attempted to stop them, they killed him, but that Lario escaped through the tall grass.”
The old man shrugged. "After that, I do not know, Senora. Some say a Man of God took Lario with him to a place called Ramah. When Lario Santiago returned, he was the man you see now.”
Miguel’s grandson scampered into the store, ending the conversation between the two adults with his raucous, whistling imitation of a cottonwood dove. Rosemary tousled Pedro’s thick hair and thanked Miguel before leaving.
She felt she knew little more about Lario than before.
CHAPTER 13
She now hired all the house servants, mostly men and women from the village. Stephen never acknowledged her existence unless they entertained, which was now not as often, as he spent more and more time in Santa Fe forging his political ties.
He was, however, always polite and unfailingly courteous to her, whether they had as a guest only one old codgery prospector who chanced upon the Castle in his wanderings or fifteen tired, rough, trail riders.
For the Mexican celebrations of All Saints’ and All Souls’ Days on the thirty-first of October and the first of November, Stephen did suggest a small dinner party. Grant came in unexpectedly from Fort Sumner that afternoon, and she persuaded him to stay for dinner. But the way he looked at her when she greeted him, the way his eyes followed her, made her uneasy. It was as if he were aware that she had had more than one man, as if the scarlet letter were indeed etched on her forehead.
She left him with Stephen and Jiraldo, relieved to escape his watchful gaze, and joined Rita to sit on the veranda swing and watch the two children play, for though November was already upon them, the days were unusually warm and lovely.
"I think Inez will make a good mother,” Rosemary said, sipping at her fruit punch as her gaze rested on Rita’s two-year-old who tried to help Jamie walk.
But Jamie, almost a year now, wanted to crawl. Shouting "Ma—Ma,” he fell to his pudgy knees and began crawling toward Rosemary. She was glad Stephen was closeted with Jiraldo and Grant in his office. Too many times she had seen Stephen’s dark frown when Jamie refused to walk.
"He’s not yet a year!” she pointed out at these times. "Don’t rush him!”
"Jiraldo and Rita’s daughter walked at ten months,” Stephen would counter.
"But girls mature earlier than boys, Stephen. Do not be so demanding with Jamie.”
"I’ll not raise a weakling. I had the roughest life possible, and ’tis a better man it made of me.”
The first time Stephen had brought this up, Rosemary had turned away, incredulous that Stephen should so deem himself. After that it was all she could do to keep from sneering when their argument reached that point.
Still, she wondered if she was being too protective of her only child. Jamie was such a darling baby, soft and round, with auburn hair and hazel eyes that took in everything with such a solemn expression. It was impossible not to want to cuddle him.
"Inez adores Jamie,” Rita was saying. "Forever she pesters me to bring her to see him.” The woman stopped as her daughter toddled to her and offered the little girl a sip from her glass. Beneath a cap of blue-black ringlets peered the softest brown eyes. She had inherited her father’s tall, spare frame— a promise she would not run to corpulence as most Mexican women did in later years. With her gentle but awkward movements she reminded Rosemary of a fawn.
"Your daughter is so lovely,” Rosemary said. "I envy you.”
"And how I envy you, mi amiga ."
"Me?”
"Si, your own beauty. You are so — willowy, I think it was Libby said once.”
A rueful smile curved Rosemary’s lips. "I think she meant skinny.”
"And now more than ever you have chisp a, you sparkle. Your cheeks — ”
"Are lovelier than wild roses,” a voice behind the two women supplied.
Rosemary turned about in her swing to see Grant standing at the door. In his
The old man shrugged. "After that, I do not know, Senora. Some say a Man of God took Lario with him to a place called Ramah. When Lario Santiago returned, he was the man you see now.”
Miguel’s grandson scampered into the store, ending the conversation between the two adults with his raucous, whistling imitation of a cottonwood dove. Rosemary tousled Pedro’s thick hair and thanked Miguel before leaving.
She felt she knew little more about Lario than before.
CHAPTER 13
She now hired all the house servants, mostly men and women from the village. Stephen never acknowledged her existence unless they entertained, which was now not as often, as he spent more and more time in Santa Fe forging his political ties.
He was, however, always polite and unfailingly courteous to her, whether they had as a guest only one old codgery prospector who chanced upon the Castle in his wanderings or fifteen tired, rough, trail riders.
For the Mexican celebrations of All Saints’ and All Souls’ Days on the thirty-first of October and the first of November, Stephen did suggest a small dinner party. Grant came in unexpectedly from Fort Sumner that afternoon, and she persuaded him to stay for dinner. But the way he looked at her when she greeted him, the way his eyes followed her, made her uneasy. It was as if he were aware that she had had more than one man, as if the scarlet letter were indeed etched on her forehead.
She left him with Stephen and Jiraldo, relieved to escape his watchful gaze, and joined Rita to sit on the veranda swing and watch the two children play, for though November was already upon them, the days were unusually warm and lovely.
"I think Inez will make a good mother,” Rosemary said, sipping at her fruit punch as her gaze rested on Rita’s two-year-old who tried to help Jamie walk.
But Jamie, almost a year now, wanted to crawl. Shouting "Ma—Ma,” he fell to his pudgy knees and began crawling toward Rosemary. She was glad Stephen was closeted with Jiraldo and Grant in his office. Too many times she had seen Stephen’s dark frown when Jamie refused to walk.
"He’s not yet a year!” she pointed out at these times. "Don’t rush him!”
"Jiraldo and Rita’s daughter walked at ten months,” Stephen would counter.
"But girls mature earlier than boys, Stephen. Do not be so demanding with Jamie.”
"I’ll not raise a weakling. I had the roughest life possible, and ’tis a better man it made of me.”
The first time Stephen had brought this up, Rosemary had turned away, incredulous that Stephen should so deem himself. After that it was all she could do to keep from sneering when their argument reached that point.
Still, she wondered if she was being too protective of her only child. Jamie was such a darling baby, soft and round, with auburn hair and hazel eyes that took in everything with such a solemn expression. It was impossible not to want to cuddle him.
"Inez adores Jamie,” Rita was saying. "Forever she pesters me to bring her to see him.” The woman stopped as her daughter toddled to her and offered the little girl a sip from her glass. Beneath a cap of blue-black ringlets peered the softest brown eyes. She had inherited her father’s tall, spare frame— a promise she would not run to corpulence as most Mexican women did in later years. With her gentle but awkward movements she reminded Rosemary of a fawn.
"Your daughter is so lovely,” Rosemary said. "I envy you.”
"And how I envy you, mi amiga ."
"Me?”
"Si, your own beauty. You are so — willowy, I think it was Libby said once.”
A rueful smile curved Rosemary’s lips. "I think she meant skinny.”
"And now more than ever you have chisp a, you sparkle. Your cheeks — ”
"Are lovelier than wild roses,” a voice behind the two women supplied.
Rosemary turned about in her swing to see Grant standing at the door. In his
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