Daughter of Fortune (26 page)

Outside in the plaza Maria looked at Diego, then
lowered her eyes. “Señor, what you said to the governor, it isn’t
necessary. I know that you do not love me.” There, she had said
it.

He stood still before her. “And is that so
important?”

“Señor, twice in the last year, three times, I have
not died when I was supposed to. I think I see life,
my
life, differently now. What remains of it must surely be a gift to
me. Perhaps you think me foolish, or greedy, to want another gift
as well, but I do want it. I even dare to hope for it.” She
hesitated, then plunged on boldly. “And as you do not love me, let
us not waste each other’s time. We can give each other nothing of
what we require to survive. You need land and I need love.”

“That is true. But still ....”

“Señor, you have amply spelled out your
requirements—your cattle, nails and fence posts,” she continued in
a rush, embarrassed beyond endurance and entirely out of patience
with this man that she loved.

Diego burst out laughing. “Cedar fence posts, Maria
chiquita
! Only the best!”

“Oh, will you not be serious?” she raged, stamping
her foot.

Diego took her arm again and headed down a quiet
side street. “Maria, this is becoming so tangled. Let us speak no
more about it. Now, I think we should pay a call of courtesy on
your sister.”

Maria hung back. “Must we?” It was one thing to be
humiliated by her sister with no one else present. It would be
quite another thing with Diego there.

“It will not be a pleasant interview,” Diego agreed.
“But she cannot say such things about a Masferrer.”

As they approached the Guzman house, the Widow
Guzman stepped from her courtyard into the street. She came toward
Diego and Maria rapidly, the cross she wore about her neck swinging
vigorously from side to side. Diego tightened his grip on Maria’s
arm, forcing her to stand where she was.

Margarita scarcely glanced at her young sister. She
faced Diego, who was slightly shorter than she, and stared down at
him. “Señor, you are a scoundrel!”

Diego bowed and smiled, the coldness in his eyes
matching Margarita’s. “I would say the same to you, Señora, if you
were a man.”

“I wonder that your mother and sister would allow
you to treat my poor sister in such a manner,” she continued,
darting a fierce glance at Maria.

“I advise you not to speak of my women,” Diego
hissed.

“I suppose we cannot expect much from a blind woman
who floats on dreams, but I did think Erlinda Castellano was not so
lost to virtue that she would allow you to bed with my own sister
at Las Invernadas.”

“You have gone too far now,” whispered Diego in his
deadly quiet voice.

Maria’s hands were clammy and cold, and her throat
threatened to close off completely, but she was filled with her own
fire. “Margarita, when you left me, I went to the only person in
all of New Mexico who I knew would not cast me off! Did you really
expect me, your sister, to throw myself on the mercy of this town?
Do I not have honor, too?”

Margarita rounded on her young sister, grabbed her
by the shoulders and shook her until Maria’s hair came loose from
its pins and fell about her shoulders. With an oath, Diego wrenched
Maria away from Margarita, who turned and raked her long
fingernails down his face, drawing blood.

“Hechizera
!" he muttered, wiping the blood
off his cheek, his eyes blinking.

A crowd of residents who had heard the commotion and
left their dinner tables was beginning to form. Others ran for the
governor.

Margarita looked around her but did not stop. “I
hope it was a warm bed, Maria!” she screamed.

Diego slapped Margarita, his gloved hand making a
cruel noise on her face. “You go too far, you witch!” he roared.
“Maria has been working for us as a servant!”

Margarita gasped as though she had been struck
again. Her mouth opened and closed several times. She looked from
Maria to Diego, and then back to her sister. “A servant! You, the
daughter of
hidalgos
and
conquistadores,
scrubbing
floors, washing walls!
Ay de mi,
the humiliation!” She
dropped to her knees in the street, wailing and rocking from side
to side. Maria knelt by her sister and tried to put her arms around
her, but the Widow pulled away.

“I thought for a while that I would help you after
all,” she shrieked, “but if you are so dead to your own position
...” She left her sentence unfinished, moaning and holding her head
in her hands.

Maria got to her feet, tears filling her eyes.
“Margarita, I had to eat, I had to survive. No one would help me
except Diego Masferrer. Not even you, my sister.”

Margarita shook her head. “Better you had died in
that Apache raid than to be found serving in the kitchen of a
stranger.”

The crowd had swelled, but no one stepped closer,
either from fear of Diego, who stood with his hand on his sword, or
from fear of the Widow, who moaned and pulled at her hair.

Diego looked at the woman on the ground and
whispered to Maria, who drew closer to him. “We should not have
spoken of your servant duties. I think she might have tolerated
fornication, but washing walls is out of the question.”

“Diego, be still!” cried Maria. “How can you jest at
a time like this?”

He passed a hand over his face, pausing at the
scratches around his eyes. “A thousand pardons,
chiquita
,
but I sometimes have cause to marvel about the human mind and what
it values.” He looked over his shoulder. “It is over now. The
governor comes.”

The widow began to cry louder when she saw the
symbol of Spanish authority shouldering his way through the crowd.
She redoubled her efforts, moaning and sobbing and clutching at her
hair. “
Ay de mi! Pobre Viuda! Que miserable! Ay de mi!
”

The governor, breathless from running, leaned
forward to help her to her feet, but Margarita would not stand.
Instead, she raised her eyes to Diego, who watched her with mixed
anger and amusement on his face. She slowly extended a shaking arm
and pointed her finger at him.

“That man struck me!” she screamed. “I have many
witnesses!”

“Is this so, Señor Masferrer?” asked the
governor.

“I was provoked beyond endurance,” Diego said,
looking Otermin in the eye.

“Put him in irons!” Margarita sobbed. “Arrest him!
He is a vicious man!”

Otermin turned to Diego. “What would you have me
do?”

“Let us leave in peace.” The Widow wailed louder
than ever. Diego raised his voice. “I have been insulted, my family
has been insulted, and Maria has been greatly misjudged. All
because she had the effrontery, the gall, to survive an Indian
raid!” He paused, and even the Widow ceased her wailing. “There can
be no justice here today, Governor.”

“There is always justice here, Diego,” the governor
replied. “Someone needs to teach you rancheros that you cannot
assault people with impunity. You cannot play with the law. You do
not own this river kingdom!”

“Excellency,” began Diego in a weary voice, “I am
accustomed to assume control over my own affairs. If I did not, if
we did not, we would have been run over years ago by the Indians,
for all the protection we have ever had from the Crown.”

Margarita gasped. “And now he adds treason to his
crimes,” she cried. “How can you just stand there, Governor
Otermin?”

“And let me add,” continued Diego relentlessly,
“that I will always defend those weaker than I, and also my own
people who look to me for protection. I can do no less. And now you
must excuse us.”

He started to leave the circle of townspeople, which
by now included most of the residents of Santa Fe. The Castellanos
and Erlinda stood silently in the circle, Erlinda twisting her
hands together, her face white.

The governor put a hand on Maria’s arm. “What say
you, Maria?” he asked.

She looked at her sister, who was slowly getting to
her feet. “I cannot stay here, Excellency,” she whispered, and he
leaned closer to hear her. “I fear a terrible wrong has been done
to me and to Señor Masferrer. ”

Margarita’s renewed cries drowned out her sister’s
words, and the governor held up his hand. “Please, please, Widow! I
will write of this matter to the viceroy in Mexico and he will
instruct me further.”

He turned to Diego. “You may go, Señor, but you must
pledge to me that you will not leave this kingdom. And I would
request you not visit Santa Fe again for awhile, on pain of
jail.”

“You have my word,” said Diego, his voice low and
dangerous. He bowed. “Again we kiss your hands, Governor Otermin,”
he said and pulled Maria after him. Erlinda and the Castellanos
followed.

“Oh, Diego,” said Erlinda. “How could you strike
that woman?”

“Sister,” he began, biting off each word, “I was
goaded beyond endurance!”

“Diego, it is so unlike you,” said Don Reynaldo.

Diego let go of Maria but he did not stop walking.
“No, it is not so unlike me, Señor. I struck someone much dearer to
me than the Widow Guzman not long ago. Someone much closer to my
heart. Do not ascribe to me virtues I do not have. The thing is
done. ”

“And so it is,” agreed Don Reynaldo. “I will send
the servants to prepare your wagon. You should be on your way.”

Diego nodded. “Accept my apologies, Señor, for any
embarrassment I have caused you. We will meet again, under better
circumstances I hope.”

Don Reynaldo hesitated, then spoke. “As to Maria,
you may leave her here with us, if you wish. Perhaps it would be
best.”

Diego smiled bleakly and shook his head. “No, no. I
could not. What none of you seem to understand is that Maria is my
responsibility. She put herself under the protection of the
Masferrers and I will not betray her, no matter what other virtues
I lack.”

They left the Castellanos within the hour. Luz and
Catarina would have protested the early leave-taking, but one look
at Diego’s stark face silenced any objections. They sat still in
the wagon, their hands folded quietly in their laps. Luz edged
closer to Maria, who sat staring straight ahead.

Diego lifted Erlinda in, then put his hand on
Maria’s cheek for a moment. “We will talk later, Maria, about the
other matter. I know it must be discussed.”

Erlinda watched them both, a frown on her face, but
she made no comment.

The journey home was a silent one, each of them
occupied with private thoughts. Maria found a long piece of string
and the girls played cat’s cradle. Diego rode ahead of the wagon,
his back as straight as ever, seldom looking behind.

They arrived at Tesuque as the sun was setting. The
sky was still light in the west, the underside of the few clouds
tinted a delicious pink. Diego directed the teamster to lead the
wagon through the pueblo’s plaza.

As they rode into the plaza, Diego reined in his
horse suddenly and sat motionless. The wagon creaked to a stop
behind him. Erlinda and Maria stood up, then the young widow sat
back down heavily on the wagon seat, her hand at her throat.
“
O
Dios
,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “The Indians
are dancing!”

Maria sat down slowly on the wagon seat, watching
the spectacle before her. The Indians had come out of their hidden
kiva
and were dancing in the plaza to the slow beat of drums
and the rattle of gourds. Their feathered headdresses swayed with a
grace and beauty that made Maria catch her breath.

There was none of the smoke and the fear of the
kiva
where she had first seen Popeh. There was instead a
terrifying majesty about the stately movements of the
kachina
dancers. Most of the men were painted white. They
turned slowly and gracefully, naked except for their white cotton
loincloths and enormous headdresses. They were like spirits rising
from troubled graves on All Soul’s Eve, wheeling and spinning until
Maria felt dizzy and disoriented. She was afraid to watch, afraid
to look away.

Luz whimpered and slid toward Maria. She pulled the
child closer, speaking softly in her ear. “All will be well, Luz,
querida mia,
my darling. Diego will not let anything happen
to you.” Luz nestled closer and shut her eyes.

Diego remained on his horse, watching the dancers.
Maria could not see his face, but she could tell by the sudden
stiffening of his back and the careful way he moved his hand to his
sword that he was alert.

A black figure ran toward the wagon. For one
terrible moment, Maria thought of Popeh and his compelling eyes.
She clung to Luz, shielding the child with her own body. But it was
Father Pio. He ran to Erlinda, who was sitting like a statue, her
hands clenched in her lap. “Señora Castellano,” he managed, “you
should not be here.”

Diego looked around at Father Pio. Slowly he
dismounted and walked toward the priest, his spurs making a firm
ringing sound in the sudden quiet of the pueblo. Maria clung to Luz
with one arm, and pulled Caterina down on the wagon bed with the
other, forcing her to sit on the straw-covered floor.

“Father Pio,” said Diego, his quiet voice sounding
like the roar of a mountain lion in the stillness of the pueblo.
“What is the meaning of this?”

One of the dancers took off his headdress and
approached Diego quietly. Maria whispered to Diego, “Behind
you.”

In one motion, Diego whirled and drew his sword. The
blade gleamed for a second as it caught the last rays of the sun.
The Indian stood still.

“Diego, put away your sword,” Cristóbal spoke, his
face dripping wet, his eyes dark pools in his handsome face, the
Indian standing behind him.

Diego immediately sheathed his Toledo blade.
“Cristóbal,” he said. As the Indian came closer, he stood there
with his weight on one leg, his head to one side, in unconscious
repetition of Cristóbal’s stance.