The Staircase (11 page)

Mother Magdalena dismissed me with a curt nod. I thought it oafish of her not to apologize for switching me when I had been declared innocent. But I was too excited about the beggar man to care. Or to worry anymore about my aches and pains.

He was in the barn, sweeping. "Oh sir." I ran up to him. "Sir."

"I am not accustomed to be so hailed." He stopped sweeping. "Yes. You have seen the Bishop?"

"Yes. And he wants to speak with you right now! About the staircase!"

"I owe you many thanks. Where do I find this bishop?"

"In the house, in his study. I can take you to him."

He brushed himself off, rearranged his shawl, and ran a hand through his long graying hair. "I am not presentable."

"Oh, he doesn't mind. Come. I have to go to class."

"Wait. Let me get my tools."

I don't know what I expected when he spoke of tools. But it was a small sack. "That holds your tools?" I asked.

"A saw, a T square, and a hammer." He looked at me with those old brown eyes of his. "What else is needed?"

I nodded and we walked together across the courtyard. "Where do you come from?" I asked.

He raised an arm and pointed in the direction of the Santa Fe Trail. "Out there," he said, "in the land of vast spaces and long silences. Where the red bluffs are. And the flowering cactus. Where the desert changes colors."

I nodded. "I came on the Santa Fe Trail, too."

I took him in through the kitchen. Ramona looked up from her work, smiled at him, and said, "
Me alegro de verte bien
" to him. He nodded and smiled.

"You understand Spanish," I said. "What did she say?"

"I am glad to see you in good health.'"

"Does she know you?"

"No, but it was a fine welcome."

The door of the Bishop's study was open, but he was again at the desk, writing. I knocked on the doorjamb. He looked up, smiled, and came toward us.

"Bishop Lamy, this is the carpenter," I said.

Then, horrified, I turned to the beggar man, realizing that I did not even know his name. How should I introduce him?

"Thank you, Lizzy, you may go," the Bishop said. I left. I walked slowly, and before I knew it the Bishop and the carpenter were coming up behind me on their way to the chapel at the end of the hall. They were deep in conversation as they walked by me, unaware I was even there. But I heard some bits of what was said.

"No room was left for the staircase to the choir loft," Bishop Lamy was explaining. "The only alternative left for a builder now is to tear down the choir loft and rebuild it. But that would be a great expense. The other choice is a ladder. But how can I have these little girls climbing a ladder? You see my problem?"

There were some words I did not hear. I halted in front of the door to French class. At the end of the hall, the Bishop had opened the door to the chapel, and they stood just inside. The Bishop was pointing to the back of the chapel, and then together they walked out of my sight.

Quietly I crept down the hall to the chapel door and peeked in. They were at the end, in the space where a staircase should be. They were in a world of their own, talking. Then I saw the beggar man step into the space, reach out his old hands, and make motions as if he were measuring. He stepped around in a circle, his hands extended, his eyes looking upward. Measuring. All the while his lips were moving silently.

"Yes," he said to the Bishop, finally. "I can build your staircase. But it must be a spiral one."

"Spiral!" The Bishop's voice was filled with pleasant surprise. "I never thought of that! And the nuns had several carpenters in to consult with. No one mentioned doing it spiral. But can you do it?"

"I can."

"Fine. I will open an account for you at the lumberyard in town. You have only to go and order what you need. Give me an estimate of cost this afternoon. Can you do that?"

"With all due respect," the man answered, "I would prefer not to do so until tomorrow."

"Oh?" the Bishop said.

"I know tonight is the last night of the novena the nuns are making to Saint Joseph. And out of respect for that, I would start when it is finished."

"You know about the novena?"

"The little girl told me."

"Ah, yes. Of course, you are right. We must wait out of respect to Saint Joseph."

I started back down the hall to change my dress as Mother Magdalena had instructed me to do. Had I told the beggar man about the novena? I could not remember.

AFTER FRENCH CLASS
I approached Sister Roberta. "The Bishop is coughing," I said.

She was stuffing some books into a leather case. "One week here and already you're giving me intelligence about the Bishop's health." But her eyes were twinkling. Then they got sad. "Thank you, Lizzy. I've been so busy. But then, he had no business coming back a week early from his trip, did he?"

"I have to get permission to go with you," I said.

"I have free time this afternoon."

"Mother Magdalena is still angry with me. She'll never allow it."

"Well, I do have some say around here. If I get you off from classes, will you come?"

"Can you do that?"

"I have uncommon powers," she said as she went out to the hallway.

I stared at her broad back.
She's heard about our trip to the witch's house,
I told myself.
I wonder who else knows? Probably everybody.

But she must have had uncommon powers, because that afternoon, we set out for the nearest branch of the river. Sister Roberta had packed some delicacies in a basket. I rode Ben, and she rode a horse from the stables—sidesaddle, until we got away from town. Then she hitched up her skirts and rode astride.

The warm November sun felt good on my face and my aching body, even through the purple school uniform. That afternoon, Sister Roberta showed me how to recognize the herbs she needed and how to take the bark from the wild choke-cherry tree.

While we worked, we talked. "I heard about the hanging of the prisoner last night. Terrible," she said.

I told her I had met him, and I told her how.

"Mrs. Lacey is a curious person. But a good friend to have," she told me. "Tell me, why don't you, about the witch's house? Is it as everyone says inside?"

"How did you know?" I asked. I felt myself blushing for my foolishness.

"By now everyone knows. Not much can be kept secret in that school. Well? Does she really have an owl named Sitting Bull?"

I told her about Dolores's house. "You don't hold with magic, then?" I asked.

"Magic is all around us," she said, gesturing to the river, to the herbs, to the birds overhead. "Believing keeps us alive. Did you hear yet about the magic of the bell in San Miguel Chapel over on De Vargas Street?"

"No, but I saw the chapel."

"Mrs. Lacey hasn't taken you there yet? The church was built in 1610. The bell came from Spain. The story is that an old blind man would go to the chapel at noon every day and pray to Saint Cecelia, who is the patron saint of musicians. Whenever he prayed, the bell would ring. On its own. And for as long as it rang, he could see."

I stared at her. She went on, casually picking herbs.

"They knew he could see because he could tell them what the church looked like. He could name the colors in the paintings, talk about the carved work around the altar. But as soon as the bell stopped, his blindness returned. The priests tried ringing the bell themselves, but it did no good. He was blind when they rang it. Only a few years ago did the bell fall from the tower in a storm. Now it sits on a wooden frame on the floor. The blind man died, and it has never rung by itself again."

I shivered in the warm sunlight.

"Now that's believing," she said. "If you want to call it magic, then do."

I told her more about the witch's house. The conversation was pleasant in the quiet of the riverbank. I knew I could trust her. I told her about my cats back home and how the Bishop had said I could have a kitten. I told her my fears that I would
never hear from my father. It was almost as good as having my friend Cassie at my side.

"
OH, THE STAIRCASE!
" Mrs. Lacey stopped midway in our climb up the hill to the cemetery later that afternoon and clasped her hands over her slight bosom. "I can't believe we finally have a carpenter to build it! And all thanks to you, Lizzy. You were sent here for a reason, child! God bless you." Her eyes glistened with tears. "Now my Robert will rest in peace."

"But why wouldn't he until now?" I made bold to ask.

We recommenced our climb. "Because of my sins," she said.

"God doesn't punish one person for another's sins," I told her. "Even we Methodists know that."

"In this case, I'm afraid He will, Lizzy. Because Robert's sin was caused by me. I'll tell you about it sometime. Meanwhile I have a more immediate worry. And since you are my friend, I will share it with you. And then you must share one with me."

I trudged wearily up the hill, leading Ben, who was lugging the heavy blankets Sister Roberta had sent for Delvina. I was pure spent from my expedition with Sister Roberta earlier, but I couldn't neglect Mrs. Lacey any more. The welts from the switching were starting to hurt again, despite the salve Sister Roberta had given me to put on them. And my limbs still hurt from sleeping on the board bed. Too, it had been a long trip through town this day, what with Mrs. Lacey shaking her fists at certain people and stopping to scold them for hanging her friend Billy the Kid. She was all mooded up over it and cast down at the same time.

"Suppose I don't have a worry to give you in return?" I asked.

"You do. You have many. And that's the way it works. Friends share worries. And good news. Do you have any good news?"

"Only that the carpenter told the Bishop the staircase will be spiral."

"Spiral—how brilliant! Now, why didn't any of the other carpenters the Bishop spoke with come up with that idea? I tell you, this man was sent to us by God, Lizzy."

"Tell me your worry," I said.

She sighed. "I'm failing, Lizzy. I know it. My mind is going and I have many ailments. Every day I feel weaker and weaker. Sometimes I can scarce fetch the strength to come here to the cemetery."

"I could come for you," I offered.

"Dear girl, that is not my worry. It is that if my mind goes altogether, the nuns will baptize me Catholic before I die."

"But you're Methodist. They know that."

"Yes, but I left my home in Richmond in such a hurry, I have no proof that I was baptized anything. And they always require proof, these Catholics. Everything about you must be printed on a piece of paper, for them to accept it. Promise me." She reached out her hand and gripped my arm. "Promise me you will not let them baptize me Catholic. If I am to meet my Maker, I would do so Methodist. It's a good religion. It's held me in good stead all my life."

I looked at her with doubt in my eyes, I am ashamed to say. "How can I stop them?" I asked.

"You can't. But if you find out that they've done it, you can have it voided."

"Void a baptism?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Simple. A bag of asafetida around the neck will do it. What the nuns use for croup."

I blinked at her, unbelieving. "Asafetida?"

"Yes. It voids the baptism. Don't look at me like that. I know from what I speak. I have it from the highest sources here in Santa Fe. Where they know about things like spells and wishes, sin and forgiveness, and the art of magic."

"Who?" I demanded. "Who told you this?"

She stopped climbing again to look at me full face. "Do you think you are the first to visit Dolores la Penca? Do you think you discovered her?"

"Oh, Mrs. Lacey, I'm so ashamed of that visit. Everybody knows about it and is belaboring the matter."

"They're jealous. And curious. They all would like to visit her. Even the nuns, believe me."

I remembered then Sister Roberta's interest and questions. "Did Dolores tell you that's the way to void a baptism, then?"

"She did. And though others may scoff at her, or pretend to scoff, she holds sway over everyone with her opinions, believe me. People dare not disbelieve her."

"All right, Mrs. Lacey," I said. "I will do whatever you wish if they baptize you."

"Good. Now, tell me what your worry is," she pushed. "I know something is troubling you."

A lot of matters troubled me. But I gave my attention to the one at hand. "Sister Roberta wants me to keep her apprised of Delvina's condition. She wants to bring her into the convent just before the baby comes."

"Well! I wondered when those Polly Pureheart nuns would get around to putting their attention to a real problem. Come, we will ask Delvina. Today."

"You mean I can meet her?" I stood dumbfounded.

"Well, do you know a way to ask her without meeting her? Perhaps you do," she said, leading me across the mesa. "Perhaps you learned something from that witch after all."

WE BOTH HEARD THE
sound of a baby crying, at the same time.

We stopped and stared at each other. Then Mrs. Lacey said, "Hurry." And she betook herself across the flat dry ground toward the only remaining building as if she were fourteen again. It was an old two-story, crumbling building. I followed her.

Inside, on the first floor, she led me to a small room that had holes in the walls that gave a magnificent view but also let in the cold.

On the floor, huddled in old dusty blankets, was a young woman. The baby was wailing out its misery, for it was that time of day when the cold started to descend.

"Oh, Mrs. Lacey," she said, reaching out her hand. "Oh, you have come.
Madre de Dios,
I thought you would never come."

Never had I seen such a beautiful woman in my life. Her face had the sweet roundness of perfection to it. Her eyes were so blue they would make the sky jealous. Her hair was richly
dark and fell about her shoulders where it had become unpinned.

In her arms she held a tiny likeness of herself. A newborn baby. It had stopped crying now and was mewing like a cat.