"I'm sorry I couldn't come to pick you up," Wesley apologized. When he stooped slightly to look down at her, she noticed the skin beneath his eyes was still pale where his rimless glasses often rested. The contrast made his eyes seem even deeper, more brilliant, almost like cut glass. "Dr. Mendoza and I are still working out the details for the diving permits. It's all politics from now on."
"It's all right, Wesley. I understand." Lennea did understand. Once again, she had taken a back seat to his work. But isn't that what she had always done, what she must continue to do, if she wanted to be a part of such an important man's life?
Wesley took her hand in his lean, cool one. "Come on. The local anthropologist and his wife are saving us a seat."
Something compelled Lennea to glance back, to search for Joseph. She was a little sorry she had been so rude to him. After all, he had been doing Wesley a favor by picking her up. She caught one fleeting glimpse of his dark head, his proud, erect shoulders, as he disappeared into the crowd. After his torrents of praise for the show, wasn't he even intending to stay?
Wesley's hand left hers as soon as they were seated. She wished he would put his arm around her or in some way acknowledge awareness of her. Nothing she could say, she decided, would penetrate his absorption. No doubt he was going over in his mind the details of the diving expedition. She had once again lost him to science and technology, to the magnitude of his great discovery.
The Sound and Light Show began with music, eerie and sourceless, drifting over the crowd like the sigh of a restless wind. Though Lennea realized there must be a tape recorder hidden within the nearby stones, this knowledge did not make the primitive beat of the music any less effective. She felt mystified, allured by its sound, as if she were suddenly thrown back into another time, another dimension.
One by one, the pyramids began to glow with lights. The Temple of the Warriors shone with yellow the color of sun rays; the Temple of the Jaguars was bathed in blood-red. Lennea caught her breath. The colors made the old structures spring to life, as if they were suddenly awash with fresh paint. The temples merged together, gathering form, unity, taking on the appearance of a powerful city!
Suddenly, Lennea could imagine priests in their colorful headdresses, peasants pulling carts, the bustle of everyday life. Listening to the primitive music, looking at the steep, glowing walls, Lennea caught a fleeting glimpse of the magnificent place Chichen Itza must have once been.
Essence, spirit, understanding—Joseph's words suddenly came back to her filled with a meaning that had until this point evaded her. Eager to share her enlightenment with someone, she turned to Wesley. "Wesley, I think I understand now what Joseph—" With a feeling of shock, she realized that she was addressing her revelation to an empty seat. A few rows down, she now saw Wesley, whispering and gesturing fervently to Dr. Mendoza.
Lennea continued to listen to the music, to watch the lights, but some of the magic was gone. She had spoken to many classes about how the serpent appeared naturally twice a year at the time of the equinox, how the pyramid had been so skillfully designed that the late afternoon sun shining upon the edges of the stone steps formed perfect isosceles triangles, leaving an image of a gigantic serpent, but she hadn't once had the slightest idea of what this appearing would be like! She stared in wonderment as triangular wedges that formed the serpent's body joined the stone head at the base of the temple!
She joined the wild applause which ended the Sound and Light Show.
On the ride back to the hacienda, Wesley repeated for her all of Dr. Mendoza's words.
"I hope you enjoyed this evening, Lennea," he said, as he walked her to the door. I wanted this to be a special night for you. That's why I rented the Rolls."
"It was a lovely gesture." One, she thought with a stir of cynicism, more likely to impress Delores than her.
"We'll have to do this again. As soon as our work is over."
Almost woodenly, she raised her face for his kiss. His lips, when they met hers were cool. She wondered at their lack of warmth and desire. She pressed her face against his shoulder. She was in Wesley's arms now, where she had always wanted to be. So why did she feel this disturbing sense of loss?
* * * * *
Chapter Twelve
At the village Lennea asked the man at the bank to help her make a phone call to Val, who told her Delores had neither called nor arrived in Scandia. That news along with the stinging disappointment she felt over Wesley, left Lennea shaken and apprehensive. Lennea would give Delores only one more day, two at the most. But she wouldn't go to Carlos Alfonso. She would go to Cancun, if necessary. She would take the money with her.
But what was she going to do about her new view of Wesley? He had taken advantage of Delores, willing to leave her without credit or recognition for all the work she had done on his book. Yesterday, he used Lennea in the same fashion. Wesley cared for no one but himself! How ill that thought made her.
The little voice that always rose to Wesley's defense, now reminded her that Wesley, too, had been under much pressure. Once they were back at the University, he would once again be the great man he had always been in her eyes.
When Lennea pulled into the yard at the LaTilla's, she noticed the same battered Ford Rico had driven angled close to Frank's shed. Thinking Frank would be inside, she entered the dim room, able to make out a long table where Frank had been carving a Mayan head. Her eyes strayed across storage boxes and along the walls, hung with diving equipment and digging tools, and came to rest in a darkened corner where the sack full of carvings Lennea was supposed to have delivered to Sid spilled out unto the dirt floor—grotesque in their amateurishness, meaningless in their place of rejection.
"LaTilla's gone to Merida," intruded a raspy voice.
Lennea recalled having seen the man at Frank's farm, and thought about the sulky way he had responded to his argument with Frank. Today he looked older, more stooped. His gaunt face was sunken and lined, and his eyes, half-hidden by folds of skin, regarded her sullenly.
His gaze wandered to the woodcarvings on the floor. "Stupid statues," he said. "He spends more time with them than with the henequin."
"Frank sells quite a few of them."
"To Sid Guerrero!" he shot back disrespectfully. "You're Delores' friend, aren't you?"
"Yes. Have you seen Delores?"
He walked to the wall and began picking out diving equipment as he answered. "No. I haven't seen her this summer. Rico doesn't want to dive without her. Rico, that's my son," he added proudly, "dives for Dr. Hern."
"Will you tell Rico to have Delores contact me?"
The old man faced her. The small smile, without affection or joy, made him seem shoddy, evil. "I'll bet one thing. When she hears about Hern's well, she'll show up!"
At the door to the shed, she watched his abrupt departure in the battered Ford. Her meeting him increased her discouragement. She was anxious to get to her room, to shower and rest. Lennea found the door to her room wide open. Aghast, she peered inside. Val's suitcase, the one she had borrowed, lay with broken back, at her feet. Across the floor in every direction, the clothes she had not unpacked were hurled. Taking a deep breath, Lennea walked around the ruined suitcase to view the damage done to the rest of the room. Pictures, torn from the wall, lay distorted on the floor, contents from the chest, dumped, mattresses pulled from the twin beds.
Just beyond the second twin bed she found Goldie, sprawled like the broken suitcase. The tangle of long, reddish hair was bright with blood. Blood with nowhere to seep lay in a pool on the brightly-patterned tile. "Goldie!"
She must have been hit on the head by the huge, ugly statue of the jaguar Frank had given her. It lay beside Goldie's limp form, smeared with her blood.
Lennea listened fearfully for some sounds of life. Goldie's breath came faintly, shallowly. She was breathing, but with difficulty. Was she dying?
As Lennea raced to the bathroom for a wet towel, the room darkened before her. She must not faint.
Se must remain calm, get Goldie the help she needed. Goldie's very life might depend on her! As she placed the cold, wet towel across Goldie's face, she heard her moan. Goldie's eyes opened and closed.
"I'm going to take you to the hospital. Can you try to get up?" Lennea talked to her while she struggled with the limp and helpless form. Her slenderness appeared now to be frailty. How could she have such unimaginable weight? Lennea got her at last to her feet and began half-dragging her toward the jeep.
Merida was so far away! Goldie might die before they got there! Lennea drove rapidly, carelessly, like the boy, Rico, had driven.
Goldie was propped upright on the seat beside her. Blood from the wicked head wound kept making trails across her face. Blood seeped through her blouse, dripped unto the seat. With dazed eyes, Goldie kept wiping at it with the towel Lennea had given her. Whimpering sounds came from her throat.
The daily rain had begun. The steady scrape of windshield wipers intensified Lenneas's sense of speed. "Goldie, do you know who hit you? Did you see anyone?"
Goldie's response did not come in words, only in a whimper that changed to a sob.
The old jeep wasn't made for speed. At every bump in the road it bounced, and Lennea felt the jar and the pain it must be causing Goldie. Goldie stared straight ahead, twisting the blood-soaked towel in her hands, her wide eyes huge and unfocused. "You must have seen something," Lennea said.
Goldie leaned her head back against the seat. It bobbed this way and that. She looked worse than she had at first, her skin growing more and more gray. Surely she wasn't going to die! If she was hearing Lennea's questions at all, it was likely she had no answer to them. Probably Goldie had entered Lennea's room thinking she had heard Lennea, and the ransacker, the hunter for the money Lennea had hidden, had struck out at her. He had hurt her to avoid being identified. Poor Goldie! Lennea had caused it all by bringing that damned money to the LaTilla house!
"Frank," Goldie spoke for the first time. "Frank, Darling" Goldie's voice was thin and frightened; Lennea could barely make out her words. "You had better call the Guerreros and tell them how bad I'm hurt, Frank."
It took her a moment to realize that Goldie had become delirious. "Of course I will," Lennea answered shakily. " Who shall I say did this to you?"
"They'll want to help me, Frank," Goldie insisted. "Call Sid."
Lennea, silent now, tried to keep the speeding jeep on the slick, narrow road. Goldie had placed the blood-soaked towel across her face and no sound except an occasional whimper came from under it. Lennea listened anxiously for the whimpers, her only assurance that Goldie was still alive.
The rain had stopped by the time they reached Merida. Relieved to have found the hospital so quickly, Lennea jumped out and was able to get Goldie quickly transported inside. Someone sent for a woman who spoke English and Lennea first asked her to call Sid Guerrero and tell him to locate Frank.
People stared curiously at Lennea as she sat shivering in the small lobby. It seemed no time had elapsed before she heard Sid's voice talking to someone at the desk. "I want a specialist flown in. Goldie LaTilla must have the best care money can buy!' He paused, sucking in his breath. "You must do something at once!" "Mr. Guerrero, you'll just have to wait until you can speak with Dr. Lopez. The nurse indicated the corner where Lennea sat, hoping this would calm him. "Mrs. LaTilla's friend is right over there. I'll tell Dr. Lopez to speak to you as soon as he can."
Sid's sharp eyes darted to Lennea. He looked very pale as he hurried toward her. "I've left word for Frank several different places, and I've tried to contact Joseph and Dr. Hern. How is she? Is Goldie going to be all right?"
"I think so." Lennea wouldn't have had the heart to tell him otherwise, even if she had known more about Goldie's condition. Lennea noted Sid's intense suffering. Was it possible Sid was in love with Goldie? More likely, he was just a man totally committed to his friendships. —Or was his reaction one of guilt?
Sid paced back and forth and agonized over what he should do. He disappeared for a short time and returned carrying a sack. "You need to change your blouse," he said.
Lennea had not even thought about how she must look. She glanced down at the fingers of blood smeared across her shoulder, glaring against the soft white cotton. No wonder people had been staring.
In the restroom she took out the shapeless, blue blouse that Sid had purchased for her and slipped it on, placing the blood-stained one in the sack. She hesitated only a moment, then tossed the sack and its contents into the garbage can. After splashing her face with cold water and combing her hair, she felt calmer, steadier. She returned to Sid.
"Surely either Joseph or Dr. Hern will show up soon. I don't want to even think about Frank." Sid rubbed a hand over his brow. "He's going to take this so hard! I wish Joseph was here. He can always keep a clear head when something like this happens. I get so confused I can't even think."
Lennea, too, found herself longing for Joseph's strength, his air of calm authority. How much easier this would all be to bear with Joseph's strong arms around her. She remembered how relieved she had felt at the airport when he had appeared seemingly out of nowhere to help her search for Delores. Lennea, like Sid, found her own thoughts spinning. Fragments of suspicion flitted through her brain, focusing upon Joseph like the eye of a hurricane. Once again, she saw the naked fear in Delores' eyes as she told Lennea how Joseph had threatened her life at the airport. She thought of Joseph holding her in the darkness, the shadow of the jaguar stone behind him, his eyes burning with the same kind of passion and blazing anger that Delores had warned her about. In her mind she pictured Joseph grasping that hideous jaguar statue and slamming it mercilessly at poor, fragile Goldie.
The image made her sick. Sickness gradually changed to uneasiness. She glanced past Sid, then covered her mouth, stifling a cry of alarm. A face, distorted and menacing, was peering at her through the tiny window of the hospital door. She recognized him immediately. It was the Maya man who had been following her since she had first arrived in Merida! Lennea jumped to her feet. Sid automatically rose to follow. The hospital door led into a long, narrow corridor, which now was empty. He must have slipped into one of the rooms, someone's sick room, crouching, hiding?
Sid, looking shocked, asked, "What's the matter, Lennea?"
"Someone has been following me! I just saw him again. I know he's spying on me, and I'm going to find out why!"
Sid looked at her as if she were hallucinating, but made no effort to stop her as she began to search the wing. People from hospital beds looked up at them curiously. Occasionally, Sid would say something to amuse or placate them. Near the south door, a nurse stopped them, speaking alarmed words in Spanish. Red-faced, Sid nodded, "Ok. OK." As soon as she was out of ear range, he demanded, "Just who do you think is following you? And why?"
"I don't know."
"What does he look like?"
"He's a Mayan. Short, stocky, middle-aged. I first saw him at the airport, then at your hotel. Even at the LaTillas. And now he's here!"
Sid turned a little pale. "Lennea, do you think this stranger might have..."
"Hurt Goldie? I don't know."
"I don't like what's going on," Sid said, in voice growing increasingly louder and more excited as they made their way back to the waiting room. "First Delores missing, and then Goldie being attacked like this. I believe you might be in some real danger, Lennea. If I were you, I'd be tempted to pack up and go back home."
Lennea sank down into the waiting room couch. The nurse from the desk, who had watched them reenter, now openly stared.
"Where is home?" Sid asked, taking his place beside Lennea. "Kansas. I'm enrolled at the University of New Mexico because of their good archaeology program."
"Mother was right, " Sid said, responding not to her answer, but to his own thoughts. "About the blood. Mother's always right about these things. Last night she told us: I must talk to Lennea alone. She needs to be warned. When I quizzed her about it, she was v
ery vague. Impressions weren't strong enough, she said. But she knew this was going to happen. She knew!"
Lennea wished Sid would not speak so loudly. The nurse at the desk, the one who knew English, listened to every word.
"Now I am sure mother's right! You must either go home or come stay with us at the hotel!"
"Frank will want to stay here at the hospital. As soon as I find out how Goldie is, I'm going back to the LaTilla's."
"You can't do that! Not after what's happened to Goldie! Joseph won't hear of it!"
Joseph had nothing to say about what she did. "Thanks anyway," she said, "but..."
"You're with Goldie LaTilla?" A heavy-set man in white interrupted her. "I'm Dr. Lopez." He kept assuring Sid, as if Sid were Goldie's husband, that the outlook for Goldie's recovery was optimistic. He talked on and on in a low voice that often lapsed into Spanish. "Everything that can be done for her is being done. No need for specialists, not at this point."
"At what point?" Sid demanded.
"We must wait and see. Of course, no head injury can be taken lightly. But, I, myself, anticipate no problems."
Sid appeared skeptical. "Can we see her?"
Lennea was so accustomed to Goldie's flitting activity that seeing her lying so still upon the hospital bed made her feel like crying. Goldie, helpless and pathetic, like a robin shot down by some cruel child's slingshot. Her reddish hair, mercilessly clipped on one side to accommodate the bandage, fell in wet strands across the pillow. She opened heavy-lidded eyes to Sid's call and her recognition of him brought a small ghost of a smile.
"Tough little gal!" Sid winked and pulled a chair closer to her bed. Despite his bright manner, Sid seemed choked, overwhelmed by Goldie's plight, outraged by the ugly, senseless violence. And like Lennea, angry. The enemy of Goldie LaTilla—generous, innocent, childlike—became a force of evil, a personal enemy.
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