A Lady Bought with Rifles (12 page)

Turning on her heel, she went down the hall in a swing of divided leather skirts. Air rushed into my lungs and I realized I had been holding my breath. For the moment, at least, my deception was working.

Kneeling by Sewa, I told her with a mixture of gestures, Spanish, and Yaqui that I would bring her some food and cut across the patio to the kitchen.

Consuelo, the youngest maid, wanted to bring me a nicely prepared tray, but I pleaded imminent starvation and collected fresh
sopapillas
, honey, preserves, and two mugs of hot chocolate, added a hunk of brown sugar and a few plums. Consuelo carried the copper tray to my room and set it down on a table before turning to regard Sewa and facing me with a rueful movement of her slim shoulders.

“The poor little one lacks a foot. What can become of her now? She was only let live to be a servant.”

The young woman wasn't cruel, merely brought up to consider Indians as wild animals. This struck me as peculiar, for the Yaquis had been devout Christians now for almost three hundred years. Hadn't it always been on grounds of heathenism that Christian conquerors felt justified in subjugating natives? Of course, when I thought about it, I had to admit that Christian nations had butchered each other ferociously even before the Reformation gave them the excuse of checking heresy.

What was it then? Consuelo's skin was dark as Sewa's; there might be a tincture of Spanish blood in her, but she must be predominantly Indian herself, though she would call herself Mexican. This contempt or hatred for a people was the ugliest, most dangerous attitude I could imagine, but it wasn't skin color. I remembered a schoolmate whose father was a wealthy landlord in Ireland; she had spoken of their tenants as one might of a subspecies, despised because they were “brutal,” feared because they had human intelligence. It was not only Turks who had slaves; right here in Sonora the federal and state governments were splitting up Yaqui families and sending the survivors to sweat out their lives on plantations, terribly shortened lives.

So, restraining an impulse to belabor Consuelo for the sins of the country, I told her that I was keeping Sewa with me.

“Why?” she burst out in jealousy. Evidently she was counting on being my maid and companion. “What can she do?”

“She can play the flute,” I said. I wouldn't have explained even if I could that the child gave me someone to care about, someone to whom I could be important.

I hastily placated Consuelo by giving her the ruins of my brown velvet and showing her how it could be reconstructed into a skirt. When she left, hugging the rich cloth to her breast, I put the tray on a table by Sewa.

After we ate, I managed through mixed language and gestures to get Sewa's timid assent to going out in the patio for a while. First I carried out Ku in his basket and put him in a large stone planter of cerise bougainvillea while his basket aired. Then I got Consuelo to fetch several straw mats and help me carry Sewa out to them, to lie in the shade of the huge cottonwood that cooled my side of the patio.

Settling her in reaching distance of Ku, with her flute and brown sugar, I told Consuelo to brew Cruz's herbs for the child and keep on eye on her.

I wasn't clear on exactly how to set about getting away from Las Coronas, but Sewa needed time to get well anyway and there was the chance that, if I seemed content to stay, Reina would herself smooth my departure. And if I could, all innocence, annoy her sufficiently—

Telling Sewa I'd soon be back, I went in search of my sister.

6

“Who is it?” called Reina's imperious voice as I rapped for the second time on the thick library door.

“Miranda,” I fairly shouted.

The door opened so quickly that I almost stumbled into a tall man whose attire was absolutely startling, a suit of finest gray worsted, pale-gray silk shirt and a dark-gray silk tie swept into an Ascot puff as elegant as any one could see on Pall Mall.

“So the English lady has a voice.” His golden eyes played over me in a way that made me feel naked. He made a deep bow, kissed my hand before I could prevent it, and laughed at my confusion.

His tawny coloring and powerful neck and shoulders reminded me of a magnificent lion. In spite of his carefully matched garments, there was a primitive force about him, a formidable strength that I somehow feared could be released with lightning speed. Wrenching my gaze from his, I came past him to the huge desk, remembering how Father used to work there and how he'd kept sweets for me in one of the drawers. Now Reina sat there, brows arched.

“Well?” she demanded. I had the feeling I'd interrupted an extremely personal moment, yet how could that be? Surely I hadn't misjudged her feeling for Trace? “This is Court Sanders from Mina Rara. Court, this is Miranda Greenleaf.”

After acknowledging the introduction, I turned to Reina and said, “My clothing isn't suitable for ranch life. And I had little anyway, except for school uniforms. Would it be possible to send for some material?”

“So you ruined that expensive brown velvet,” my sister accused.

I held my ground, refusing to look apologetic. My clothing was not out of her pocket, and if our mother had inherited Las Coronas, my father's mine had supplied the means to maintain and increase it. At last, Reina shrugged. Probably she didn't wish to seem grudging in front of Court. “Well, in spite of your foolishness, you must have suitable clothes, but it's not so easy here, we haven't shops on every corner.”

“I don't need anything grand. In fact, what I could use best is a divided skirt like yours for riding.”

“There may be enough tanned leather for Emilio to stitch one for you this week,” Reina decided more graciously. “When the weather cools, I plan to go to Hermosillo and do some shopping. We can outfit you then. And you might ask Catalina what cloth we have in the storeroom. It will be cheap stuff but would make you a change.”

I thanked her and started for the door, congratulating myself on this first step in making her believe I was resigned to staying. Court Sanders moved forward, both to open the door and to block my way.

“Perhaps when you ladies visit Hermosillo, you will stop at Mina Rara. I could make you comfortable and it isn't much out of your way.”

“Thank you,” said Reina, grimacing, “but I have seen the mine.”

He smiled at me, tawny eyes roving to my mouth, lingering on the trapped pulse in my throat. “Miss Greenleaf hasn't. Since she is the owner, it should be of interest.”

I didn't like or trust this man, but he might be useful in breaking free from Reina when the time came. Also, as a matter of self-preservation it seemed to me that the more people of influence who knew me, the less likely Reina was to abuse her authority. So I bowed slightly to the big blond man, said I hoped to accept his offer, and left the room.

Taking meals with Reina would give her another dose of company I was sure she didn't want, so I had a cup of tea while Sewa lunched; then I took her to my room to have a nap and went to the big dining room.

Court Sanders, in a black Prince Albert coat and white silk shirt, rose to seat me. Reina looked a trifle sour and again I had an uncomfortable sense of intruding, though Court at once began to ply me with questions about London—what plays and concerts I'd attended, where I preferred to dine, whether the Savoy was as luxurious as reported.

I answered as best I could, miserably aware that Reina was seething in her place at one end of the great trestle table opposite Court, while I sat between, facing a carved panel depicting the martyrdom of various saints. I shared their anguish, skewered between Court's probing and Reina's sulks. The straight-backed heavy chairs were a fitting legacy of the Inquisition, torturing the body to edify the soul.

Confessing that I'd never been to the races at Ascot, I said rather pleadingly to Court, “You must remember that I was at school deep in Sussex, Mr. Sanders. I got to London only when Papa was visiting.”

“‘Only,'” mimicked Reina. “He spoiled you shamefully! And much good your English education will do you here. You should never have come.”

I had to clench my hands to keep from shrinking. Tears sprang to my eyes, tears of hurt and anger. How could my sister humiliate me so in front of this stranger? In spite of my discomfort at his questions, I blessed him as he smiled lazily.

“There's a reason for all things. I'm delighted that you could bring yourself to leave the culture and pleasures of England for life in this raw country.”

“Raw?” echoed Reina. Her green eyes smoldered. “The Anza family settled here over three hundred years ago on a grant from the king of Spain!”

“Indeed,” murmured Court. “A pity there hasn't been more to show for such a length of tenure.”

It was a brutal remark, and though it was ironic for me to try to protect Reina, I interposed hastily, “Are you pleased, Mr. Sanders, with the horses Mr. Winslade chose for you?”

“They'll do.” Court shrugged. “Careless of him to leave in the middle of the night, though, before he'd made sure I was satisfied.” Strong white teeth showed in sudden amusement. “Perhaps that's why. I've sometimes kept him busy for a week till he found what I wanted.”

“It is doubtful, Court, that you
know
what you want,” thrust Reina. Her creamy breasts swelled from her bodice, almost revealing the nipples. Court's eyes lingered on them in the way of a man admiring what he has had and can have again.

“I know what I want,” he said cheerfully. “Finding it, as with horses, is the problem. I don't mind temperamental, difficult creatures, but I won't for long ride anything that bears the marks of another man.”

Reina's exposed flesh crimsoned. I took no gratification from her embarrassment Court, as if sensing it was time to lighten the charged atmosphere, set himself to be entertaining. This was fortunate, since I could think of nothing to say and Reina was brooding.

“Will you eat with your Yaqui pet tonight?” she asked as I folded my napkin and rose, excusing myself.

“Why, no,” I said pleasantly. “Since I'm to be at Las Coronas, I should try to become part of the household, surely.” Her green eyes bored into me, but I kept my smile.

“I have spoken to Emilio,” she said at last. “His wife will come this afternoon to fit you for the riding clothes.”

Could Reina, too, be trying to make the best of things in spite of her antipathy? I thanked her warmly and went down the hall to my room, hoping there might be enough leather to make an outfit for Sewa. It would be fun to have matching ones and all girls, even my sadly maimed little one, must get a thrill from new clothes.

Emilio's wife, María, was Cataline's sister, but as thin as Catalina was fat Her black hair hung down her back in a thick braid and her golden earrings gleamed as she measured me for a skirt and vest.

“Is there enough leather for her?” I asked, indicating Sewa, who was watching with those wide dark eyes.

María's lips tucked down. “I think not, señorita.”

“Then use what would go in my vest and make her a skirt like mine.”

“There may not be enough—”

“I'm sure there would be if she were not Yaqui,” I cut in firmly. “Please tell your husband to do the best he can but to get
two
skirts.” I took the measuring thong and twined it around Sewa's skinny waist, measured below the knee, and gave the thong, knotted, back to María.

Back stiff, she marched out, bare feet slapping the tile. I sighed. This was not increasing my popularity at Las Coronas, but people were going to have to accept the child. If they would see her as a girl, an orphan, instead of as a Yaqui!

I spent the afternoon with her, admiring her music, helping feed Ku, and laughing at his lopsided tricks. He seemed to be trying to talk. Sewa was picking up Spanish much faster than I was learning Yaqui and I wondered if later on I might teach her English. When we had our home.

Throughout the day Sewa had the tea that Cruz had said would promote healing. He'd also told me to change the dressings in about three days and so on thereafter until the stump was scabless. I'd hoped to find someone on the ranch to make an artificial foot but was not too encouraged by the hostile attitudes. That might have to wait for Hermosillo.

At an interminable dinner that evening Court Sanders tried to draw me out about my life in England and Reina kept bringing the conversation back to Las Coronas and Mexico. I welcomed this, for it gave me a chance to learn more about the situation of my homeland, of which I was woefully ignorant.

“Díaz will keep down all these fanatics who want to take over the country and divide the land,” said Reina positively.

Court shook his head. “Díaz can't live forever and forces are swelling that even. Don Porfirio can't stifle. Robbed by authentic bandits on one hand and Díaz's
rurales
on the other, the peons have little to lose. It's said that Mexico is the mother of foreigners and the stepmother of Mexicans. One percent of the population controls nearly all the country's wealth, and much of that one percent is foreign. There's Weetman Pearson, the Englishman who built the Tehuantepec Railway connecting east and west and who discovered vast oil deposits. The Guggenheims own mines and smelters, controlling at least ninety percent of Mexico's most important industry. The value of American holdings in 1902 was guessed at about five hundred million dollars.” Court paused and savored his wine. “The city of Monterrey and the state of Nuevo León charge the Guggenheims no taxes on capital invested in Monterrey. William Randolph Hearst owns hundreds of thousands of Mexican acres. Díaz stripped the Indians of their ancient communal lands so that most are virtually serfs. The Terrazas' estate in Chihuahua is about the size of Belgium, Switzerland, Denmark, and Holland put together. The landless masses have
nothing
to lose. Times are going to change violently—it will be like a whirlwind, and when it has finished tearing up and hurling down, we will not recognize what's left.”