by Phoebe Conn
“I don’t know. How old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-eight in November.”
“I’m twenty-six, and wouldn’t have been much help to you when I was fourteen.”
Had they met then, he would have walked right by her, and she would have given a dark, handsome youth a wide berth.
He reached for her hand and pulled her down onto his lap. “That’s a matter of opinion.”
Fox leaned out the front door. “Perry tried to seduce me last night. Could you do something about her?”
“Was Connie going to watch?” Rafael asked.
“No, she looked horrified. I thought I could pretend it didn’t happen, but I keep thinking about it. The next guy they proposition might not walk away.”
“I knew it,” Maggie sighed. “There’s simply no end of problems here.”
Rafael’s smile grew wide. “When you’re needed so badly, you ought to stay.”
She’d done all right with him, but the whole Aragon family was something else entirely and far too great a challenge for any one person to meet. “I don’t have an extra lifetime to devote to it.” She remained comfortably seated on his lap, as though they had nothing better to do other than to enjoy the afternoon together, until she recalled the photo albums.
She sat up. “I didn’t have time to look at all the family albums. Are you interested in seeing them too?”
He took her hand to help her stand and then stood. “I’d rather look around the ranch. Maybe I could learn how to shoe a horse if Fox did. I’ll see you later.”
She gave him a quick kiss and went inside to get an album and brought it outside where the light was soft and warm. She hoped to find at least one photo where Augustín was smiling, but if he ever had, it hadn’t been documented there.
The next morning, Santos pounded on Maggie’s door. It was only a few minutes before she and Rafael had planned to wake, but a troubled mind had interrupted her sleep so often, she was slow to respond. “I’m coming.”
“Why don’t we let him stay in here with us?” Rafael asked. “Then we might get more sleep.”
“Don’t suggest it.” Her short nightgown was transparent, and she pulled Rafael’s black T-shirt over her head and smoothed it down before opening the door. Santos looked near tears. What disaster had befallen them now? “What’s wrong?”
“Cirilda just called me. Grandmother moved up the time of the funeral to seven this morning so we’d miss it. Cirilda swears her mother woke her with barely enough time to get there herself or she’d have called us. They’re back at the hotel for the reception. All of our father’s friends were there at seven o’clock, so while Carmen was supposedly too grief-stricken to leave her bed, she must have been undoing everything Cirilda and I had arranged for today.”
“Son of a bitch!” Rafael cried.
Maggie reached for Santos’s arm and pulled him into her room. “I can understand why she dislikes me, but why would she want to leave you and Fox out of our father’s funeral?”
“I’m a bastard, remember, and Fox isn’t her blood. I hope she chokes on her own spit before the day’s over.”
Rafael left the bed to pull on his jeans. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll help.”
“I’m too mad to think,” Santos swore.
“Well, I’m not,” Maggie offered. “Let’s get dressed and crash the reception. We can walk in as though we were expected, and the guests won’t know the difference. While we’re there, I’ll have a quiet chat with Grandma Carmen. We’ll have the funeral you planned for eleven with as much of the public as we can invite into the basilica. We won’t need a coffin for a memorial service, and don’t they have mass every hour anyway?”
Santos straightened up. “Yes, I believe they do.”
She opened the door. “We can’t wait for the limo. Would you cancel it, please, and we’ll go in your car. We’ll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes. Don’t forget to wake Fox.”
Santos leaned down her kiss her cheek and murmured, “I’m so glad Father got to meet you.”
Maggie shut the door after he left and leaned back against it. “I’m going to use one of the bathrooms across the hall and leave this one for you. We can curse Carmen the whole way into Zaragoza, but I don’t understand how she could be so mean that she’d change the time of the funeral to cut us out. How could she have done that to Santos?”
“Something must have eaten her soul.”
Carmen might have found her husband’s letters and poems for Simone, but it was no excuse for hurting Santos. Maggie used the borrowed bathroom and showered and dressed before Rafael had finished tying his tie. His dark gray suit fit him as handsomely as his traje de luces, and with a white dress shirt and maroon tie, he was the image of a prosperous businessman. He even had the Italian loafers.
“You look so good,” she told him.
“Thank you. Couldn’t we go in my car?”
“Santos knows the way, and we don’t want to get separated. Do you carry a knife?”
“Not usually. Will you need one?”
“No, I wanted to make certain I wouldn’t be tempted to borrow yours. I know swear words in Spanish Carmen has probably never heard, and I hope to use them all. Very softly, so no one will hear me but that selfish bitch.”
He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Have I said I love you?”
“Yes.” She led the way down the stairs. “But we’ll have to make time for romance later.”
Anita Lujan was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. She was dressed in her best dress and riding to the funeral with Refugio. “You look so lovely, Magdalena. Do you have a hat or mantilla?”
“No, I’m not Catholic and forgot I’d need one.”
Anita handed her a beautiful, black lace mantilla. “I thought not. Here, take this one. It’s new, and I have others.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll take good care of it. I’ll see you later.”
Santos came limping down the stairs with Fox trailing. They were dressed in dark suits they often wore to dinner at the beach house. With their shirts barely tucked in and their ties loosely knotted, they looked as though they’d dressed in the dark. Maggie didn’t say a word.
Santos’s white SUV was parked in front, and Rafael held out his hand for the keys. “You shouldn’t be driving. Fox, get into the backseat with him.”
“I can make it into Zaragoza,” Santos insisted. “I drove all the way here.”
“Fine, but you’re not driving today,” Rafael insisted. “Did you remember to change the dressing on your leg?”
“Yes, do you want to check?”
Maggie raised her hand to shade her eyes and watched a car approach. It was low and sky blue. “It looks as though Ana is joining us.”
Ana bounded out of the Porsche and handed Maggie a large manila envelope. “I’m glad I caught you. Here are the photographs I promised. Hi, Fox. You want to ride with me?”
Santos swore softly under his breath. “We’re on our way to the reception at the Tibur. Drop him off there.”
Ana’s eyes widened. “Isn’t it too early for the reception?”
“Don’t ask. Now let’s go,” Santos urged. Ana and Fox got into her car, and she drove away as quickly as she’d arrived.
Rafael dropped Santos’s keys into his pocket. “If I’m driving, we might as well go in my car.”
“Stop it!” Maggie shouted. “We don’t have time for a pissing contest. Let’s go. People will expect us to arrive in a limo. They won’t notice a SUV. Besides, the SUV will give us a higher view of the road and crowd, and we’ll be less likely to run over anyone.”
“A valid concern,” Santos agreed. “I’m sure Rafael would rather not go to prison a second time.”
Rafael flashed a wicked grin. “Not unless it were worth it.”
Maggie opened the backseat door for Santos and urged him in. “Let’s go, or we won’t even make the eleven o’clock service, let alone the early reception.”
He hung on to the door. “I should have brought my crutches. Will you go up to my room and get them?”
Maggie glared at him. “So you can punch Rafael just for the fun of it? No. Rafael, would you please fetch the damn crutches?”
He laughed. “It’s looks as though I’m the fox, Santos is the chicken, and you’re farmer.”
“I’m the farmer, all right. Now get going.”
“Someone has to tell me that joke,” Santos complained.
Maggie checked her watch and was surprised it wasn’t quite nine a.m. She waited for Santos to ease himself into the backseat, closed his door and got into the front seat. “We should probably leave while he’s upstairs,” she murmured under her breath.
“We can’t, he took the keys.”
“True.” She opened the envelope and found the promised photographs Ana had taken there at the ranch, plus several of Rafael and Santos strutting into the bullring in all their magnificent splendor. “These are amazing photos.”
“Great, but she shouldn’t have shared them with the press. She won’t be the only one with a camera today. I should have asked Anita for another mantilla for myself.”
She turned to face him. “Don’t worry; I doubt you’ll be criticized for shedding a few tears at your father’s funeral.”
“I’ll keep reminding myself that we missed the first one. That’ll help.”
Rafael opened the SUV’s rear door to store Santos’s crutches. “Anything else you need before go?”
“No,” Santos assured him. “I’ll direct you along the back roads to avoid the freeway, and we’ll reach the Tibur in plenty of time to strangle Carmen before the eleven o’clock mass.”
“Absolutely no violence!” Maggie cautioned, then realized these were men who dressed in embroidered suits to slaughter bulls for a living. She’d wasted her breath.
People hoping to attend Miguel Aragon’s funeral overflowed the Plaza del Pilar, but Rafael was able to slowly thread his way through the crowd to reach the hotel. He handed the car keys to the valet. “We’ll be here until early afternoon. Charge it to Carmen Aragon’s room.”
“Yes, sir.” He recognized Santos if not Rafael and elbowed the other valet. “Good to see you here today, Señor Aragon.”
Santos nodded rather than explain it wasn’t a good day at all. He used his crutches to reach the front desk, and they were again greeted warmly and directed to the Tibur’s ballroom. Deep red silk wallpaper and tall mirrors lined the room, and crystal chandeliers made it bright. Long tables held breakfast entrees, and there was a separate bar for drinks. There were perhaps a hundred people there, most of them men. All spoke in hushed tones.
The twins were with Marina, all three dressed in black. The girls’ mascara had run with their tears and made black trails down their pale cheeks. Their mother’s makeup was absolute perfection, however, and serene, she appeared to be attending an afternoon tea rather than an occasion as sad as this. Vida sat at a round table with Enrique and Maria Luisa. He turned a bored gaze on them, while his mother and sister grieved openly with abundant tears. Dr. Moreno sat with an elderly gentleman, who nodded at the physician’s every word.
Carmen stood at the bar, talking with a woman in a deep purple suit and feathered hat. Cirilda was on the far side of the room. Maggie wasn’t sure if their entry had gone unnoticed or if her grandmother and aunt simply didn’t care.
She gestured for her companions to come close. “I’m going to take Grandmother through the door closest to the bar. This should take me only a few minutes, but if I’m not back in ten, please come looking for me.”
“I’ll go with you now,” Rafael offered.
She touched his arm lightly. “Thank you, but no. I’ll do this on my own.”
She walked up to Carmen, who appeared startled to see her, as did her friend in purple. She took a firm hold of her grandmother’s upper arm. “Forgive us, we need a moment in private.” She urged her grandmother toward the exit, and while Carmen huffed with indignation, she kept up with Maggie’s longer stride.
Once they’d entered the hallway to the restrooms, Maggie released her. She then spoke in the beautiful Spanish she taught in her classroom. “You’ve been cold and rude to me since the moment I arrived in your home, but what you did to Santos this morning is unforgiveable. He’s devoted himself to the Aragon family in ways you don’t even approach. By insulting him as you have today, you’ve made a powerful enemy. Miguel loved his sons and daughters, and he’d be deeply ashamed of the way you’ve treated us. I won’t accept an apology and neither will Santos.
“We’re going ahead with the funeral planned for eleven, and I suggest if you attend, you pray for your own rotten soul rather than weep for Miguel.” She threw in a few immensely derogatory terms and left her grandmother staring at her bug-eyed in the hall. Rafael and Santos were waiting for her on the other side of the door. “That felt so good.”
Santos saluted her with a glass of orange juice. “You were only gone four minutes.”
“It was enough time. If she dares to come back in, don’t speak to her. I told her you’d never forgive her for this morning, and even if you will, make her wait.”
“I’ll make a point of it. You’ve no idea who these people are, do you?”
Ana entered the ballroom with Fox, adding two to the count. “Only the ones I met at the beach house. Should I assume the men I don’t recognize are all famous matadors?”
Rafael nodded. “Most of them are, but none were as good as your father. Who’s the man with Cirilda?”
Santos spoke softly. “That’s her second husband, Alfonso Rivera. I liked him. He’s a pediatrician, and the fact they didn’t produce any little ones might have caused their problems.”
Rafael turned his back to Cirilda. “How can he have imagined she’d tolerate a baby spitting up on her?”
Maggie wondered about that too, but her aunt was regarding Alfonso with a rapt gaze. He smiled widely, apparently appreciating her attention. Her aunt’s private life didn’t interest her, however.
Santos also quickly dismissed the couple. “Come, let me introduce you to Father’s friends.”
She took Rafael’s hand and brought him along with her. The first man regarded her with a befuddled stare, and the second looked equally perplexed. Understanding their confusion, she pulled Santos aside. “Apparently my father never mentioned he’d had a daughter with an American wife. There’s no point in introducing me to anyone else when they’ll be as embarrassed as I am.”
“This is your first opportunity to meet them, and there’s no reason for anyone to be embarrassed,” Santos argued. “You want to meet everyone, don’t you, Rafael?”
“Do you mind?” he asked her.
Maggie checked her watch. They were so close to the basilica there was no reason to leave an hour early, but she couldn’t face another blank stare. “No, you’re the one who ought to meet everyone. I’d rather have something to eat with Ana and Fox.” She walked away before either man could object.
Ana and Fox were moving along the buffet, and she stepped in behind them. Ana held only a small glass of cranberry juice, while Fox piled his plate high. Maggie took a tiny sweet roll and a cup of tea and followed them to a vacant table.
Ana kept her voice low. “Why are you having the reception prior to the service? Isn’t that a bit odd?”
Fox looked at Maggie, but she didn’t warn him to be still. “The funeral was at seven.”
“What?” Ana asked so loudly everyone in the room turned toward her. She flashed the smile that had made her famous, and after a strained moment, the conversations around them resumed. “Why were you all at the ranch, then?”
Maggie let Fox explain while she sipped her tea. Carmen’s actions went way past insulting, but it hurt worse to discover her father’s close friends hadn’t known about her. If she’d been overlooked in a biography or film, it had to be due to careless research. What Miguel had or hadn’t confided to his friends was a personal ma
tter. Fox had described himself as a leftover kid, and that’s what she was too. She hadn’t realized how badly it hurt.
“Magdalena?” Rafael was at her elbow. A line of men trailed him, all waiting to be introduced. She rose to meet them.
A few spoke English and described how much they had admired her father. Others began hesitantly in Spanish until she responded in their language, and they could express their sorrow more fully. They were all kind, their emotion clearly genuine, and by the time the last man had spoken to her, it was time to go.
She squeezed Rafael’s hand. “Thank you.”
“It wasn’t my idea. Once they learned you were here, they all wanted to meet you,” he insisted.
“They’re gentlemen who pretended they wanted to meet me, but thank you anyway.”
“What man wouldn’t want to meet a beautiful woman?” he countered.
“Exactly. Did you read any of my father’s obituaries? Were Santos and I included among his survivors?”
“I’ve been too busy to look through the papers.” He took her hand. “Now, let’s go. I’ll tell you about the basilica on the way.”
She welcomed the distraction. “Does it have an interesting history?”
“It most certainly does. When the apostle James came to what is now Spain, he had little success finding converts. He prayed for help, and angels carried the Virgin Mary from the Holy Land to comfort him. This was her only magical appearance before she was raised to heaven. She descended atop a jasper pillar and gave James, or Santiago, a carved wooden statue of herself, and directed him to build a church where they stood. He built the first chapel, and over time, larger churches were constructed around it.”
They had reached the plaza, and the monstrous, baroque basilica was an amazing sight. In addition to a large central dome, there were ten smaller cupolas and four corner towers topped with colorful tiles reminiscent of circus tents. “So that’s why this is the Basilica of Our Lady of the Pillar?”
“Yes. I looked it up while you were going through the picture albums,” he admitted with a shrug. “The pillar and wooden statue carried by the Virgin are on display and draw a constant stream of the faithful.”
