Marco and the Devil's Bargain (3 page)

“
I doubt you will be any more successful with
that
sweater, if you lose! Be a good girl and knit socks.”

A
nother hour saw Paloma and her escorts safely to Hacienda Gutierrez. She surveyed it with a critical eye. The typical red-colored adobe and stout gate made her doubly grateful for Marco's stone walls and guards on constant patrol. She thought of death's visit here seventeen years ago and better understood her sister-in-law's farseeing eyes.
Could I do that?
she asked herself.
Could I shoot my husband to end his torture? Pray God it never comes to that.
She looked around, hoping no one was watching, and crossed herself.

The gates swung open and there stood Luisa Gutierrez, her sister-in-law, her hands outstretched in welcome, even though the day was raw and snow threatened.

They kissed, and Luisa took Paloma by the hand as they hurried toward the hacienda. “You're the last, my dear,” her sister-in-law said. “You live the farthest away. Everyone else is hard at work.” She laughed. “Well, no, not exactly. They are all gossiping.”

A servant opened the door, but Luisa hesitated, then shook her head slightly. The door closed on silent hinges. She turned to face Paloma.

“
I have to tell you: your cousin Maria Teresa got wind of this gathering and invited herself. I don't know how she heard about it.”

“
I feared she might be here,” Paloma said, wanting to leave, wishing she could have stayed in Santa Maria with Marco.

“
I never invited her, but since she came, I owe her the hospitality of the Gutierrez family,” Luisa told her.

“
I understand, sister. At least I needn't sit next to her.”

Luisa tapped on the door and it opened again. They walked inside, but Luisa hesitated once more, as if mulling over what she wanted to say.

“
Go ahead.” Paloma heard laughter and many voices in the
sala
.

“
She's boasting that she is with child,” Luisa said, her face red. “I hope this doesn't upset you.”

“
I have seen her at church. Luisa, I would be foolish if I allowed that to upset me,” Paloma told her, wishing again that she could leave this place. She couldn't help her sigh, just a small sigh that made Luisa frown, then kiss her forehead.

“
I suppose Marco tells you to be patient, eh? My brother is so deliberate. He's right, though.”

I know
, Paloma thought, as she followed her sister-in-law into the
sala
, even though every part of her yearned to be elsewhere.
Easy to say
.

Maybe it was all those hard years in her aunt and uncle's house in Santa Fe that made her want to turn away when every woman in the
sala
looked at her. Whatever confidence Paloma had already earned as the trusted wife of a landowner and officer of the crown seemed to dribble away. She hesitated in the doorway.

Luisa understood. She simply held out her hand and announced, “Paloma Vega de Mondragón. You all know my sister-in-law.”

Marco thinks you are brave
, she reminded herself, as she gave the medium-sized elegant curtsey that Mama had taught her so long ago.

“
Paloma, the sudden wife,” Maria Teresa Moreno de Castellano said. “My cousin.” She tittered behind her hand.

Paloma took a shallow breath and held it, afraid to look around.
Marco thinks you are brave
, she thought again, and looked up.

What she saw put the heart back into her breast and started it beating again. She saw smiling faces, kind ones, and generous hearts, as the two lovely Borrego sisters rose and each took her by the hand, tugging her over to sit between them. Dazed, she heard other comments: “Oh, now, you must share!” and “We get a turn, too,” and gentle teases: “You Borregos did that because you know the Mondragón wool is the best and you're going to snitch some,” and “Paloma, how did you snare the man every mother in del Sol sought for her daughter?”

“
I had a yellow dog he wanted,” Paloma teased back, enjoying the laughter that followed. Obviously everyone in Valle del Sol had heard the story of the runt for which the
juez de campo
paid one whole peso. Rumor flew on mayfly's wings in eastern New Mexico, apparently.

Paloma looked around the circle, recognizing the women she saw in church when she and Marco were able to make their way through the snow to
la iglesia
. Something else became immediately obvious—Maria Teresa sat on the edge of the circle, no one near her. Some odd force was at work here that Paloma didn't understand, even though she felt grateful for it. She took a deeper breath and smiled.

“
I have not managed a household before the Double Cross, but I have noticed that one of my husband's stockings always seems to disappear between the bedchamber and the laundry room. Why is this? Is there some
diablillo
at work in Valle del Sol?”

The ladies laughed and returned to their knitting. Chaca Borrego declared that she would make three stockings for each match, from now on, because she had the same problem. The others smiled and nodded.

Her heart easier, Paloma took out her knitting needles and the mohair that she and Sancha had spun into yarn only a week ago. She had noticed that Marco was getting a corn on his little toe. Maybe extra-soft stockings would help, and maybe Maria Teresa would say nothing more.

When Maria cleared her throat quite loudly, the needles all stopped, then resumed their work as each woman in the circle ignored Paloma's cousin.
What is going on here?
Paloma asked herself. She could have told the knitters that her cousin never allowed herself to be ignored. Paloma tensed because she feared what was coming. She would have given the earth to suddenly vanish and find herself back at the Double Cross kitchen.

Maria Teresa cleared her throat with even more volume. “I hope you all will give me lots of baby advice in the coming months,” she declared, then gave Paloma an arch glance. “Too bad everyone is not as blessed as I am.”

The knitters stopped again and the silence seemed to circle the room like a bad odor.
She made me cry in Santa Fe, but I cannot let her make me cry in Valle del Sol
, Paloma thought, wounded in the softest, most vulnerable part of her heart, that place where she had never let Maria Teresa touch her before.

She could barely bring herself to glance around the circle, but to her relief, she saw only horror followed by a firmness around mouths and a narrowing of eyes. She could also tell that no one knew what to say, how to respond to such rudeness. Paloma continued knitting, thinking how much her husband wanted children, even though she knew he would never tell her. She put down her knitting because her hands were starting to shake. Not for the world did Paloma want her own cousin to see how harshly her words harrowed her soul.

Consider this part of the adventure
. Hadn't Father Damiano told her that very thing in San Pedro? She thought of her bloody sandals tacked to the wall of the
sala
at the Double Cross, put there by her husband to remind him what bravery was, and how a woman would walk to a dangerous place just to return a yellow dog. Her dowry to him was courage; it was time to show some.

“
It
is
a sorrow to me, Maria,” she said, her voice so calm that she surprised herself. “We hope and pray that we will be as blessed as you someday. We leave it in the hands of Our Lord.”

There now. She picked up her needles, and with steady hands, continued to knit her husband wonderful mohair stockings. It was as if everyone except Maria heaved a sigh of relief. Luisa herself started the conversation again, effectively shutting out another word from Maria Teresa, who sat there with a frown on her face, wondering what happened. Obviously she hadn't yet figured out that she'd left her allies behind in Santa Fe—if indeed she had any there—and that Valle del Sol was different. If there was something more, Paloma didn't know.

In a few minutes, Paloma chatted with the others, silently reminding herself that this was far from the worst day of her life. That had certainly been the day her entire family was tortured and then butchered by Comanche raiders. Compared to that day, Maria Teresa was a frog peeping by a pond, a rooster crowing at false dawn, a grasshopper sawing its hind legs. She took a deep breath, knowing that however this knitting marathon ended, she would go home to the finest man in Valle del Sol—something of hers that Maria Teresa could never have. She was content.

As he sat in Santa Maria's garrison on the other side of a desk from Lieutenant Xavier Roybal—of His Serene Majesty's forces in Santa Fe—Marco wondered whether Paloma could look in this man's eyes and find the honest man.

He decided she could, if for no other reason than that the lieutenant was young and had not yet learned to disguise his emotions or his motives. Ah, Marco wasn't being fair to his wife, who had enough skill in discernment to select the honest man among the politicians. Xavier Roybal was no challenge to her already considerable skills. The officer looked like the worried man he was.

While the lieutenant went through the formal motions of greeting that prefaced any visit by authority, Marco looked down at the wine in his goblet. It was a heady wine that Roybal must have brought with him. The usual garrison libation was sour and tasted like vinegar. Perhaps the young lieutenant had more experience with visiting far-flung garrisons than Marco gave him credit for. This obviously wasn't his first such
visita
. He sipped and smiled.

“
I amuse you, señor?” the lieutenant said, with just enough bite to assure Marco that if the man lived beyond his lieutenancy, he might learn to command.

“
Amuse me? A little, I suppose,” Marco said, seeing that honest man he knew Paloma would see. “If you want to cut through the bureaucracy and just tell me what is on your mind, with no frills, I have no objection.”

Lieutenant Roybal gave him a genuine smile, the kind that showed most of his teeth, all of which appeared to be original. “We are of the same mind, Señor Mondragón. More wine?”

Marco shook his head.

“
You might want more, after I have gone through the list I bring from Governor de Anza,” he said, which made Marco laugh.

“
I know the governor well enough to ask that you skip any blandishments that protocol might deem necessary. What is on the governor's mind?”

Lieutenant Roybal permitted himself a smile. “The governor told me you would ask that very question.” The smile left his face. “Grave times are ahead, señor.”

“
I thought as much. Every autumn when I go to Santa Fe, the list of useless laws to obey gets longer and longer. That tells me that our Serene Majesty or perhaps the Council of the Indies wonder what to do with us.”

Roybal refilled his own cup. “
Sí y no
, señor. As you are aware, King Carlos has been backing the Americans against the British …”

“
Ah. You aren't calling them colonists now? That tells me something. What news?”

“
Good news for them. Before I set out on this
progreso
, word came of an American victory at Yorktown in Virginia last autumn. The British remain in New York, but they are weaker.”

“
Well, well, and what does that mean for us here in Nuevo Mexico?” Marco drained his cup after all, and held it out to his host.

“
It means our king is hopeful of some benefit when a treaty is actually signed with … let me see … I believe they are calling it the United States of America.”

Marco nodded. “I would wager that our king has pulled all the troops he can into his possessions along the Gulf of Mexico, the better to cement his interests.”

The lieutenant gave him a look of respect, which made Marco add, “We aren't rubes here on the edge of nowhere, lieutenant.”

Roybal blushed and looked suddenly younger. “I would never assume so.” He became more serious. “Then you know what follows.”

Marco did. He sat back with a sigh. “I have feared for some time that the few troops on the edge of nowhere—here, for instance—will be withdrawn and sent east.”

“
You would be right.”

Marco looked around at the room with its big desk, which should have been the office of a lieutenant, at least, perhaps a captain. It had been empty for years. The garrison's highest ranking soldier was a
sargento
who spent most of his time a sodden drunk.

“
You're taking our miserable soldiers with you, lieutenant? Please do.”

Roybal winced; the charge had struck home. He was too honest to deny it. “They are as foul and useless a company as I have seen anywhere.” He clasped his hands together and looked Marco in the eye across the desk that separated them. “Everyone here in Santa Maria tells me that you are the law.”

“
A
juez de campo
has that title, whenever there is no effective law present.” He leaned forward, too. “Lieutenant, there is no effective law here.”

Roybal sat back with a sigh, but he did not break eye contact. “I know. I will say that these troops are not being withdrawn yet, but soon. As you know far better than I, you in Valle del Sol are the last law until San Antonio de Bexar in Texas.” He asked, “Does that frighten you?”