liked to wear it. He flashed Marco a smile and made
an obscene gesture as he rode through the gate.
Marco followed and the gate slammed shut. He
didn’t dismount until the massive beam fell into place in its iron
holders and the Double Cross was as safe as anywhere in Valle del
Sol.
Emilio met him in the courtyard, and called
over a servant to help him drag Diego from Buciro’s
back.
“ Careful of that arrow,” Marco
warned. He took a better look at Diego, who had lapsed into
unconsciousness—a wise choice. The arrow protruded from the
trader’s shoulder, always a pesky place to doctor. The arrowhead
was well dug in, which would make it a trial to remove. What
would Antonio Gil do? Marco thought, remembering that enigmatic
and grouchy surgeon who had inoculated all of the residents of the
Double Cross and Santa Maria as well as many Kwahadi Comanches,
then melted into the Texas plains. He would grumble, Marco knew.
Still, his quarrelsome presence would have been a blessing just
then. There was nothing to do but turn Diego Diaz over to the rough
medicine of a talented servant.
“ Carry him inside and put him face
down on the bed in that room across from mine,” he ordered. “Gently
now. I’d like him to live.”
Graciela required no orders to follow the men
as they obeyed. Marco stood a moment in gratitude to an all-knowing
Father in heaven who had not forgotten his devoted followers
managing a precarious living in a place on the edge of
Christianity. He crossed himself and went in search of
Paloma.
She will be in the kitchen , he thought, and I am so hungry .
She was not in the kitchen. In fact, no one was
in the kitchen. The great fireplace hadn’t even been lit. He felt
the cold logs, trying to recall the last time he had seen the
fireplace with not even warm ashes. “Paloma? Paloma?” he
called.
No answer. She had to be in the children’s
room. He ran down the hall, ignoring the groans coming from the
bedroom where Emilio was just now cutting around Diego’s bloody
shirt. He yanked open the door to the children’s room, thinking
that Paloma would scold him if they were asleep and he had wakened
them.
No one. “ Dios mio ,” he whispered, as a
rush of heat and then extreme cold spread from his head to his feet
and back. His heart seemed to pound in his chest and he started to
gasp for breath. This is not going to happen to me twice , he
thought. God Almighty would not do that to me .
Marco leaned against the doorframe because he
was suddenly dizzy. No one had lit any lamps, and no fires burned.
For one terrible moment, he was back in his house eleven years ago,
sitting in the dark, rocking back and forth and wailing because his
wife and twin sons had died and been buried while he had been away
on a brand inspection trip.
His legs wouldn’t hold him, and he sat down
with a thump, knocking over a vase of dried flowers that Paloma had
been fussing over before he left for Taos. The thistles and cone
flowers spilled onto the floor as the vase teetered on the edge of
the table he had jarred. Silent, he stared as it shivered then fell
on the tile floor with a crash.
Emilio looked out of the room where the trader
lay, groaning louder now. Puzzled at first, his mayor domo’s eyes softened. “Hold him still,” he called into the room, then came
to Marco, squatting beside him.
“ Señor, señor! Now where do you
think your dear ones would be, during a time of crisis?” He touched
Marco’s neck, then rested a warm hand on his shoulder, giving him a
little shake, recalling him to 1784, and not eleven years earlier.
“It is a precaution we all agreed on. Go to them, señor. We can
take care of this rancid fellow. Take a deep breath now, then
another.”
Emilio helped Marco to his feet, then gave him
a little push in the other direction. Marco stood a minute, unsure
of his balance, as he breathed in and out. Embarrassed, Marco
looked at his mayor domo , that patient man who had been
through so much
an obscene gesture as he rode through the gate.
Marco followed and the gate slammed shut. He
didn’t dismount until the massive beam fell into place in its iron
holders and the Double Cross was as safe as anywhere in Valle del
Sol.
Emilio met him in the courtyard, and called
over a servant to help him drag Diego from Buciro’s
back.
“ Careful of that arrow,” Marco
warned. He took a better look at Diego, who had lapsed into
unconsciousness—a wise choice. The arrow protruded from the
trader’s shoulder, always a pesky place to doctor. The arrowhead
was well dug in, which would make it a trial to remove. What
would Antonio Gil do? Marco thought, remembering that enigmatic
and grouchy surgeon who had inoculated all of the residents of the
Double Cross and Santa Maria as well as many Kwahadi Comanches,
then melted into the Texas plains. He would grumble, Marco knew.
Still, his quarrelsome presence would have been a blessing just
then. There was nothing to do but turn Diego Diaz over to the rough
medicine of a talented servant.
“ Carry him inside and put him face
down on the bed in that room across from mine,” he ordered. “Gently
now. I’d like him to live.”
Graciela required no orders to follow the men
as they obeyed. Marco stood a moment in gratitude to an all-knowing
Father in heaven who had not forgotten his devoted followers
managing a precarious living in a place on the edge of
Christianity. He crossed himself and went in search of
Paloma.
She will be in the kitchen , he thought, and I am so hungry .
She was not in the kitchen. In fact, no one was
in the kitchen. The great fireplace hadn’t even been lit. He felt
the cold logs, trying to recall the last time he had seen the
fireplace with not even warm ashes. “Paloma? Paloma?” he
called.
No answer. She had to be in the children’s
room. He ran down the hall, ignoring the groans coming from the
bedroom where Emilio was just now cutting around Diego’s bloody
shirt. He yanked open the door to the children’s room, thinking
that Paloma would scold him if they were asleep and he had wakened
them.
No one. “ Dios mio ,” he whispered, as a
rush of heat and then extreme cold spread from his head to his feet
and back. His heart seemed to pound in his chest and he started to
gasp for breath. This is not going to happen to me twice , he
thought. God Almighty would not do that to me .
Marco leaned against the doorframe because he
was suddenly dizzy. No one had lit any lamps, and no fires burned.
For one terrible moment, he was back in his house eleven years ago,
sitting in the dark, rocking back and forth and wailing because his
wife and twin sons had died and been buried while he had been away
on a brand inspection trip.
His legs wouldn’t hold him, and he sat down
with a thump, knocking over a vase of dried flowers that Paloma had
been fussing over before he left for Taos. The thistles and cone
flowers spilled onto the floor as the vase teetered on the edge of
the table he had jarred. Silent, he stared as it shivered then fell
on the tile floor with a crash.
Emilio looked out of the room where the trader
lay, groaning louder now. Puzzled at first, his mayor domo’s eyes softened. “Hold him still,” he called into the room, then came
to Marco, squatting beside him.
“ Señor, señor! Now where do you
think your dear ones would be, during a time of crisis?” He touched
Marco’s neck, then rested a warm hand on his shoulder, giving him a
little shake, recalling him to 1784, and not eleven years earlier.
“It is a precaution we all agreed on. Go to them, señor. We can
take care of this rancid fellow. Take a deep breath now, then
another.”
Emilio helped Marco to his feet, then gave him
a little push in the other direction. Marco stood a minute, unsure
of his balance, as he breathed in and out. Embarrassed, Marco
looked at his mayor domo , that patient man who had been
through so much
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