A Circle of Time

by Marisa Montes

  “Did Miz Isabel like to walk in the woods when she was young? Maybe she had a favorite spot or a secret hiding place.”

  Tere gasped. “Magda’s cottage! Isa was upset last night because she insisted José was coming for her. Maybe she went looking for him.”

  “Why, sure! ” said Joshua. “He used to live at the cottage with Magda. It would make sense for Miz Isabel to look there. ”

  Joshua led them along his shortcut through the woods. When they reached the cottage, Isa was sitting in Magda’s rocker, rocking and singing to a ragged-haired baby doll on her lap. Magda perched on a stool at her side.

  As they entered, Isa leaped from the rocker, her eyes anxious and searching.

  “José?” she said, running to the door and looking past the three visitors. “José, where are you?” She turned to Tere. “Have you seen José?”

  “Come back in the house, Isa,” said Tere, taking her sister by the shoulders and leading her to the rocker. “Siéntate. José cannot come today.”

  Isa shook her head like a spoiled child who is reminded of bedtime. “José is coming, I know it. I must be patient. He promised he would come for me, and José would never break a promise.”

  Tere turned to Magda, her face etched with concern. “What can I do?” she said, sinking onto a chair beside her friend. “I simply do not know what to tell her without breaking her heart again.”

  “What is there to tell her?” Magda replied. “She lives in a fantasy world, believing her beloved José will come back for her and make everything right. Perhaps it is kinder to leave her in that world. Somewhere inside, she knows the truth, and perhaps when she is ready to face it, she will.”

  Tere squeezed Magda’s hand. “You are wise, dear Magda.”

  The two friends turned to watch Isa rocking her baby doll in her arms, cuddling it close while she hummed and cooed to it.

  Allison took Joshua’s hand and led him to the door. “Let’s go outside while they visit,” she whispered. “I have something to tell you.”

  “Last night,” Allison told Joshua, “I was awakened by angry voices. I snuck out to see who it was.”

  “So who was it?”

  “Sadie and Don Carlos! Out in the shadows of the rose garden. Can you believe it? Sadie is blackmailing him.”

  “Blackmail? What could she have on Don Carlos?” Joshua said, more to himself than to Allison. “Not that he’s any saint. Lord knows he probably has his share of ugly secrets—that kind of man usually does. But how would Sadie find out?”

  Allison shrugged. “All I heard was it’s some secret that would upset his family. Don Carlos tried to pretend he didn’t care what Sadie knew and that she was making it up. But I could tell by his voice that he was afraid of anyone finding out this secret. When Sadie threatened to tell his wife and daughters, he finally agreed to pay her off. Then he told her to get off his land and never come back.”

  Joshua snorted. “Miz Teresa told her that, too, but she sure didn’t lose time in crawling back there like a snake after a rat.”

  Allison thought about that. “Why do you suppose Sadie is so nasty? You should have seen the look she gave me yesterday, after Tere told her never to come back.” She shuddered at the memory. “It gives me the willies just to think about it. She really hates poor Becky—and she’s her mother.”

  “Her stepmother,” Joshua informed her.

  “Sadie is Becky’s stepmother? What happened to her real mom? And where’s her dad?”

  “Both dead. Magda says Becky’s ma and pa were real good folks. Kind and generous, though they was dirt poor. Her ma, Ruth, died of consumption when Becky was five. Then her pa needed a ma for Becky so he married Sadie. I hear she wasn’t so bad then. Two years later, Ned Thompson died of influenza. That’s when the trouble began.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Well, Magda says Sadie was always as crusty as an old muddy boot, but after Ned died, she became bitter and mean. She resented Ned for dying and leaving her to fend for herself and care for his kin. At least he left her the cabin and a little piece of land. Becky says that soon after her pa died, the beatings began.”

  “How sad for Becky. Being orphaned and left with that woman.”

  Joshua smiled sadly. “Being orphans was one of the things that brought us together. But at least she had the memory of loving parents, and I had Magda.”

  “Then Becky got stuck with Sadie.” Allison sighed. “I wish I could’ve caught more of the conversation between Sadie and Don Carlos. We don’t know what the secret is or when the payoff is. Any bit of information concerning what Sadie says or does in the next two weeks could be important. ”

  “Why should it matter what Sadie says or does?”

  “Because, Joshua, if Magda’s right, we have to find out who wants to kill her and prevent it from happening. That reminds me. While they were arguing, someone else was hiding in the shadows, listening to them. Just after Sadie left, the person disappeared.”

  “Could you tell who it was?”

  She shook her head. “Couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman.”

  Allison remembered something else. She gasped and grabbed Joshua’s hand. “Joshua, I almost forgot. The last time I came back—the day of April seventeenth—you were going to take me to the Thompson cabin. We got to the edge of the woods, when we heard a door slam. It was Don Carlos, leaving the cabin. He rode off in a huff, and Sadie came out carrying something she apparently hid in the woods. We never found out what happened, because you insisted I go back to Magda’s. That’s the night Sadie was killed.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m not sure. I just know Sadie Thompson is quickly becoming Public Enemy Number One. It might even be Don Carlos who clips her off. He certainly sounded like he wanted to do her in last night!”

  “Don Carlos is heavy-handed, all right,” Joshua agreed. “But murder?”

  “Someone kills her, Joshua. And one thing is for sure—Don Carlos hates her, and blackmail is a perfect motive for murder.”

  As Allison and Joshua escorted Tere and Isa through the forest and back to the estate, Allison thought about the last moments of their visit with Magda. She and Joshua had still been talking outside the cottage when they heard a heart-wrenching cry.

  They had rushed inside to find Isa kneeling in front of the still-swaying rocker. On the floor in front of her lay the bedraggled baby doll, arms stretched upward in a perpetual and pathetic plea for affection. Isa’s hands covered her face, and her entire body shook with sobs.

  When Tere stooped to wrap her arms around her sister, Isa shoved her away. “No! Don’t touch me! You are part of it. You know where my baby is, and you refuse to help me find her.”

  “Shhhh, Isa,” said Tere, trying to scoot closer to her sister. “Here she is—in front of you. Here is your baby.”

  Isa slowly raised her eyes, and when she looked at Tere they were full of contempt. “That is no baby!” Her words had a hollow, accusing tone. “That is a stupid doll! My baby is alive and needs me, but I cannot find him ... her?” Isa’s voice softened to a whimper. When she spoke again, she spoke mostly to herself. “The nuns would not tell me whether it was a girl or a boy. I still do not know. Papa forbade anyone to tell me. Can you believe that?”

  She looked back at Tere, then at Magda. “ ‘The baby is dead,’ Papa said, ‘so what does it matter?’ Well, my baby is not dead! I know it! A mother would know!” Isa shrieked the words and turned to face her sister, holding out her arms.

  “My arms ache to hold my baby. I heard it cry the day it was born, and I hear it cry every day of my life. Each cry is etched in my heart. My baby is out there somewhere, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise. But José will help me. José and I—together we shall find our baby.”

  “Isa, por favor, I beg you...” Tere stretched out a hand to Isa. “Believe me—”

  “No! I will believe no one but José. Soon, José will come.”

  Tere ros
e and clung to Magda, her lovely face twisted with pain. “I don’t know what to do, Magda. What shall I do?”

  Magda helped her to a chair and turned to Isa. “Isabelita, it is Magda. Remember Magda?” She knelt beside the sobbing woman.

  Isa nodded and gave her old friend a lost, trusting look. “José loves you, Magda.”

  Magda smiled. “And he loves you, Isa. He wanted us to trust and take care of each other, remember?”

  “José wants me to trust you,” Isa repeated as if in a trance.

  “Come, siéntate, sit back in the old rocker, and let me pour you some sweet chamomile tea. Then you can tell me all about the baby, how is that?”

  Like an obedient child, Isa allowed Magda to lift her onto the rocking chair. As Isa sat back, she grabbed Magda’s shoulders and drew her close, clinging to her and whispering, “Help me find my baby, Magda. Help me find my baby.”

  When Magda finally pulled away from Isa, she had a strange look on her face. It was the same look she’d had when she had “seen” into Becky’s and Allison’s pasts.

  Allison watched Magda carefully, waiting for an opportunity to ask her about it. She saw Magda add some drops of liquid from a tiny blue vial to Isa’s tea. She also noticed how Isa’s fluttering hands and shaking shoulders became calm soon after she finished her tea.

  While Tere and Joshua prepared a sedated Isa to leave the cottage, Allison took Magda aside.

  “You saw something when Isa held you. What was it?”

  Magda glanced at Tere. “You mustn’t say anything to upset Tere or Isa.”

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  Magda leaned forward and whispered into Allison’s ear. “I saw Isa during labor. I felt her joy when she gave birth, and I felt her sorrow when the nuns told her the baby was born dead. But Isa is right, the baby was not stillborn. I, too, heard the baby cry.”

  Chapter 20

  Allison helped Tere get Isa to her room. The drops Magda had put in her tea had not only sedated the woman, they made her sleepy. After the long walk through the woods, Isa could barely stand. While Tere and Allison put Isa to bed, Socorro moved her wooden chair into the bedroom, preparing to watch over her.

  Tere was visibly shaken by the experience and retired to her own bedroom to rest. Allison took advantage of the time alone to change into the ruby-red gown. Once she had dressed, she combed her hair, tied it back with a red satin ribbon, and set off to explore the mansion.

  As Allison approached the library, male voices drifted toward her. She noticed that the door next to the library stood ajar and that the voices seemed to be coming from the room behind the door. Glancing around to make sure no one else was in the corridor, she tiptoed to the edge of the doorway.

  “But Don Carlos,” said a man whose voice Allison did not recognize, “I do not understand. You wish to withdraw one hundred dollars in gold coins?”

  “Maxwell, I do not pay you to question or understand my orders. Simply do as I request, and make sure I have the money no later than next Monday.”

  “Harrumph! Yes, well, whatever you say, sir,” muttered Maxwell. “I shall need you to sign these documents, and I’ll get on this matter as soon as I return to town.”

  “See that you do, Maxwell.”

  Allison heard the scratching sound of pen on paper.

  “Thank you, sir. I shall return by Monday. Will that be all, Don Carlos?”

  “Hmm? Yes, yes,” Don Carlos said in a distracted tone. “I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

  Allison slipped into the library before the man strode past. She peeked out. He was short and portly, with a glistening bald head. From the dark suit he wore and the topic he and Don Carlos had discussed, Allison guessed he was a lawyer or a banker. She also surmised that the room next door was Don Carlos’s den or private office.

  Not wanting to run into the man any sooner than necessary, she eased the library door closed and turned to admire the immense room. Its coffered ceilings and rosewood paneling set off by the dark burgundy rug of an ornate Middle Eastern design gave the library a plush, masculine feel. And the books! Two of the walls were lined with shelves of books from floor to ceiling. A rosewood ladder slid along a track at the top of the shelves, inviting readers to browse even the highest shelf in search of the right book.

  Allison could never resist books. She slid her hand across the soft leather backs of ancient tomes as if the information contained inside could somehow seep into her fingers through mere touch. She inhaled. The room smelled like a library, a very rich man’s library: The strong scent of leather mingled with that old-book smell and a hint of sweet pipe tobacco.

  She stepped past shelf after shelf, her hand still caressing the spines of gilded leather covers and her gaze slipping from title to title, when she came to what appeared to be the novels section. Someone in the family seemed to have an interest in science fiction. There were several by Jules Verne and H. G. Wells: Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea, The War of the Worlds, The Time Machine. Feeling a sense of irony, she pulled The Time Machine from the shelf.

  Like the others, the book was a leather-bound first edition. Of course, in 1906 that wasn’t so very unusual. Most of the classic novels on the shelves couldn’t have been more than ten or twenty years old. Allison carried the book to the window seat and slid the heavy drape partway across the window so she was hidden in a small alcove between the glass and the drape. She’d always dreamed of sitting in a quiet luxurious room, tucked behind a curtain, reading on a window seat.

  She leaned back against a cushion and opened the book. It was signed by H. G. Wells for Maria Teresa Cardona Pomales. Wow! Allison traced the signature with her finger. So Tere enjoyed science fiction. What would she think if she knew about the time travel happening right under her nose?

  Allison turned to the first chapter and began to read. Soon her eyes grew heavy; she could barely keep them open. She lay the book on her lap and closed her eyes. Tere had woken her so early, and she was so tired...

  Something caused Allison to slowly open her eyes. She must have fallen asleep because she had not noticed that someone had entered the library and was standing a few feet away, gazing through the French doors at the garden. It was Don Carlos. His hands were locked behind his back, and he was deep in thought. A look of such intense sorrow consumed his features that Allison almost felt sorry for the man.

  She wished she hadn’t intruded on this private scene. But apparently Don Carlos had not noticed her tucked behind the drape. Forgetting the book on her lap, Allison shrank further into the corner. The book slipped and fell to the carpet with a loud thud.

  Startled, Don Carlos jumped, his head snapping toward the sound. Allison drew back into the shadow of the drape, but the skirt of her dress and her torso were still visible. The man’s eyes narrowed. He took a step forward and froze. His face grew as white as his hair.

  “¡Madre de Dios!” he whispered, as his gaze took in the ruby-red gown.

  “Oh!” Allison gasped, watching his expression.

  The man swallowed, still staring at the girl in the shadows. Then, regaining his composure, he ripped open the drape and towered over her, glaring.

  “I—I’m sorry,” said Allison. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I must have fallen asleep and—”

  Don Carlos grabbed her arm and yanked her up, forcing her to stand before him like a naughty student before the principal. “What are you doing in that dress?”

  Allison fought the urge to cringe at his hostility. She stuck out her chin as she’d seen Tere do. “Tere gave it to me—to wear until I can sew my own.”

  Don Carlos released her as though she had suddenly turned into a poisonous snake. He stared at her again, his expression turning from one of puzzlement back to one of antagonism. “How dare you call my daughter by her first name!”

  “She asked me to!” Allison could feel the sparks flying from her eyes.

  Don Carlos turned his back to Allison. “My daughter is often mi
sguided when she thinks with her heart. But a servant should know her place.”

  “I’m sorry if you are offended, sir, but Miss Teresa has made it perfectly clear I am an employee, not a servant.”

  Don Carlos whipped around, his steel-blue eyes blazing. “What you are is an insolent child. Did the Thompsons teach you nothing?”

  “The Thompsons are dead,” Allison replied, “but I’m sure they would have taught me what they could if they’d lived. In the meantime, I’ve had to figure things out on my own. I think I’ve done a pretty good job, considering.”

  Don Carlos’s jaw dropped. The strange look of puzzlement returned. He shook his head, as if to clear confusion. When he spoke again, his tone was less harsh.

  “What is it my daughter has hired you to do?”

  “I’m her seamstress, as you probably know.”

  Don Carlos nodded.

  “I’ll sew for the family, and I am to help her care for your wife...”

  “A child like you? To assume that type of responsibility? What could Tere have been thinking?” He muttered the last part mainly to himself. Then, as if he suddenly remembered to whom he was speaking, he asked, “What else? Is there more?”

  “Well ... she wants me to help care for Miss Isabel.” Allison released this information reluctantly, somehow sensing that the knowledge would further infuriate the man.

  She was right. Don Carlos’s face turned the shade of her ruby-red dress. His eyes bulged, his white hair flared.

  “I forbid it!” he bellowed. “No one but her sister and her nurse shall care for my Isa, do you understand?”

  With those words, he turned on his heel and slammed out of the room.

  Chapter 21

  In the days that followed, Don Carlos seemed to tolerate Allison the way an old cat might tolerate the new household puppy, keeping his distance, but at the same time, keeping a wary eye on the unwelcome addition to his family. Allison was aware of the strange look that passed over his face whenever she crossed his path. But she also noticed that when she stood her ground with him, he was less gruff.