Paloma and the Horse Traders (24 page)

He shrugged. “One thing led to another until I
found myself sitting in this chair with a towel around my
neck.”

“
Lorenzo and Rogelio are so kind,”
Paloma said. “I never met two more obliging gentlemen. Look how
fine they are now.” She stepped away from Marco’s loose hold on
her. “A few more minutes, and I will call you to
dinner.”

“
I hope there will be more
flan
,” Lorenzo called after her.

Claudio shook his head.
Flan?
This from
the man who had no qualms about eating anything that crawled and
didn’t fight back too hard? Claudio distinctly remembered a dinner
of javelina, eaten raw because they were starving.

Good God. Clean a man up, promise him good
food, served on china plates, and probably a bed with real sheets,
and he becomes a stranger.
I don’t know you
, Claudio
thought.

He stared at the hacienda, home to charming
strangers, one of them a sister he had given up for dead years ago.
The skinny, spunky child had turned into a poised Spanish
gentlewoman who reminded him vaguely of the mother he tried not to
think of, because his last view of her gave him nightmares for
years.

I could leave tomorrow with Lorenzo and
Rogelio
, he told himself. He looked back at the open gate,
which he knew would close at dusk or sooner, given any hint of
danger. His heart started to beat faster at even the thought of
such confinement, he who had spent so many years on the plains,
dodging Indians, starving and feasting in turn, selling horses or
stealing some. He knew he had turned from a young man of principle
to a man who didn’t mind the occasional theft. He could overlook a
multitude of sins now that would have troubled him greatly when he
was still the son of Pedro Vega, landowner and captain general of
the El Paso del Norte District.

Claudio couldn’t have said when he had changed,
except that it must have come on gradually. There was no one moment
when he woke up, looked at his reflection in a tin pan or still
water and said, “Well, here is a rascal.”

Paloma had no idea. For the past few days and
nights, she had sat by him, listened to him, and even hugged him
for no particular reason. His little sister’s kindly nature had
blossomed into thriving womanhood, made sweeter by marriage to an
excellent man.

On the other hand, Graciela seemed to know him
for what he was: an adventurer with few scruples. Her astuteness
did not surprise him. He saw bedraggled slaves like her in every
marketplace, in every Indian camp. Their lives were usually short
and harsh, with death a relief. It had been his observation that
such ill-used women either became hardened and suspicious or
shrinking ghosts.

Graciela was different. He could tell from
subtle changes in the week or so he had known her that the Double
Cross was working its magic on her. He knew she had been stealing
food; now Paloma made sure that Graciela took tortillas to bed with
her. The result was a relaxing of the slave’s shoulders. She no
longer started at every strange sound. Just last night, he had
heard her tell Paloma in a quiet voice that she did not need any
extra food. He even thought he heard her singing, but that could
have been Paloma.

He knew he owed Graciela a great debt for
keeping him in the saddle after the Comanches shot him. She had
been fearless in her protection. He thought about it now, as he
stood so indecisive outside the house. He had not expected her to
help him. No one had helped him with anything in ever so long that
her protection in a dangerous situation had the power to amaze
him.

A person could get soft, being around people
like Graciela and Paloma, and even Marco, Claudio decided. He could
let down his guard or remain alert, suspicious, and dependent on no
one. There was only one logical choice for him.

He watched Graciela put the final touches on
Lorenzo Diaz’s impressive transformation into a man still several
rungs below Marco Mondragón’s gentility, but not on the bottom of
the heap anymore. He remembered Graciela’s sure hand on his own
hair and beard, and the level way she looked at him full on,
comparing sides, snipping a bit here and there until she was
satisfied. Her hand on his shoulder, however briefly, had felt so
friendly. It pleased Claudio to see Lorenzo’s beaming smile as he
took off the towel around his neck and handed it to Graciela with a
certain flourish.

Claudio lost his own smile as he watched Marco
stroll casually to the gates and stand for a long moment, staring
at the horses acquired somehow in Isleta. Out of the corner of his
eye, he saw Lorenzo stand up straighter, watching Marco, too, which
made Claudio’s heart sink. Their business was a shady one, at
times. By keeping in motion and trading on the fringes of the
colony, they managed to stay ahead of any scrutiny from other
jueces de campo
.
I will be surprised if we are still here
by morning
, Claudio thought. There, he had said it:
we.

It won’t break your heart, Paloma, if I
leave
, he rationalized to himself.
I’m not meant to live
confined, and you have so much here to keep you occupied. You won’t
even know I have left
. “You won’t miss me,” he whispered,
trying out the traitor words. He winced at the sound and knew he
was turning soft already.

He heard the dinner bell. Paloma had sent
Perla’s little grandson into the kitchen garden to ring it to
summon the house folk to meals and later, everyone to evening
prayers.

He wanted to go inside, but Marco was walking
around the small herd now, looking closer at the brands.

Lorenzo nodded his thanks to Graciela and
walked toward Claudio slowly, not wanting to attract Marco’s
attention. “Do you think if Rogelio and I are gone before daybreak,
it will be soon enough?” Lorenzo whispered to Claudio.

“
He’s a smart man, but Señor
Mondragón is also our host,” Claudio whispered back. “No later than
daybreak, and I am coming, too.”

“
Don’t be a fool, Claudio,” Lorenzo
said, his voice mild and patient for a change, as though the Double
Cross was beginning to lull him into complacency, too.

“
I don’t belong here,” Claudio
said.

“
You are so certain of that?”
Lorenzo asked.

Claudio had second thoughts in the kitchen. The
table nearly groaned with slabs of beef, turkey, boiled eggs sliced
in half and sprinkled with hot peppers, and mounds of bread cuddled
up next to a bowl of butter. He smiled to see the imprint of a
little finger dragged through the butter, remembering Paloma’s own
love for butter and the tears it caused when Mama scolded
her.

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?

In
which Claudio disappoints nearly everyone

M
arco 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.