Daughter of Fortune by Carla Kelly Page A

moment.
    “You will find it different here, Maria, of this I
have no doubt. Do not judge us until you know us.” He grinned then,
his anger gone as quickly as it had come. “And still you must not
judge us! Is it not against the teaching of the Gospels?”
    “So it is, Señor,” she replied quietly.
    He rose. “And now, if I do not mistake, we will find
Erlinda in the shed by the smokehouse, wringing her hands. Today
she will give you the baptism by fire that Our Lord spoke of.”
    Mystified, she followed him outdoors, hurrying to
keep up. Diego laughed as he came to the shed, where Erlinda was
standing just as he had said.
    “I cannot bear it, Diego mio,” she said, wrinkling
her nose.
    He put a hand on her shoulder. “How grateful I am to
be a man! But plunge ahead, mi capitana, for I have brought
reinforcements.”
    Erlinda glanced back at Maria. “I almost hate to do
this to you, so newly arrived in our kingdom, but candles must be
made.”
    “Then you must show me, Erlinda,” Maria replied.
    “It is a simple task, merely smelly. You would be
amazed how many tasks my servants can find to do when I need them
here!”
    “Then you two will manage?” Diego asked.
    “Of course,” said Erlinda, “and I am sure that you
also have urgent business that will take you far from this
smell.”
    Diego put his arm around his sister and kissed her.
“How did you guess?” he asked, backing away quickly before she
could grab him.
    Cristóbal passed through the yard on his way to the
fields to join his brother. “ Dios bendiga a ustedes ,” he
called to Erlinda and Maria.
    “Y a Veustra Merced ,” Maria replied.
    He came closer. “Oh, no, you must reserve that title
for the lord of the hacienda,” he said. “I see that Vuestra
Merced has put you to work.”
    Something in his tone made Maria look at him. “It
was my idea, Cristóbal,” she said. “I must learn to work.”
    He laughed. “Then you have come to the right place,
for you will work here. Diego has a genius for attracting free
labor.”
    “Cristóbal!” Erlinda said, “Haven’t you duties of
your own?” He bowed to her, a sweeping bow that made Erlinda redden
and turn away. “It is enough, Cristóbal,” she said quietly.
    He left without another word. Erlinda turned to
watch him go. “Something is wrong there, Maria,” she said, “and I
do not know what it is.” She turned back to the vats of tallow and
wooden frames of candle wicks. “But let us work.”
    They made candles all day. Even though Maria wrapped
her long hair in one of Diego’s old scarves and rolled up her
sleeves to the shoulder, she knew the smell would linger for
days.
    When they had made the common household candles
until they did not think they could bear to dip another one, Old
Martin lugged in his beeswax and the process began all over again,
but with a difference. These candles were destined for the family
chapel and sala. Erlinda and Maria made the sign of the
cross over each candle and recited Psalms from memory as they
dipped, then cooled, the cylinders of beeswax.
    “I wish that the Bishop of Mexico could bless these
for the chapel,” said Erlinda, twisting one wick to make it stand
straighter. She looked at Maria. “Have you ever seen His
Excellency?”
    Maria tucked her hair tighter under Diego’s scarf.
“I have. Indeed, on my last birthday, my fifteenth, he gave me a
special blessing.”
    “Imagine!” said Erlinda, her eyes wide with
surprise.
    “Yes, it was quite a birthday,” Maria said. She
could not hide the bitterness in her voice. “Indian runners brought
snow down from the mountains for ices, Papa arranged a fireworks
display and all my friends came.”
    “I cannot imagine, Maria,” said the young widow,
carrying a frame of candles to the drying rack. “But was this so
bad?”
    Maria wiped the sweat from her eyes and added wood
to the slow burning fire. “When Papa’s fortune vanished, my friends
came no more and the bishop no longer