Marco and the Devil's Bargain (8 page)

Apparently the Comanche grasp of incubation was non-existent, if Toshua's puzzled expression told Marco anything.

He didn't want to look at Toshua, or say another word. All he wanted to do was ride to Hacienda Gutierrez and confront this stranger.
I will kill him myself
, he thought, remembering Lieutenant Roybal's warning about people from the east.
At the very least, he will be jailed
.

But here was the Comanche, remorse scarring every inch of him, from the sorrow in his eyes to the way he slumped in the chair. “There is more?” Marco asked, not wanting to hear it, when all he wanted to do was ride to Paloma. “Come, Toshua. Tell me.”

It took a long moment, reminding Marco all over again how different he was from the Indian. “I tried to get your woman to ride out with me, but she backed away. Said she did not trust me. Señor, I would never hurt her!”

Certainly you would not, but you are Comanche
, Marco thought, stirred by Toshua's anguish. As he made an appropriately sympathetic face, Marco wondered if he would ever trust Toshua, either.
And yet we must learn to get along
.

He stared at his desk, the piles of papers going nowhere during the winter, but which still had to be filled out and stashed until his next trip to Santa Fe, where they would be wrapped in red tape and stashed somewhere else. Shuffle here, shuffle there—it was a fool's game in a land where Spain was losing control. Maybe control was gone already, and the news hadn't worked its way to the edge of the empire yet.

Irritated with himself, he stood up and went to the window. It was late afternoon and time to shutter the window against the night's cold. The sun was sinking low now but the moon would be full. They could see well enough to ride to his sister's holdings. They could be there by midnight. As he watched the sky, mulling over everything he had to do before he left and discarding all of it, the gate opened and in rode Alonso Castellano.

“
Dios,
I do not need that man in my face,” he muttered. Too late. The closer Alonso rode, the more obvious was his former friend's indignation.

Toshua came to the window to stand beside him. He grunted, “Just say the word, señor.”

“
You know I will never do that,” Marco assured the Indian, or maybe he was assuring himself. He waited, unwilling to open the door. Let Alonso bang on it. “I will give him five minutes, and then we will ride.”

Bang, bang, then bang again, when Marco couldn't steel himself to open the door. If she were there, Paloma would be laughing and calling him a big baby. Later on, though, she would soothe away her words as she best knew how. He closed his eyes, remembering his puny assurance that he could keep his dear one safe from everything except disease. Why had he tempted the devil?

With Toshua right beside him—maybe he understood Marco's reluctance—the
juez
opened the door. Marco stepped aside to let the man enter, then gestured to Toshua. “Saddle our horses. We're riding,” he said quietly. Without another word, he pointed to the chair the Comanche had vacated.

Sitting behind his desk, hoping to give himself some hint of power, he listened to Alonso Castellano rage and complain about the Comanche who terrified Teresa on purpose. Scarcely pausing for breath, he turned his attack on Paloma, who was unkind and jealous because his wife was with child and she was not. Marco did not believe a word of it, but he let the man spout forth until five minutes had passed. Then he stood up, interrupting Alonso mid-sentence.

“
That's enough. You have dredged up everything you can possibly have to say against my wife and the Indian who protects her.” He didn't raise his voice, or flail about with his hands, as Alonso was doing. An officer of the distant crown, all Marco hoped for was a tiny share of that majesty. It must have worked, because Alonso was suddenly silent.

“
I will mention your concerns to Paloma,” he told Alonso. “As for Toshua, I do not govern him. I also doubt that he deliberately set out to frighten Maria Teresa.” He took a chance then, mainly because he was weary right down to his bone marrow of Alonso Castellano. “If your wife remains so terrified of Indians that she fouls herself, I would remind you: we live in a dangerous place and I cannot change that.”

The reminder of Maria Teresa's reaction to Comanches last year brought Alonso up sharp. His indignation turned to embarrassment. After a few more muttered words, he turned on his heel and left. The dramatic effect was marred because the man fumbled with the door latch, unable to make the simple thing work. Marco crossed the room and flung open the door. “Go with God, señor,” he said. Go with God, indeed! The Castellanos probably complained to Him, too.

The rudeness of his own thoughts sent him to his knees immediately, asking the Lord's pardon for such pettiness on his part. But he knew that wasn't why he had fallen to his knees. He crossed himself and prayed silently for his wife, petitioning Padre Celestial to do whatever He could to keep her safe. He crossed himself again but remained where he was, leaning his forehead against his desk. “I ask too much,” he whispered, “but please, Father, someday a child.”

They arrived at Rancho Gutierrez at midnight—two cold, stiff, and silent men. Toshua had answered his questions about the stranger then added something of his own, before the cold made it hard to speak.

“
Señor, he spoke Spanish, but not well.
I
have a better accent than he does.”

“
What does he look like?”

“
Under all the dirt, he might have lighter hair than I have ever seen. His eyes aren't blue like hers, but they aren't green, either.”

That was all either of them said before the cold drilled into Marco's forehead and Toshua pulled his poncho over his face until only his eyes were visible. Marco forced himself to think about practical matters: the spring lambing, coming in another six weeks and followed by new calves; his promise to send for the cobbler to make Paloma a pair of red shoes with heels. He had promised her red shoes after a particularly rousing celebration of his affection for her. “You've never seen me dance, my love,” she had whispered into his chest. “Red shoes, and I will dance for you.”

He couldn't help the groan that escaped him, then glanced at Toshua, embarrassed. He knew the Comanche had heard him, because he turned his head quickly before once again facing into the wind.

Snow was falling lightly when Marco forced his mouth to work and shout an announcement at the gates of his sister's hacienda. They opened immediately, almost as if Luisa—or Paloma, for that matter—had told the guards they would be arriving. Hands less stiff than theirs relieved them of horse duty in the barn. His face serious, Luisa's
mayordomo
ushered them both into the hacienda, not even blinking at the Comanche. That was a good thing, Marco decided. He doubted Toshua would have remained in the courtyard.

Luisa met him in the foyer, kissing his cheek. “You're too cold, little brother,” she murmured, then stepped aside when Paloma, in her nightgown and her hair tangled, threw herself into his arms. He held her close, feeling her flesh and bones, assessing her as though she had been gone a month and not a mere two days. He could not help himself from thinking,
Are you strong enough to withstand a killing pox?

Not even giving him time to shuck off his wool cloak and leather jacket, Paloma took Marco by the hand and towed him to Luisa's
sala
. He looked around, curious. On other years when he had dropped in on Luisa during the marathon sock knitting, the
sala
had been littered with individual mounds of stockings done and unfinished, ready for the women to begin again in the morning.

“
Where are your knitters?” he asked Luisa, who had followed them into the
sala
but was looking over her shoulder at Toshua behind her. “Don't fear him, sister. Please. Not now.”

“
I will always fear him,” she said, keeping her voice low. She looked around the
sala
, too. “After Teresa created such a scene this morning, no one felt like knitting.” She gestured toward the shuttered and barred window. “And then it began to look like snow, so we ended early.” She rested her hand on Paloma's back in a protective gesture not lost on Marco. “That woman … that woman … took all the fun out of our gathering.”

“
I assume then that you did not invite her.”

“
I would never have invited her!” Luisa said. She lowered her voice. “But once here … oh, little brother, I do not have to explain the rules of courtesy to you.”

“
No, you do not.”

Though tamped down to glowing coals, the fire still warmed the
sala
. Marco removed his cloak and Paloma took it from him, much as she would have done at home. He unlatched the silver toggles on his leather
chaqueta
, then gestured for her to sit on his lap. He knew it was a forward thing to do, something he would never have done even in his own
sala
, if there were visitors, but Luisa was his sister, and he did not think she would mind. It hardly mattered; Paloma in a chair even right next to his would have been too far away.

Luisa gave them both a half smile. “So you see, brother, perhaps you did not need to make your cold ride. Matters are well in hand now because the troublemaker is gone.”

He exchanged a look with Toshua, who squatted on his haunches by the door, far from Luisa. Alert, Paloma looked at them both. “I can tell there is more and it is worse,” Paloma said. “Toshua insisted that I leave with him. Why was that?” She put her hand inside his
chaqueta,
against his shirt. “It has something to do with the stranger, does it not?”

“
When I went to Santa Maria to confer with the lieutenant from Santa Fe, he warned us of smallpox heading our way from the east.”

Paloma shivered and tightened her grip on him. “He was foully dirty and hungry, but that is all ….” Her voice trailed away as the implication struck her. “He could be infected?
O Dios
.” She looked across the room to the Comanche. “Did Toshua know this?”

“
I told him after we left Santa Maria. He was not privy to the lieutenant's information.”

“
Why didn't you warn me?” she asked Toshua. “You just told me to stay away from him, but it was already too late, wasn't it?”

His eyes as troubled as hers, the Comanche nodded slowly. In one graceful motion, he rose from the floor and left the room. In a few moments they heard the outside door close.

“
I do not know how much he understood, Paloma,” Marco said, even as he wondered why he defended Toshua. “I suspect that The People have no idea of incubation periods.” He gathered her closer. “I am afraid now.”

She nodded then inched herself even closer to him like a small, burrowing animal. She sat up with a start, her eyes wide, her expression anxious. “But Luisa! She has been tending him. After Toshua told me not to go closer, I never went into his room at all. Luisa!”

Silently, Luisa left her chair and knelt on the floor by Paloma. She pushed up the long sleeve of her nightgown to expose her forearm and show what seemed to be a small incision. Turning her head slightly, she lifted the hair from her neck to expose pock marks left behind by
la viruela
.

“
This incision?” she said, pointing to her arm. “I have been inoculated, which sometimes leave pock marks, too. Not always.” She put her hand on Marco's knee. “Have you not noticed similar scars on Marco's arm and hip?”

Paloma pressed her face to his chest now, her voice muffled. “He has all kinds of nicks and scars, Luisa.” She couldn't help her sob. “What was one more to me?”

He kissed her hair, rocking with her, but he had to ask. “My love, what about you? I have never noticed such a scar on you. Have you been …?” He couldn't even finish the question.

She shook her head and he had her terrible answer.

P
aloma touched his heart in a way that, if he lived to be an old man of sixty, he knew made him more fortunate than most men. She gave a great sigh that he felt all the way to his backbone as her tight grip on him turned into a caress. “Well, then, the Saints be praised that
you
are safe,” she said. “I could not bear it if something happened to you.”

He couldn't help himself then, as he bowed over her head and cried, the deep, wracking sobs he had not cried since returning nine years ago to his hacienda and finding Felicia and the twins dead of
el cólera
. Her arms tightened again, as she comforted
him
, soothed
him
, with little obvious thought to herself.

Through his misery, he heard Luisa leave the room and shut the door. His wife held him in her arms as he wept, then wiped his face with her nightgown.

“
That's enough now, my love,” she said. She gave his shoulders a little shake. “It won't matter now if I am in that stranger's room or not, will it? I want to talk to him. And it won't matter if you and I just curl up in bed and wait for dawn. No need to bother the stranger, is there?”

Whatever damage he has done to my love is already done, he thought in total misery. “We can let him sleep.”