by Carla Kelly
With gestures from Marco, everyone was soon seated. Graciela led the little ones, protesting, from the kitchen. Marco called her back and set Claudito on his lap, with Soledad next to Paloma. Graciela retreated to the great fireplace, where Perla handed her bowls of food and pointed where they should go.
Lorenzo stood in the doorway, all shaven and shorn and nearly unrecognizable. Marco waved him to a spot next to Joaquim Gasca, who was unabashedly admiring Paloma. A long, hard stare from Marco ended that admiration. To Claudio’s private amusement, the private-lieutenant-royal engineer prudently directed his attention to the plate of chorizo and beans waiting circulation to the left.
Toshua sat on Marco’s other side, confirming Claudio’s suspicions about the Comanche’s place at the Double Cross. The Indian ate with no conversation, then got up suddenly halfway through the meal and went to the kitchen door.
A woman stood there, someone Paloma obviously knew, too, because she was on her feet and in the woman’s arms. Paloma, how can you? Claudio thought in dismay.
The Comanche woman smiled at Toshua and kissed Paloma’s forehead. Claudio noted her pockmarked face and missing fingers, but he could not ignore the genuine pleasure in her eyes upon seeing Paloma.
They stood in quiet conversation for a few brief moments. Claudio glanced at Marco, who smiled at the woman.
“Join us, Eckapeta?” Marco asked. “There’s room here by Paloma.”
The woman shook her head. “It was a long ride,” she said, her Spanish as good as Toshua’s, the man who must be her husband.
She spoke softly to Toshua, her hand on his shoulder. He picked up several tortillas from the table and a pot of posole by the fireplace.
“When you have refreshed yourself, Eckapeta, would you and Toshua join us in the sala?” Marco asked, returning his attention to the massive hunk of beef on his plate.
She nodded, and left as quietly as she had come, Toshua right behind her with the food. Paloma returned to her seat beside her husband, rested her head against his arm for a moment so brief that only a brother would have noticed, then made sure Soledad had more beans on her plate.
“I always feel better when she is here,” Paloma said to Claudio.
“I don’t know how you can, Little Sister, after what you saw all those years ago,” he replied, and winced inside when the conversation stopped entirely.
He could have kicked himself at the look of sadness in her eyes. I should never have reminded her of Mama, Claudio thought in misery. He nearly made apology, when he realized with a worse start that her look of sorrow was directed at him. She wasn’t remembering Mama; she was feeling pity that he had never moved on. He stared at his plate, certain now that he would leave in the morning. He didn’t know this sister.
Marco moved into the sudden conversational chasm by nodding to Perla. “I believe we are ready for your most excellent flan now.”
The other diners leaped to fill the awkward pause. Joaquim Gasca took another tortilla before Perla’s little grandson began to clear the table. Lorenzo spooned down the rest of his posole and cast a longing eye on the turkey platter that Graciela was removing on Sancha’s orders.
Looking like the benevolent host he was, Marco eyed them all in that leisurely way of his. He did not fool Claudio for a minute. His eyes rested on Lorenzo, who had the spoon to his open mouth.
“Señor Diaz, what say you to dessert in my office? It’s just down the hall. Graciela, you take my place here and help little Claudio, because he loves flan almost as much as his mother. Excuse us, my dear.” He looked at Claudio next, and there was nothing soft in his eyes this time. “You come, too. We three have a matter of business, and it won’t wait.”
Claudio got to his feet and took his bowl of flan. He felt old, sour, and his shoulder hurt. He dared a look at his sister, whose eyes were still filled with concern for him. She opened her mouth to say something to him, he was sure of it, but Soledad demanded her attention and the moment passed.
I am failing her, he thought in misery. Or is she failing me?
Chapter Twenty
In which Claudio disappoints nearly everyone
Marco knew there were days when the Council of the Indies of King Carlos III did not pay him enough to be juez de campo. This was going to be one of them.
Carrying his bowl of flan, he ushered Lorenzo and Claudio into his office. He had moved from his office by the horse barn when it became obvious that Toshua needed a place for Eckapeta to stay when she visited, and Paloma needed his help, with her infant cousin and their baby on the way. The house had too many empty rooms, so it made perfect sense to turn an unused bedchamber into an office. It made even more sense because Paloma kept his office tidier than he ever had.
He had found her here late this afternoon, looking through his correspondence from the governor and the list and descriptions of missing cattle and horses. He knew from the frown on her face that her discovery hadn’t pleased her at all.
Without a word, she pointed to the entry listing three missing horses from Isleta and their brands, the same brand he had noticed on Lorenzo Diaz’s horses tethered outside his own gate. He promised her he would deal with the matter, which didn’t lessen the frown.
“I wish I hadn’t even looked,” Paloma told him.
She looked so distressed that a hug was in order, even in an official government office. And then another hug, because Governor de Anza was a long way away, followed by a lingering kiss, because King Carlos probably never gave New Mexico a thought.
“Paloma, if you hadn’t looked, I would have,” he said to console her. It might even be true.
“They’re smelly and probably rascals, but I like them, Marco,” she told him.
“I do, too,” he assured her, “but there is a point of law here.”
“Be merciful,” she pleaded, then kissed his ear.
Now was not the time to recall such pleasant things as a kissed ear. Marco gestured to the chairs. Rogelio, who had tagged along, crouched in the corner. Marco moved behind the desk to take his usual place, but sighed and pulled the chair usually reserved for Paloma and set it in front of the desk. He sat close to his guests, who looked more worried than hungry now.
He reached behind him to the loose papers on his desk and put them in Lorenzo’s lap.
No fool, Lorenzo finished the flan—first things first—then took a look at the papers.
“I picked these up from the governor when I was in Taos,” Marco said. He sat back and gave Lorenzo the hard stare that usually reduced horse thieves to silence. The thing was, he didn’t mean it this time. All the events involving Lorenzo Diaz and the man’s now-dead brother and the horse trading in Taos had landed Claudio Vega back in his sister’s life. How could a husband be angry about that?
But as he had told Paloma, the law was the law. He had sworn in Santa Fe before God that he would uphold all the laws, even the silly ones. Except when he couldn’t, because the Council of the Indies had no idea what went on in the Valle del Sol District.
“Those horses are inside my own horse barn, now that the gate is closed,” Marco said, then slammed his hand on his knee. “My barn! And I am this district’s juez de campo!”
His dramatic gesture would have been more effective had he slammed his hand on his desk instead of his knee. At least his bowl of flan was safe on his desk.
“Señores, I know those are stolen horses,” he said.
Lorenzo gazed back, so innocent. Claudio looked less innocent. Rogelio in the corner started to whimper.
“The last thing I want to do is arrest you,” Marco admitted. “In a roundabout way, you have reunited my brother-in-law with my dear wife. The husband in me wants to just wave you on tomorrow and forget I ever saw you.”
“Listen to the husband,” Lorenzo said.
Marco was a man of some rectitude and considerable honor. He called every scrap of his will and reason into play then, just to keep from leaping to his feet, grabbing Lorenzo by what was left o
f his hair and slinging him around the room. It was one of those moments, thankfully far apart, when he wished he were Toshua and could just slice off half a yard of skin, or scoop out a testicle, and have done with it.
He counted to ten, then counted again. All the while Rogelio was sniffing by the door, wiping his nose on his arm. Thank goodness Paloma doesn’t have to look at that right now, in her delicate state, he thought, mostly to take his mind off the harm he wanted to do Lorenzo Diaz, horse thief.
Marco did the time-honored thing and sidestepped the matter, because a larger crisis loomed, a personal one. “Here is another matter, Lorenzo: Claudio gave me a bill of sale for a matched team of bays. Is that bill of sale a forgery?”
“Absolutely not,” Lorenzo replied firmly.
Marco would have believed him, except for that tiny moment between question and answer when Lorenzo’s steady gaze flickered as he glanced toward the ceiling. A less experienced juez de campo wouldn’t even have noticed. Marco had interrogated many a liar, and Lorenzo Diaz was one more in that long line of rascals and cheats.
“You’re telling me the truth?” Marco asked again, knowing that the answer would be the same, and that he was about to become poorer. But honor was honor, and he could prove nothing.
“Would I lie to a juez de campo?” Lorenzo asked. This time he mastered the little flicker toward the ceiling.
“Many have,” Marco said. He stood up and went to his desk drawer, where he counted out the sum owed for the team eating hay in his horse barn now. He was going to miss them when he returned them to their owner. He handed the money to Lorenzo, then took out a smaller amount and gave it to Claudio.
“Brother, thank you again for trusting me enough to pay my bill at the inn.”
Claudio accepted the coins, but his face was troubled. You look so much like Paloma, Marco thought. Would that you ran with a better crowd.
“I forgot to look, and the bill of sale is in my room. Where did you buy that wonderful team of bays?” Marco asked Lorenzo.
“The ranch of Señor José Vasquez,” Lorenzo said promptly, without any eye waver. “In the valley of Pojoaque.”
I can return them when I go to Santa Fe this fall with my wool clip, Marco thought. I hope I am paid well for that wool clip.
And that was all the business he cared to conduct with horse thieves. He closed the drawer where he kept his money and locked it, pocketing the key. “Lorenzo, I will not keep you any longer,” he said, not bothering with a bow, because the rascal deserved none. “I expect you to return those three horses eating in my barn to the man in Isleta, where you stole them.”
“Señor, I never ….” Lorenzo began.
Marco withered the horse trader with a look. “You have been paid for the team I now own. We have no more business. I expect you to be gone by daylight.” His own stare at Lorenzo did not waver. “I have the power to arrest you and seize this property you claim you acquired honestly, but Lorenzo, I do not have the heart.”
He stood by his desk until the men left, then sank down into his chair again, kicking himself for his folly. He looked up to see Claudio standing in the doorway. Marco just shook his head.
“Marco, did … did you want me in the sala, too?” Claudio asked.
I wish you were an honest man, Marco thought, but Paloma will never hear otherwise from me. “Yes, I do. Let’s walk together.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Claudio said, not meeting Marco’s gaze. “Time for a piss, you know.”
“You won’t even walk with me,” Marco said softly, as Claudio hurried away, his head down.
Sick at heart and determined not to show it to his wife, Marco went to the sala, where he heard laughter from Joaquim Gasca, who was probably entertaining Paloma. The man had no scruples, either. I am surrounded by idiots, Marco thought, and I am chief among them.
Her eyes merry, Paloma patted the tall chair next to hers. They were the only chairs in the room, so everyone else sat on the adobe outcroppings from the wall, padded with Pueblo blankets and frankly more comfortable than the chairs. But the chairs represented power, something he needed just then. To his personal gratification, Toshua and Eckapeta sat on the floor close to Paloma.
He smiled at the two of them, suddenly struck by something he hadn’t considered before. Whenever Paloma was in a room with strange people, Toshua always stood in front of her or close by. And here was Eckapeta, too, as watchful as her husband over that which Marco held most dear. He felt himself relax. No matter how many scoundrels came his way in the course of official duties, Paloma was safe. His pummeled heart started to beat again.
“Eckapeta, please tell us what you learned from Kwihnai,” he asked with no preamble, because he wanted this day over, and consolation of a personal nature from Paloma.
“I found Kwihnai in the summer camp,” she said, skipping right to the heart of the matter, too, even though Marco knew how much The People liked to draw out a story. But then, Eckapeta always had a secret sense for personal feelings. He blessed her in his heart.
“I told him what Great Owl had done, and how he had shot at our Claudio.”
Our Claudio. Our Claudio could use some scruples, Marco thought.
She gave Marco a sharp look, which made prickles run down his back. Could the woman read his mind?
“I asked Kwihnai for help to find Great Owl and destroy him, but he will not commit any warriors.” Eckapeta spoke in a calm voice, but Marco heard the undercurrent of disdain. “He knows Great Owl is out to disrupt any attempt at peace, but Kwihnai wants to see how things go.”
“That implies he will be watching us,” Marco said. “I understand this, so do not frown, Eckapeta. Kwihnai’s walk is more hazardous than ours.”
“Between two Comanche forces,” Joaquim Gasca said. “Maybe I should be like my sergeant and never volunteer for anything.”
“Change your mind?” Marco asked, almost wishing he could change his.
Joaquim shrugged. “You can’t imagine how boring life is in Santa Maria, señor. Perhaps I will be a hero.”
“We will be an army of three,” Marco said.
“Four, surely,” Claudio said. “I am coming, too.”
“Please remain here with your sister and Eckapeta,” Marco told him. “I saw how you were wincing on that ride back from Santa Maria, and that was no long trip. There will be hard traveling into the cloud land of the Utes. You still need to heal.”
Marco wanted to say more—how he did not entirely trust Claudio, because of the matter of the stolen horses. He also knew he would face Comanches without a weapon before he would humiliate Paloma with her brother’s failings in front of these people. “Remain here, Claudio.”
Claudio shook his head. “I want to go with you!” he said, louder this time.
“And I want you here. You’re the one Great Owl tried to kill,” Marco said, his voice rising as well. Paloma put her hand on his arm.
“You’ll make me stay behind walls with the women and children?” Claudio challenged. “Paloma, you don’t need me here, do you, not with all the archers and guards around this place?”
“Well, I …” she began, “I would feel safer if you were ….”
Claudio stood up and left the room. Marco listened a moment until the door to his bedchamber banged shut.
No one spoke. Paloma’s face had gone white. Only Joaquim seemed uninterested in the family drama that had just unraveled. He stretched and stood up.
“Are we leaving early, señor?”
“As soon as we can,” Marco replied. “Your room is the next one down the hall, beyond what I am certain is a closed door now. We will ring the bell for prayer in the chapel soon. You are welcome to join us.”
Joaquim ambled to the door. “Señor, El Padre Celestial and I worked out an arrangement years ago: I don’t bother Him and He lets me alone. Good night.”
At least his servants did not fail Marco. He knelt with them, and with his daughter and her wiggles through the Rosary,
and then his prayer for his family’s protection while he was away. His heart opened wide as his little son, also kneeling occasionally with Paloma, repeated his words under his breath, then crossed himself in strange directions while Paloma tried not to laugh.
Serious as usual—who ever knew what she was thinking?—Graciela knelt behind Paloma, ready to take either child, counting her fingers because she had no beads. Marco reminded himself to ask Paloma to give her the old rosary she had received when she came to Valle del Sol as a new bride. He had given Paloma a beautiful ebony Rosary for Christmas, a Rosary for the dignified matron that she was now, when she remembered to be dignified.
His prayer was hurried, because the children only had stamina for worship in short doses, but he prayed from his heart for God’s protection on them all, as his little army prepared for what, Marco did not know.
Marco continued his prayer in his bedchamber, while Paloma and Graciela prepared the children for bed. He knelt at his reclinatorio and tried to pray. He hoped the saints didn’t take offense, but he felt more peace listening to his wife and children. She was singing a lullaby, and he knew from experience that the sleepy children were arguing about bed as their eyes closed.
Paloma went right into his arms when she came into their chamber. “A long, long day,” she whispered in his ear.
“Too long for you and me to have a few minutes of tipi time?” he teased, reminding her of their sojourn among The People.
“Heavens, no,” she told him. “Only a few minutes?” She shed her clothes without any more conversation and shook her head when he went to extinguish the lamp by their bed.
He blew out the lamp anyway, but opened the shutters. “Full moon tonight, Paloma. I always look better by moonlight.”
She laughed and gathered him close in bed. “You’re my lover,” she whispered in his ear. “Don’t think of anything but me for a little while.”
He didn’t. She was easy to satisfy, and then to satisfy again, because Paloma Vega was his lover, too, his constant, his star in the meadow. She turned her face into his arm when she cried out, so her satisfaction would be for his ears only. Their empty house was full now and he felt no need to entertain the guests.
