Rio Grande Wedding by Ruth Wind

I’ll go to the sheriff and he can start a search. If you end up getting deported, I’ll ask to keep her here.”
    He lowered his eyes, laced his fingers together. “Thank you.”
    â€œIt won’t be for long.”
    When he lifted his face, there was weariness in it, lying in the hollows of his cheeks. “I hate to live this way. Sometimes, I think it would be better for Josefina to take her home to Mexico, to my uncle, where we would not have to hide.” He spread his hands and looked at them, as if they contained the future—or maybe the past. “It was a good life. I miss it very much.”
    She thought of his description of what she should do with her land, and smiled. “Did you have goats for their milk? And sheep for their wool?”
    He grinned. “ Sí . And chickens for eggs.”
    â€œAnd a rooster for morning.”
    â€œIt’s a good alarm clock, no? Not like those bells.”
    â€œI wouldn’t know.”
    â€œTry it one day. You will see.”
    She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Why don’t you take her back to your home, then?”
    He lifted his shoulders. “My sister wanted her to be here. To be an American. She died for that, you know?”
    â€œYeah.” Molly inclined her head, wondering how to delicately phrase her question. “But wouldn’t it be better for Josefina in Mexico? She could go to school. Be in one place.”
    He made a soft snorting sound and leaned, wincing only a little, over the table. “When I first came here, those first few weeks, I was shocked every day. Women do anything here.” He paused. “Not in Mexico.” His eyes focused on something distant. “And Josefina—she’s very smart. She already reads big books, and her teacher last summer, in the camp, was very mad that I could not take her to a normal school. She said Josefina was—” he lifted his hand, as if trying to pull the word from the air “— dotada, I can’t think of it in English.” He touched his temple. “Very smart in mathematics.”
    â€œDotada,” Molly echoed, liking the sound of the word. “I don’t know what it means, but I get the idea.”
    He smiled. “Say like this,” and he repeated it.
    Molly tried again and was rewarded with a nod of approval. “Bueno.”
    She tried not to beam too much at his approval, and reminded herself to look up the word. Gifted, maybe? It brought her thoughts back to the little girl, alone and cold out there somewhere. As if she might spot her, she looked over her shoulder to the dark pane of glass facing the gardens. “Is it so impossible for you to get a visa, Alejandro? There’s nothing?” She hesitated. “Is there anyone I could write, on your behalf?”
    â€œGod made you to nurse the world, I think.” He put his hand over hers. “From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, Saint Molly. But there is no one to write.” He smiled now, sadly. “I have already tried.”
    She nodded, sighed and gently pulled away, picking up dishes to carry to the sink. “You know, this whole subject is in the news all the time. Laws about it.” She lifted a hand, staring out at the vast emptiness that was the northern New Mexico vista.
    His mouth turned down and he lifted his coffee cup. “I do not blame anyone here. People wish to protect what they have, no? And if the politicos in Mexico would do what they should, we would not need to run here.”
    â€œYeah. It’s a complicated issue.”
    â€œNo,” he said quietly. “It is simple, really. As long as America is here, so much richer, there will be Mexicans who come.”
    Molly smiled. “That does make it sound simple.” To shift the direction of the conversation away from politics, she said, “I’ve wanted to travel in Mexico. What’s it like?”
    â€œIn the north, much of it