Delia's Crossing

by V. C. Andrews

  “I heard voices and headed in their direction, and there, leading a dozen or so pollos, was Pancho. He was so amazed at the sight of me he nearly passed out. He told me how he had gotten you to Sasabe, but of course, he was afraid I would tell how he had deserted me. He admitted that he was prepared to tell my father’s friend that I had died in the desert at the hands of bandits, but he would surely tell the story so as to make himself look less cowardly.

  “It was then that the idea occurred to me to give him my identification and have him tell his story. He explained how I should continue, and I made it to Sasabe and then found my way to your village.”

  “But your family, they think you are dead. They mourn you.”

  “They know the truth. Yes, they mourn me anyway, because my identity is dead, and their son is still gone, but I am going back someday, Delia. I will find a way. It might not be for some time, but I swear I will do this.”

  “I believe you will, Ignacio,” I said. Then I told him what Edward had written about his friends and about the police.

  “I know about your grandmother dying,” he said. “When I reached your village, I stopped at a café to ask where she lived, and they told me she had died.”

  “Before I got home,” I said sadly. “I never got to say good-bye, Ignacio.”

  “Maybe that was good. She died thinking you were still in the United States living with your rich aunt. So,” he said, smiling and taking my hand, “now you have no more reason to remain here. You can go back. Contact your aunt. Perhaps she will send money for you.”

  “Mi primo Edward already has,” I said, and showed him the money order I had on the small bedside table.

  He looked at it and nodded. “This is good.”

  “I wasn’t going to go back,” I said. “My grandmother had arranged for the sale of our house, and it is sold.”

  “So?”

  “Friends of my grandmother have arranged a marriage for me.”

  “To someone you have always loved?”

  “No,” I said, smiling. “To someone I have not even liked and rarely have spoken to.”

  “And you will go through with this wedding, this marriage? You will stay here?”

  I didn’t answer, and he leaped up from my bed and began to pace.

  “You would stay here and condemn yourself to this life? You would have been better off dying in that desert! You would marry someone you do not love? You would…”

  “Stop, Ignacio,” I said, now laughing through my happy tears.

  He paused and looked at me, the candlelight flickering over his face.

  I picked up the money order and waved it at him.

  “Don’t disguise yourself so much that I won’t recognize you when you go back,” I said.

  His smile was bigger than sunlight, for it relit my soul to brighten me inside with the reverence of a church candle lit to keep the memory of loved ones alive.

  I had escaped the third death, too.

  Epilogue

  It was very different for me leaving this time. Before, I had been terribly sad, but I had hopes of returning and visiting my grandmother. I had nothing to return to now but my parents’ graves, and those of my grandmother and other family members. I would visit, I was sure, but not for some time, and I would carry them with me in my heart, anyway.

  Ignacio and I spent the night together. In the morning, he accompanied me to see Señora Paz and her sister and give them the news. They were so shocked they were speechless for once.

  “You must give my apologies to Señora Rubio and Pascual,” I said.

  They simply stared at me and Ignacio.

  “I will be eternally grateful for your efforts to help me find a future,” I told them. “I’ll write to you.” Neither had said a word yet.

  Margarita started to cry.

  “Stop acting like a fool,” Señora Paz told her. “She has a better offer.”

  “I am not crying for her,” Margarita confessed. “I am crying for myself. I wish I had run off when I was her age, too.”

  I hugged her and then Señora Paz. Ignacio and I boarded the same bus to travel together for a while. He would go to Mexico City, too, but there we would part at the bus station, where I was taking a shuttle to the airport. Thanks to Edward, all my documentation would be there for my second crossing into America.

  I had called Edward, and he was very excited about my return. He told me he and Jesse would be waiting for me at the Palm Springs airport.

  “This time, it will be different, Delia. I promise,” he said.

  He was sincere, but I had no illusions about it. I was about to begin what might be an even more difficult journey to another future. There were still many ghosts and many demons hovering in anticipation, and I would forever be looking over my shoulder for Señora Porres’s evil eye, the ojo malvado.

  Ignacio stood with me at the bus door until the driver said it was absolutely time to go.

  “Don’t go rushing into another marriage before I get back,” he told me.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “I will cross again, Delia, even if I have to battle the desert to get to you.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” I said, and we kissed.

  I stepped up and entered the bus to take my seat by a window.

  One time, when I had accompanied Abuela Anabela to the cemetery to be with her when she visited the grave of my grandfather, I asked her if it was not better to forget after all, to suffer less pain.

  “No,” she said. “He has passed on, but our love for each other has not. The memory of that stops the pain, Delia. Without that, yes, there is less reason to go to the cemetery, less reason not to forget. But what you are left with is an emptiness you will never fill. Love keeps us from living alone.”

  “Sí, Abuela Anabela,” I whispered as the bus started away and Ignacio pressed his lips to his hand and waved after me, “I will not be alone. Gracias, mi abuela.”