End of the Road (Ghost Stories Trilogy #1) (5 page)

Chapter Seven

Juanita Maria Esperanza

b.1931 – d.1951

A knock on the door woke
me. I don’t know how long I sat at the table. Mariella was cutting a tooth and
after being fussy all day had finally fallen asleep.  Her head resting on my
shoulder formed a sweaty bond. I slowly stood up, careful not to disturb her,
and opened the door.

It was late and just past
the full moon – I could barely make out the shape of a man against the dark
night sky.

“Juanita Esperanza?” he
asked.

“Si.”

What light there was
reflected off of a badge held up close to my face, the policia. After letting
out a deep exhale, I invited the officer inside. “What’s happened?” I asked
before the door was even closed behind us.

“Juanita.” He removed his
hat and holding it with his hands crossed in front of his stomach. “I’m sorry
to have tell you this…Francisco ha muerto.”

“
¿Muerto?”
I asked. I had expected to hear he was in jail
or wanted for some stupid crime, but never dead.

My knees went soft and I
desperately looked around for somewhere to sit, but wasn’t capable of seeing
the furniture in the room. A hand grasped my elbow and I was guided to a wooden
bench by the front door.

“How?” I asked.

“A fight broke out at the
cantina.” I nodded, knowing where since there was only one bar in our small
town. “The fight escalated and he was shot.”

I blinked back tears and ran
my hand across the crown of Mariella’s head, smoothing glossy black curls that
were so much like her father’s. My brothers had warned me something like this
would happen. I thought that after Mariella was born, he’d change.

“Is there someone I can contact
for you? Your parents?”

With a population of four
hundred, our town was small and Officer Peña knew everyone. He also knew
Francisco wasn’t one to stay home with his wife and daughter on a Saturday
night.

I attempted to smile at his
kindness, but couldn’t. “Si por favor. Gracias,” I added as an afterthought.

Officer Pena glanced
around the room. There wasn’t much to see. The sofa was lumpy and worn. A
bookshelf contained a few pictures and books, but was otherwise empty. A radio
that only received one station sat in the corner of the living room, a layer of
dust coated the top. His brown eyes, heavy with the weight of his job, met
mine. “I’ll go get your parents, Juanita,” he said and gently patted Mariella’s
head.

After he left, reality
hit. My body shook with sobs and Mariella woke up screaming. I was inconsolable
and so was she. This was how my mother found us.

“Mama!” I cried when I
saw her standing in the doorway.

She immediately took
Mariella out of my arms and began singing to her. Within minutes Mariella had
dozed off and my mom placed her in her crib. She turned and hugged me. I
started crying all over again; my sobs muffled by her shoulder.

When I had calmed down
enough she led me into the kitchen and got me a glass of water. She sat down
across from me at the table.

“Juanita, I knew this
would happen.”

“Mama, don’t. Please.
What am I going to do now?”

Francisco didn’t make a
lot of money, but it was enough to support us, barely. Mariella started to cry
again, triggering pressure in my breasts. I retrieved her and brought her back
to the table. I lifted my shirt and Mariella latched on to a nipple, sucking
greedily. There was no way I could work while still breastfeeding. Also, men
earned more than women and my income wouldn’t replace Francisco’s. Mama reached
over and patted my knee. I looked at her and saw the love in her dark brown
eyes. I wasn’t truly alone, but the full burden of taking care of my daughter
weighed heavy on me.

“Come live with your
father and me.”

“Mama, I can’t. We’ll be
too much for you.”

“No. You’re my child and
grandchild. You need this.”

She was right and now
wasn’t the time to argue with her. It was only a matter of weeks before I’d get
evicted from the villa.

“Okay,” I said.

“Good, now give me niña.”

Mariella had dozed off
mid-feeding and I passed her to my mom. I didn’t have the energy to follow them
into the bedroom. I watched condensation drip down the side of my glass; the slow
progression almost hypnotizing.

“Juanita.” I jumped at
the sound of my mom’s voice. “Come, you need to rest too.” She led me into the
bedroom and past Mariella’s crib. I lay down and stared up at my mom.

“Gracias, Mama. I’m glad
you came.”

“Shhh, that’s what
mothers do.” She smoothed my hair back and kissed my forehead.

It took me two weeks to
bury my husband and move in with my parents. During this time, I learned about
the events leading up to Francisco’s death. The more he drank, the more
persistent he had become in trying to get a woman at the bar to dance with him.
Turns out she was married and her husband didn’t care for Francisco’s
attention.

Left with practically
nothing, I turned my focus to Mariella and to healing. Moving in with my
parents was a blessing. When sadness overwhelmed me, my mom was quick to pick
up Mariella and keep her occupied. At night, when papa came home from work at
the copper mines, he’d bounce his giggling granddaughter on his knee, which was
more than Francisco ever did.

Money was never
mentioned, but I couldn’t justify living there and eating their food, without
being able to contribute. My mama ensured me that helping to keep the house
clean was enough.

About two months after Francisco’s
death, an opportunity came along I couldn’t pass up. My two brothers came over
for dinner with their families. They knew about my money concerns and were both
getting ready to head to Arizona to help with the harvest. Since the Rio Mayo
had been dammed, farming became a big industry in Sonora, which is what my
brothers did, but in America they could get paid three times the amount; enough
to support their families for six months.

We talked about me
joining them now that Mariella wasn’t breastfeeding, it would be possible. My
mama was worried that the trip and the hard work would be too much. I told her
I was young and strong. Pedro and Enrique assured her they’d watch out for me.

“But you’re going over
illegally. What if you get caught?”

“They haven’t caught us
yet,” Enrique said; his confident smile brilliant white against his dark skin.

“Mama, we’ve done this
before. We know where to go and what to do,” Pedro added.

“I need to do this…for
Mariella.” I didn’t tell them I had dreams of one day moving to the United
States. That was the one dream Francisco and I had in common. America was the land of opportunity and that’s all I wanted for my niña.

Laughter from my nieces
and nephews, who were playing outside in the courtyard, drifted in through the
open windows. Mariella sat on my lap and tugged at the braid draped over my
shoulder. Everyone around the table was quiet as we waited for my parents to
agree. They’d have to take care of Mariella the two months I’d be gone.

“Dios dame fuerza, I
can’t believe I’m allowing this!” my mother said as she threw her hands up
towards the heavens.

“Really?” I asked,
glancing over at my father.

“Si, but you need to stay
with your brothers and,” then he turned to face them, “you keep her safe.”

Chapter Eight

Enrique left a week ahead
of us to get us jobs. Pedro and I were busy getting ready for our trip. He
thought it best if I cut my hair as being identifiable as a woman from a
distance could attract trouble. I shuddered at the thought of the “trouble”
Pedro referred to and quickly snipped my braid off.

When I put Mariella to
bed the night before we left, my tears frightened her and I squeezed her a
little too tight. I decided it was better for me to leave before she woke. Our
Uncle Felipe, my father’s brother, had offered to drive us as close to the
border as possible. The moment the beat up old truck pulled in front of my
parent’s house, I almost changed my mind about the whole trip. Pedro reassured
me everything would be fine and mama hugged me. “Be safe and don’t worry about
Mariella, we’ll take good care of her,” she whispered in my ear.

The ride was long, bumpy
and hot. The further inland we traveled the humidity that clung to the
coastline gradually faded, replaced with dusty, dry air which made the skin on
my face feel tight. The sun hung low and heavy in the sky, a deep reddish
orange, casting long shadows across the desert when Uncle Felipe pulled onto
the shoulder of the road and turned off the truck.

“Why are we stopping?” I
asked.

“We walk from here Juanita,”
Pedro answered. “It’s better to cross at night.” He held his hand out and
helped me down. I followed him to the back where he handed me my bag, which I
slung over my shoulder. Pedro tapped the side of the truck with his hand. The engine
roared to life and Uncle Felipe turned around to head back home. He waved at us
before stepping on the accelerator. I watched him drive away until Pedro tugged
on my sleeve.

“We need to move,” he
urged and led me into the underbrush. I couldn’t make out a trail, but had
faith that Pedro knew where he was going. The earth was hard under my feet. My
boots, borrowed and a little too big, rubbed against my heels making them burn.
Still I pressed on, silent behind Pedro, crouching when he crouched and listening
to his whispered instructions. When night fell, my eyes adjusted to the light
of the full moon and I became wary of the sounds around us. Unseen things
scurried away from our footsteps. Coyotes could be heard in the distance, their
barks more like laughter when they called to each other. Spider webs glistened
on top of Pedro’s head in the moonlight. I reached up and felt the sticky
material in my hair too. I took a steadying breath and gripped the back of his
shirt, his closeness helped to ease my fear.

“We’re getting close to
the border,” Pedro said. “We’re in between two checkpoints. Stick close to me
and when I tell you to run, I mean it.” The brush had thinned out so we didn’t
create a lot of noise as we moved forward, but we didn’t have as much cover
either. We walked in silence for what seemed like forever. I concentrated on
stepping exactly where Pedro did to avoid any rocks or holes which would trip
me. We passed a tower of rocks stacked largest to smallest and there was
movement to our left plus the sound of a twig breaking.

Pedro’s whisper was harsh.
“Run!” He sprinted off ahead of me and it took a second to get my feet moving.
I ran behind him, my bag bumping on my backside. Pedro kicked up dust and it
burned my throat. I picked up my pace and ran alongside him. Our breathing grew
ragged and my lungs ached. I couldn’t hear if anyone was behind us because of
the blood pounding in my head. Finally, Pedro slowed to a walk and then
stopped. He unhooked his canteen from his bag, took a swig then handed it to
me. Even though the water was warm, it was wet and hit my parched mouth like
rain hitting the desert. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and grit
smeared across my cheek. I gave the canteen back.

“Welcome to the Estados
Unidos, Juanita,” Pedro said and gave me a lopsided grin before taking another
sip.

“Really?”

“Si, the rocks back there
are a marker for the border. I think we’re about a half mile in now.”

I glanced around, not
sure what to expect. “It’s just like Mexico,” I said and Pedro laughed.

We took a few minutes to
catch our breath before continuing on. I had no idea what time it was, but judging
by the canvas of stars overhead, I guessed it was late. The journey was wearing
on me, my eyes felt full of sand and I fell into a zone, focused on keeping up
with my brother.

My calves began to cramp
and I asked Pedro to slow down. “You need more water,” he said and handed me
his canteen. I sat down on a rock and took a few big gulps. “Are you hungry?”
he asked. I nodded and he took a brown paper bag out of his backpack. We each
ate tamale. I savored every bite. It had been less than a day since we began
our journey, but it already seemed like I’d been traveling a month. I missed my
niña.

“How much longer?” I
asked Pedro.

“We’re almost to Bisbee
and Enrique arranged for someone to drive us just north of Phoenix.”

“I didn’t think it would
be so hilly.”

“It’s almost all uphill.
At least we have a ride.”

It hurt to stand, but I
did and brushed off the back of my jeans. Pedro offered to carry my bag and
this helped. We walked for about another hour and the sky started to lighten to
the east. What was once black turned a dusky gray. I began to see signs of
civilization; a wooden electricity pole in the distance, a roof top in between
the trees, and piles of cow dung. We passed a small herd of cattle; they regarded
us with disinterest and continued to chew in their lazy way.

Next we passed an
abandoned house. The warped wood siding had long ago faded to gray and its ends
curled up in some places. Broken windows reminded me of hollow eyes. I hurried
past and moved closer to Pedro. Uneven terrain gave way to a dirt road, which
led to a single lane paved street. My brother pulled a piece of paper out of
his pocket and surveyed the area around us.

“What is that?” I asked.

“A map and address for
where we’re supposed to meet this man.”

“Oh.”

We passed another house, this
one in better shape and lived in. All the windows were dark. About a hundred
feet later we stood a small ranch with a pick-up truck in the gravel driveway.
Pedro studied the paper again and nodded. “This is the house.”

I started to walk up to
the front door, but Pedro grabbed my arm and hissed, “No!”

“Por qué?”

“We can’t be seen here,
we just need to climb into the back of the truck.”

I circled around to the bed
of the pickup and noticed a tarp had been tied down across the top. The
tailgate was open. Pedro tossed our bags in first and then we climbed in. It
felt so good to lie down, even though I was on wood boards. With my backpack as
a pillow, the moment I shut my eyes, I was asleep.