by Ruth Wind
Her heart beat a little too fast. Didn't she want their good opinion? Didn't she want to belong to her community?
Of course. But something else had surfaced when she found Alejandro, bleeding and distraught, on her land that day. She had acted from no prompting but her own. How many times in her life had that really happened? How often had she listened only to herself?
She sank onto the bed. While she loved nursing, she had been nudged into it by her mother's friends, who had wanted Molly to follow in her mother's footsteps. She'd mounted a token protest about art school, but the point was made that Molly, alone in the world, needed to be practical.
Which was true. Where would she he now if she'd studied art in Colorado instead of nursing in Albuquerque?
And then there was Tim. He had been her high-school beau. They had met in eighth grade and started going together the following year. She'd loved him, but in college, had hoped to date others. The request had wounded him so much that she'd backed off. And wasn't she glad now? She had not wasted their very short time together.
The traitorous thoughts, let free for the first time, suddenly spilled out in a rush, and she thought of a hundred tiny choices she'd wanted to make for herself, but had allowed someone else to talk her out of.
Usually Tim.
Holding one of his shirts in her hands, she remembered the three-story Victorian house in town that she'd hoped to buy instead of this land. The house of her heart.
It stood a few blocks from the house in town where she'd grown up. For years, Molly had walked past it on her way to school or the market; she'd spun stories of it; she'd drawn it many times, in many weathers. Locals said it was haunted by the ghost of a wronged woman. When it had come on the market just before she and Tim got married, she'd gone to him full of excitement, knowing he had the skills to put the house to rights, that they could have a huge brood of children to fill it.
He'd agreed to go look at the place, but while Molly ran from room to room, imagining wallpaper and the pleasure of refinishing the old cherry-wood paneling, he'd muttered and scowled all the way through. He didn't hate it, he said. He just didn't love it. And then he took her to this house, to this land.
To her credit, she'd not given up easily on that one. She'd wanted that house with her whole heart – no, more than that, she felt as though it belonged to her, that it was meant to be her house. She'd argued that Tim could still have his farm and land – for the same price of this hundred acres and the house, they could have had the Victorian and an equally rich, but slightly smaller, plot of land just outside of town.
But she lost. And three years later, when the house had been condemned for the wiring, Molly had wept bitterly.
It still stood, barely. Neglected and haunted and lonely, waiting for her. She still drew it sometimes. When Tim died, leaving a large insurance settlement, she'd almost taken a portion of the money to the real estate broker and asked to buy it. But that time, Lynette had talked her out of it – pointing out that Molly had enough on her plate without adding a white elephant like an abandoned Victorian.
And now the pattern was repeating itself. She'd made a choice to help a man in need, and she'd done it from her heart, because it felt like the right thing to do. By acting, she'd also saved a little girl, who might have died out there in those fields waiting for her deported uncle to come back to her. She'd taken a drastic step this afternoon, it was true. Maybe some would even say it was wrong.
But Molly, for once in her life, was acting on her gut instincts, and this time, by damn, she wasn't going to let the pressure of the group make her back down.
This time, she would fight to the very end for what she believed.
* * *
After a couple of hours spent reading, Molly came into the kitchen, where Alejandro sat, sketching something on a big tablet of paper. He was left-handed, which she had not noticed till now.
He looked up, pushing hair from his face. "Ah. There you are. Feeling better?"
Molly nodded. "You?"
"Yes. This makes me feel better, always. Come see."
"What is it?" Molly stood to one side, looking over his shoulder. "It looks like a map."
"In a way." He turned it for her, and the view made sense. "It is an idea of things to do for your land, so it will give back to you, very easily, with hardly any work from you."
Unsettled, Molly sank into a chair at the head of the table and accepted the sketch. "I'm not sure I really want to do anything, really. I like the land the way it is."
He dismissed that with one hand. "You want to keep some sage and cactus, you could have some. No problem." Clearly caught in his own vision, he gave her another sketch, this one illustrating a fenced area with a chicken coop. A rooster sat on a fence post.
"You're very good," she said in surprise. The lines were strong, clear, clean, drawn with a kind of power that seemed to always elude Molly. In comparison, her paintings were very timid indeed. "Have you done this work professionally?"
"A long time ago they taught me art."
"In school?"
"Yeah. I did not finish." He shuffled through the stack – he must have been sketching since they'd returned – and pulled out another. "Bees."
A tight sensation drew up her back. "Alejandro, stop."
He looked at her, wariness replacing enthusiasm. "I did something wrong, no?"
"Not wrong. I just … don't know if I'm ready for all this. So much change."
"Ah." With calm dignity, he gathered the drawings. "I am sorry. I did not think." With a smile, he said, "My mind … sometimes I think I know what is right for everything, and do not listen."
"I appreciate the gesture."
He nodded, and Molly saw that now it was he who was moving a little stiffly. "I've offended you," she said.
"No." As if to emphasize that, he also shook his head. "No. I only wish to do something to give back to you what you have given me. I am a man, and too proud." He shrugged. "I will think of something."
"You don't have to hurry, Alejandro. We're stuck with this for a year at least."
"Sí. You are right. Plenty of time." He lifted his chin, and she found herself noticing the impossible broadness of his shoulders beneath the shirt she had chosen for him. "But, Josefina and me, we are not stuck. We are rescued."
"I didn't mean it like that."
"I know." He stood and picked up the materials. "Another day, huh?"
"Sure." She nodded. "I remember why I came in here. You need to move your things into my room. In case."
"Ah. I'm glad you thought of that." He nodded. "Do you wish for me to do it now?"
"Yes. I think I'm going to go to bed."
"It has been a long day."
The conversation was beginning to sound like an entry-level language practice. "Sí, señor," she said impulsively. "Yo soy muy … tiredo."
The rigidness in his posture eased the slightest bit and he smiled. "Cansado."
She repeated it and stood. "Let me show you where to put your things. You can settle everything while. I take a shower."
As they walked up the hallway, Alejandro, limping rather pronouncedly tonight, said, "Not even chickens, Molly? They are very cheap."
"What would I do with them? I don't know how to even kill a chicken."
"Oh, you would not kill one for a long time. Not till she was old and gave no more eggs. Someone could do it for you." He halted to let her go into the room first. "Josefina is very good. It was her job once. She can pluck them, too. So fast."
"Josefina can kill and pluck a chicken?" Molly made a face. "And she's eight. Boy, do I feel dumb."
"No!" he laughed. "She is a working child. I have not liked that she had to work so much, but it was what we had to do. The chickens, she would like feeding them better. Getting the eggs." He warmed again. "The eggs are why the chickens, Saint Molly. Fresh eggs. Your own."
She laughed. "You don't get it. I have land, and this house but I don't know anything. I don't even k
now if I would like having chickens!"
He held up his hands, smiling. "Okay. No more. I won't bother you anymore. Here?" He pointed to the bureau and closet, and then halted, looking around himself. "This is beautiful!" He glanced at Molly. "Your husband again?"
She nodded, crossing her arms against the feeling of intimacy brought on by his presence in this room. He seemed so much larger here. "He made everything in here – paneled the walls, made the bureau and bed to match."
Alejandro lifted a hand to stroke one of the four posts on the bed, his fingers caressing the velvety grain – a rare birch. He leaned close to examine it, then whistled softly. "A man who did work this beautiful – I think his heaven would be filled with wood and tools, to make a throne for God."
The words pierced her utterly, and she made a soft sound. "You must go," she said suddenly, recognizing that her emotions were highly incendiary and could blow at any second.
He raised his head and she saw the bewilderment in his eyes. "I seem to step wrong every time," he said sadly. "I am very sorry for that, Saint Molly." He moved to the door. "Good night." He paused. "I would like to call Josefina and tell her good-night. May I do that?" Raising his hand, the one with the turquoise ring on it, he touched her face. "Thank you for everything, Molly. You are a good woman. If you think of anything I can do, you must tell me, no?"
"I will," she said. "I promise." She could see it sat ill with him to be so dependent on her, and made a mental note to see if there was work available for him right away. It would ease his pride to bring in money. Then she smiled. "Actually, there are two things you can do. I draw, but not like you. I want to know how to put authority into my work. Can you show me?"
"Yes!" Light shone in his face. "I would like that."
"And the other – I really would like to learn to speak Spanish. That's something I know you can teach me."
"No problem." He winked. "We will start tomorrow on those things. Now you go, take your shower, and I will settle my things, and you will not even know I am here tonight." He touched her hair briefly, and stepped away.
It was exactly what she wanted, Molly thought. And not only had he seen her wish, but had not been offended by it. An unusual man.
* * *
Alejandro slept deeply and well, and to his surprise, the sun was full in the sky when he awakened. Smelling coffee, he put sweats on over his boxers and limped to the kitchen. The coffee machine – he would have to ask how it worked – was steaming and he poured a cup.
Through the window over the sink, he glimpsed Molly at work in her garden. Her hair was tied back in its usual braid. He'd only seen it down that one time. The morning was very warm, and there was sweat staining the back of her T-shirt. Smiling, he limped to the door and wandered out to the porch. "There is a good sight," he called out. "A woman hard at work so early in the morning."
She laughed. "Good morning, lazybones."
"Lazy?" he repeated mockingly. "Me?"
Brushing a tendril of hair from her eyes, she straightened. "I've already weeded the whole garden, eaten breakfast and washed a load of clothes, señor."
He liked her in this teasing mood. Her face was flushed with exercise, and the casual, loose-fitting clothes outlined her body very nicely. "But I have been wounded, señora. A man must heal."
"You look like you feel a hundred times better this morning," she said, eyeing him with her nurse's face. "You must have slept well."
"Like a baby. And I told you, I am strong." But he did not think it was the sleep that made him feel this way. It was hope, a chance to make things better for him and Josefina. He mugged a bodybuilder's pose. "Sexy, too, no?"
Her eyes skittered over the expanse of his chest and just as quickly skittered away. He grinned, rubbing his flat belly. "A little overwhelming, though. I understand."
She laughed. "Vanity, thy name is man." She slapped her gloves together, and the motion made her breasts, loosely clasped in some thin undergarment, move a little. He yanked his gaze away, wondering why those small, cup-shaped breasts held so much fascination.
"I've been thinking about your chickens," she said.
"Yes?"
"If you want to build a henhouse and try it, I guess I might like having a rooster alarm clock."
He laughed happily. "That's good! Yes, you will like it. We can find out today who has them for sale." He sipped his coffee. "We will go see Josefina, no?"
"Of course."
"And will you go to work?"
"No. Cathy gave me two weeks off to take care of all this."
"Good. I would like to work, I think. I am tired of sitting and sitting. You have things I can fix here, no? That dripping sink, maybe?"
She smiled. "Sure. I'll put you to work. Get everything shipshape before you go off to real life."
Real life. It seemed, suddenly, as he admired her in her garden, with sun falling down on her many-colored head, a very bleak prospect.
* * *
Chapter 10
«^»
They spent most of the day with Josefina, who was, in the way of sick children the world over, cranky and irritable at the confinement. She insisted she felt fine, that she just wanted to go home and see her dog.
At noon, Molly ducked out to go to the local five-and-dime. She bought a basket and filled it with all kinds of little-girl things – coloring books and paper dolls, crayons and markers, a pretty doll with some extra outfits. Remembering Alejandro's comment about Josefina's intelligence, she also picked out some easy readers and a math workbook.
On the way out, she stopped by the stuffed animals to pick out a dog. It was surprising how many there were. Remembering Wiley's comments about a little mutt, she found a small brown-and-white one with a felt tongue hanging out of its smiling mouth.
At the checkout, she grinned at the checker, a woman in her sixties whose children Molly had baby-sat during her teens. "Hi, Mrs. Nolan. How're the boys?"
The blue eyes were cold behind her glasses. "They're just fine, thank you."
Molly's immediate impulse was to try to make things right – explain her actions, paste on her brightest fake smile and remind the woman that she was still Molly Sheffield, everybody's favorite girl next door.
She resisted. "I'm glad," she said as if she had not noticed the hostility. "Please tell them I said hello."
There was no reply. Feeling vaguely triumphant over her ability to remain strong in the face of community disapproval, Molly paid and drove back to the hospital.
At the desk, she stopped to talk to the floor nurse. "How's she doing, Annie?"
Annie, a Latina in her twenties, fresh from nursing school, shook her head. "It's TB for sure. The tests came back." She sighed heavily. "The worry now is infection. She has an elevated white-cell count, and the doctor is concerned about pneumonia."
"I see. Did you tell her uncle?"
"Yeah. He seemed very worried about it. Maybe you can reassure him that we should be able to treat it with no trouble." Annie glanced over her shoulder and leaned close. "Where did you find him? He's absolutely gorgeous! I want one."
Molly laughed and wiggled her eyebrows. "He doesn't have a brother, but maybe a cousin, huh?"
Annie sighed. "And he's so polite. I never meet polite men."
"I'd better get in there if he's worrying." Molly hauled the basket off the counter and went down to the room. When she pushed open the door, her gaze fell first on Alejandro, standing at the bedside, reading a ragged copy of a picture book to Josefina. He halted at a word, and shook his head. "This one, I don't know, hija. You have to help me."
Josefina laughed. "It's white, Tío. You know that."
"Oh, white! Sure, sure, I see now." He looked up and caught Molly's eye. "Lucky for me I have such a smart child to help me, huh?" His tone was light, but Molly saw the lines of strain around his mouth. And a moment later, when Josefina coughed, the sound deep and obviously painful, Molly understood why.
Still, no good would come of him wearing
himself out entirely. His own health was fragile. "Did your uncle eat, like I told him to?" Molly asked Josefina.
"No." Molly saw with concern that there was a faint sheen on her forehead. "I told him to, but he wouldn't."
"I ate your pudding!"
"Big deal, right, kiddo?" Molly put the basket on the side of the bed and took out a bag of hamburgers. "I'm pretty smart, too." She gave Alejandro the bag and a cola, and started taking out the other things for Josefina, who was quite happy with all of it, especially the little dog, but tired so quickly that Molly was genuinely alarmed. "You want to just watch some TV for a little while, kiddo?"
Josefina nodded. Molly clicked on the set, found some cartoons and tucked blankets around the girl more carefully. She inclined her head toward the door, looking at Alejandro, and he stood. "We'll be back in a few minutes, little one, okay?"
The child, hand tucked under her chin, nodded dully.
In the hall, he said, "Tell me."
Molly knew better than to mince words with him. "It looks like pneumonia. We have to let her rest. If you don't want to leave the hospital entirely, I can understand that, but you have to take care of yourself, too. You can't let yourself get too tired."
"I am well now."
"No," she said firmly. "You really are not. And if you'd like to be back in bed, flat on your back, keep skipping meals and worrying."
A faint grin turned up one side of his mouth, and he touched her upper arm with one finger. "Bossy."
"You'd better believe it."
* * *
But unfortunately, Josefina's condition worsened dramatically over the next couple of hours. By supper, she was moved to ICU, with oxygen, and permitted a visitor only once an hour for ten minutes.
Alejandro stood there for the whole ten minutes each hour. Most of that time, she was sleeping and he could only hold her hand, murmuring prayers, over and over. Reckless prayers, offered in desperation to all the saints he could remember. He listened to the swoosh and beeps of the machines with a sense of breathlessness, as if it were his own chest infected. He wished it was. He took the medal off his neck and put it around her wrist, and prayed some more.
