Endless Chain (20 page)

“No, he is thinking like a man in love.”

Adoncia sniffed.

They talked of other things. Adoncia’s shifts at work had changed, and she had been moved to a better, less dangerous job. Fernando had added several new words to his growing vocabulary, half in Spanish, half in English, which proved to Adoncia that her efforts to use both were working. Inez had found work at a salon in Strasburg and was studying to apply acrylic nails. Paco, who was now living at
La Casa,
had found a day job picking apples.

Elisa showed her friend the finished endless chain block, and Adoncia made all the proper noises of appreciation. She was calmer by the time Elisa left, had even laughed and applauded when Patia’s dog, long-eared, short-tailed, ambled over to snap playfully at Maria’s bubbles. But Elisa was still worried.

Obviously Diego was worried, too, because he was waiting in his truck in front of Helen’s house when Elisa got home.

She pulled up behind him and got out to meet him. He was leaning against the driver’s door, but he straightened when she approached.

“Diego? What’s going on?”

“You can ask me that?”

Her heart sank. He sounded angry, and while she was not afraid of him, she did not like angry men. She reminded herself that she was standing on a Virginia country road, that the sun was shining and Helen was in the house just beyond her.

“I won’t pretend, then,” she said carefully. “I’ve just seen Adoncia, and she told me you’re fighting.”

He pushed away from the truck, but he didn’t move closer. “You think what goes on between us is your business? You think you have the right to keep her from having my baby?”

She just looked at him, waiting for him to calm down and be reasonable. The issue was emotional, and she wished she hadn’t been caught in the middle. But she didn’t regret helping Adoncia. She’d had a responsibility to do so.

She watched him struggle with himself, and finally he fell back against the door. “Why do you care what we do?”

“This is between you and Adoncia. I didn’t advise her not to get pregnant. I just told her what to do when it was clear that was what she wanted. But for what it’s worth, I agree with her. Pregnancy is hard on a woman’s body, and she’s tired. She works hard, she takes care of the children, she just wants some breathing space. She’ll be a better mother to another baby when she’s had time to recover.” She paused. “Is that too much to ask? That you wait until she’s ready?”

“How do you know all this? You don’t have a husband. You don’t have children of your own. No man looks at you, because you won’t look back. You think I don’t know you don’t like
men?
A woman like you giving Adoncia advice!”

She tried to ignore the attempt to hurt her. “Before I came here, I saw a lot of women with too many children. They were tired and old before their time.”

“The church—”

“The church says she can use the rhythm method of birth control. No priest is going to tell her she can’t. It will buy her time between babies, even if it’s not perfect. That’s all she’s asking for.”

His eyes narrowed. “This is my life and my family. You stay away from us!”

She narrowed her eyes. “I like you, and I know you like me, no matter what you say. But don’t try to control me, and stop trying to control Adoncia, or this isn’t going to turn out well. She adores you. You’re good for each other. Please, just be a little more patient.”

“Don’t tell her what to do.” He pushed away from the truck again. “Maybe I can’t make you stay away, but I can make you sorry if you don’t.”

For a moment she wasn’t sure she had heard him right. “That’s a threat, Diego? You’re making a threat? Because that’s what it sounds like.”

He looked surprised at his own words, as if they had come from someone else. Then he glared at her, as if to show he had meant every word.

“You’re upset right now because you miss her,” Elisa said.

“I’m going to marry Adoncia.”

“Please, give this a little thought. You can have everything you want if you’re just a little patient. Doesn’t what Adoncia needs matter?”

This time he didn’t reply. He got in his pickup, slammed the door and drove away.

H
elen got to her feet, a task she wasn’t finding any easier as the days progressed. “I have a guest with me today. Elisa Martinez is joining us, and I didn’t have to drag her anywhere. So next week when you read your minutes, Dovey, I don’t want to hear different.”

The little group applauded, and Helen was gratified to see that Elisa’s welcome was genuine. She hadn’t expected anything else, but she’d given up thinking she understood people a long time ago.

“I may get called away,” Elisa told them, “but I’ll stay as long as I can.”

“She was over here at seven cleaning and setting up,” Helen said. “And the church never looked so good.”

“That’s a fact,” Peony Greenway said. “If anybody comes to get you, you slip under the quilt frame and we’ll say you just left.”

“It’s good to be with you.”

Helen thought, as she always did, that Elisa’s rare smiles were warm enough to light up the room.

Elisa didn’t smile often enough. Helen wanted to know why, although of course she would never ask. Elisa’s life was her own business, and her past, well, that was over with, wasn’t it? But it was clear to Helen that she had suffered. There were nightmares. Helen knew that. Sometimes she heard Elisa tossing and turning at night, speaking in Spanish. A couple of times she’d heard cries, but before she could decide what to do, the house had grown quiet again. Either Elisa had awakened or the nightmare had ended.

Giving her a place to live, well, that was a good thing, she supposed. But Helen wished she could do more.

“Have you done any hand quilting?” Peony asked Elisa.

“I’m a complete beginner.”

“She’s learning to piece, and she’s not so bad at it,” Helen put in.

“What blocks are you working on?” Anna asked.

Elisa pulled several that she’d completed out of a cloth bag Helen had given her to put her quilting supplies in.

“That’s not an easy pattern,” Anna said, frowning. “Helen, you let her start with this?”

Helen defended herself. “My mama always said you should learn to do something just the way you were going to be doing it for life. Start on something you don’t care a thing about, and you’ll never finish and never learn what you need.”

“That sounds like good advice,” Kate said. “My mother taught me to knit potholders. Do you know many eight-year-old girls who need a potholder?”

“Do you knit today?” Helen asked.

“Not a thing.”

“See?”

“Well, whatever you’re doing is working,” Anna conceded. “These look very professional.”

“And she’s using my mama’s old treadle.” Helen felt like that just about made her point, all by itself. “Not everybody here can use one, I’d say.”

“I couldn’t,” Kate said. “Besides, can you imagine a treadle in my house? Something powered by human energy? At least with my machine I can hide the electric cord so Rory can’t sew Bridget’s fingers together.”

There was silence as everyone imagined that possibility.

“These are made from the Guatemalan fabric scraps I gave you, aren’t they?” Peony asked Helen. “And what a perfect use for them. Are you from Guatemala, Elisa?”

For a moment Helen thought Elisa looked blank, as if digging out an answer was impossible. Then she shook her head. “No, Mexico.”

“Oh, I’ve been to Mexico a lot,” Cathy Adams said. “My husband has family living in Mexico City. I bet you get homesick.”

“More than I can say,” she said.

Helen knew Elisa well enough to feel the current of emotion in her friend’s voice. Helen felt an alien desire to reach over and put her arm around Elisa’s shoulders, to hug her as she might reluctantly hug Tessa, if she thought she really needed it. But she knew better. Whatever haunted Elisa Martinez, the young woman did not want to share the story nor the feelings behind it.

“Let me show you how we’re quilting this top,” Helen said instead. She figured the gift of a new topic of conversation was the only one she could readily give.

“Thank you,” Elisa said. And her gratitude showed.

An hour later Elisa was surprised at how easily she had been accepted by the quilters. Most of the jobs she’d had since coming to the United States had demanded a clear separation between staff and the people they served. That was less true at the nursing home and one of the reasons she enjoyed her work there. Staff was looked up to by most of the residents, who yearned for friendship along with competent care. And the residents were in no position or frame of mind to ferret out information about the nursing staff. She was safe
and
accepted. It was ideal.

She had not expected the same of this job. She had assumed she would be a shadow working behind the scenes. Perhaps she would have been, if she hadn’t been invited to share Helen’s home, or if she hadn’t volunteered with her friends on the day after
La Casa
had been vandalized. But whatever had turned this particular tide, she was touched, but also worried that she had been included as one of this group so readily.

Keeping her distance and moving on had kept her safe in the years since Gabrio’s death. Now that thought saddened her, even though she would have to move soon enough if Ramon didn’t arrive. She had stayed too long, raised too many questions.

Made too many friends.

“You just about got the hang of rocking your needle. I’ll give you that,” Helen said, peering over her shoulder. “But the size of those stitches is a disgrace.”

“Helen!” Dovey shook her finger in Helen’s direction. “That’s no way to teach her to quilt.”

“No, it’s okay. She’s right.” Elisa laughed at the mess she’d made. At least her uneven, wandering stitches would pull out easily enough. “Besides, when Helen tells me I’m doing something right, I know she’s not being nice.”

“If she tells you you’re doing something right, we’ll serve champagne,” Dovey said with a sniff.

Elisa pushed back from the quilt frame. “I need a break. My fingers have been pricked a million times. I’m surprised I haven’t bled to death.”

“You’ll toughen up,” Helen said. “You’ll be practicing at home. I’ll see to it.”

The door to the beehive opened, and Sam appeared. “May I come in?”

Elisa realized her heart was suddenly lurching erratically. She had only seen Sam from a distance since his return from Georgia. She’d spent a disturbing and inordinate amount of time during his absence wondering if he would come back only to say he was leaving for good to take a church closer to Christine.

“Come on in, Reverend Kinkade,” Peony Greenway said. “Come see what we’re doing for the bazaar.”

Sam was dressed in neatly pressed khakis, a light blue dress shirt and a dark blue jacket. His hair had been recently cut. A deeper tan made his eyes seem even bluer, as if he’d spent time beside a pool or on the golf course. His smile embraced everyone as he came into the room, but it faltered when he saw Elisa at the quilt frame.

“I see you’ve got a new member,” he said, looking away immediately. “It’s about time Elisa took a break from work.”

“Her heart’s in the right place,” Dovey said tactfully. “And she shows promise.”

Sam entered the room, and Elisa saw he had a woman with him. She recognized the curly brown hair and slender figure immediately.

“Do you remember Kendra Taylor?” he asked the group. “She was with us the day we cleaned up the mess at
La Casa.
”

Most of the quilters had helped that day, and everyone greeted Kendra.

“Kendra was interested when I told her about you, so she’s here to see what you’re doing,” Sam told them.

Elisa noticed every move he made, and with them the fact that he had very consciously not looked at her again. For a moment she wondered if he had begun to put pieces of her particular puzzle together and was wrestling with what he had discovered about her. Then she reminded herself it was always good to be careful and dangerous to be paranoid.

“Are you a quilter?” Helen asked.

“I collect old quilts,” Kendra said. “I like the history and the stories that come with them.”

“Come set a spell with us then and see history in action.”

Kendra looked pleased to be asked. Sam admired the quilt, exchanged a few words with the group, then left. Kendra settled in between Dovey and Peony. “I’ll just watch. What pattern is this? A pinwheel of some sort, right?”

“Clay’s Choice,” Helen said. “Don’t know why it’s called that, that’s for sure. Who was this Clay, anyway?”

“I like the fabrics.” Kendra leaned over, her hair falling across her shoulders. “This one in particular. Christmas mice. Not even a mouse, right?”

“We’ll raffle it off unless nobody buys a ticket. Then we’ll give it to the homeless.”

“Oh, you’ll sell tickets. It’s wonderful.” Kendra sat up, and her gaze caught Elisa’s. “Don’t you think so?”

“I think it was more wonderful before I put my needle to it.”

“I can’t sew a straight seam.”

“I wouldn’t say that too loudly around here. Some people will take it as a challenge, and before you know it you’ll be pricking your finger right along with the rest of us.”

The conversation swirled around for a while, but soon Kendra brought it back to Elisa. “How are things at
La Casa
now? There’s been no more trouble?”

“Not so far,” Elisa said.

“We have a young man from El Salvador staying there at nights,” Cathy told Kendra. “He keeps an eye on the place. And the police claim they’ll make an arrest eventually.”

“Were you surprised there was so much animosity about the program?” Kendra asked.

“It was senseless vandalism,” Peony said. “And worse than anything, it was aimed at children. What kind of people destroy a classroom simply because they don’t like the nationality of the people using it?”

“The kind who have not been taught better,” Dovey said.

Elisa couldn’t let that go. “Violence is not only a matter of teaching, but a matter of courage. It is so easy to hurt others if you are afraid you are in danger yourself. This can be counted on and used by leaders of any age.”

“You’ve seen this kind of thing before?” Kendra asked.

Elisa sensed that Kendra rarely asked questions just to pass the time. She was a journalist, after all. Next to a government official of any kind, journalists were to be feared most.

“I was speaking generally,” Elisa said. And far too much.

“I think you might have some interesting things to say about what happened.”

When Elisa didn’t respond, Kendra took her cue and didn’t push any harder. The conversation changed, and soon the quilters got up, one by one, to get the lunches they’d brought and help themselves to coffee. Kendra thanked the group but refused their offer to share the bounty, claiming she had another commitment.

Elisa felt relieved when Kendra left. She was about to leave, as well, when she realized that Dovey was standing by herself at the coffeepot. Elisa joined her, not wanting to miss this opportunity to speak to her alone.

“Martha Wisner is feeling much better,” Elisa said, after she and Dovey had chatted for a few moments about the quilt in progress. “Helen tells me you are good friends?”

“Yes, and I’m glad to hear she’s out of the woods. I did call several days ago and went to visit yesterday.”