is she interested? Is she looking for a husband? Or are you?” Jordan watched Aurora’s face carefully.
“As always, you get right to the point,” she said.
“Your answer?”
Aurora collected her thoughts before answering. “Okay, I’ll be honest. I’m attracted to you, but I’m not interested in marriage. Especially not to another captain. We’re both used to being in charge. A relationship between us—anything more than partners and maybe friends—would never work.”
Jordan tried not to appear too eager. “It might, if we remember to allow the other enough room—and if we remain honest.”
“That’s easier said than done,” Aurora said slowly. “I’m a desperate woman, Jordan. Desperate people do desperate things.”
His chest tightened with disappointment. “Sorry to hear that. I’m not a fan of desperate measures.”
“Neither am I, ordinarily. But if we could get my family home, then maybe...” Her voice trailed off.
“Business first. I understand,” Jordan said almost too briskly. “We’ve done all we can in Mexico for now. We need any paperwork on the San Rafael. Next stop, Mission San Diego.”
Mission San Diego de Alcala
Next morning
AT AURORA’S DIRECTION, Jordan took the Mission Gorge exit off Interstate 8 and made the short drive to Twain Street, where Mission San Diego was located. Jordan easily followed the brown historical-site signs to the Mission and drove up the narrow, winding driveway. The Mission’s whitewashed adobe reflected the summer sunshine. Even this early, the air was heavy with the fragrances of flowers, and parrots and hummingbirds feasted off the citrus blossoms.
“Look at the size of those bells,” Aurora said. Jordan caught a quick glimpse of the set of five in an open belfry or campanario to the left just before he drove through the wrought-iron gates. “You’ll get to see them up close. There’s a small courtyard—the campanario courtyard—on the other side of the chapel. We have to walk through it to get to the museum and archives.”
Aurora went on to explain that six days a week, excluding Sundays, Mission San Diego opened its doors to the public, who toured the simple adobe chapel, the old sleeping quarters of the founding Franciscan friars and the ancient courtyards. The museum and site attracted people who wished to view the artifacts of the Spanish missionary Father Juniper Sera.
As the first and oldest of California’s twenty-one missions that lined the coast, Mission San Diego was a popular destination; it also remained an active parish.
“Let’s park here,” Aurora suggested, then led the way through the main courtyard with its centrally located tiled fountain. Water splashed down tiered layers onto small blue tiles and thrown coins visible at the bottom.
“The library and archives aren’t open to the public. We have to cut through the church—that large building on the west side—and go around back to get there.”
When they entered the church, Aurora quietly took a seat in an ancient wooden pew while Jordan approached the altar.
Aurora quietly watched him. She didn’t really feel comfortable with the ornate, Spanish-style statues of Christ and the Madonna. She couldn’t deny the holy atmosphere of the place; still, the gold on the altar and icon frames, even the old-fashioned cloth-canopied pulpit with its painted access stairs seemed almost overdone to her. Jordan appeared to have none of those feelings. He studied the altar while, outside, pigeons and doves flew into the deep window alcoves, their cooing and flapping audible from the other side of the high glass windows.
After a moment, he rejoined her. Aurora led him to the opposite side exit of the church, which opened onto the campanario courtyard.
“It’s so peaceful inside,” he said once they were out in the sun. “Imagine...my own ancestors once walked these same bricks and worshipped here at this same altar.”
“Well, on the site anyway. The church has been rebuilt many times throughout the centuries. And I thought your people were from Spain—not San Diego.”
“Yes, but as you know, most Spanish treasure galleons were built in the Philippines. Some sailed directly to San Diego instead of Spain. The San Rafael was no exception.”
“But the Castillos ended up in New England. What happened?”
Jordan gave her a pointed glance.
“Oh. The San Rafael.”
He nodded in silence. “I’ll bet they see a lot of marriages here today,” he said after a while.
“Yes, and in the old days, as well. Before the gold rush and the settlement of Southern California, the Mission was the only place around to get married. If your American ancestors want
ed their marriages registered back in the seventeenth century, this is where they had to come. People traveled for miles. Any Castillo bride would probably have stayed here prior to her wedding.”
“What about a Collins bride?”
Aurora grinned. “Sorry. My ancestors were miners who settled for common-law brides. We weren’t big on paperwork or churches in those days. But I understand they came here, too. The missions were more than just churches. They were the only stops along the Royal Road—El Camino Real—which ran along the Mexico–California coast.”
“Let’s take a quick look at the bells,” Jordan said, “then go to the archives room.” He strolled ahead of her to the campanario.
“There are five bells,” she said, “but the far right one on the bottom tier is more valuable than the others.”
“Why?”
“Look closely.” Aurora gestured toward the copper-oxidized green of the bell. “It’s a crown-topped bell. The apex is shaped exactly like a royal crown. Only the Spanish king could commission such a bell, and only the royal foundry could create it.”
Jordan sat down on the nearby edge of a garden retaining wall. Aurora felt comfortable enough joining him as she went on, “All the bells have religious names. And despite earthquakes, military occupation and a fire that burned the mission to the ground, the bells always found their way back here to be rehung. It seemed very important to the padres....”
Jordan nodded. “I can see why the Mission bells must have been like ship’s bells. Different tones and rhythms told the padres when to pray, for instance. The bells told field hands when to work, when to eat, when to sleep. There were different rhythms for danger, for feast days, for funerals, births and weddings.”
“Weddings...” Aurora echoed. I wouldn’t mind getting married here myself someday, if the man was like Jordan. What if he was Jordan? A Castillo bride. This Castillo’s bride. She’d never felt such a fervent desire before. It was unexpected and completely unprecedented.
Jordan slung a friendly arm around her waist, then gently kissed her cheek. The peaceful moment became charged with something else as he kissed her lips.
Found at Sea Page 9
