A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn (20 page)

“What a shame.”

“It was a shame. I felt badly about it, though Maria never seemed to pay attention to it. With support like this, I can see that it wouldn't have mattered to her.”

I nodded in agreement, glancing over the crowd. I caught sight of Tony standing in one of the side aisles. He hadn't seen me; he was looking toward the front of the church. Watching the family in the front pew, no doubt. Standard procedure, probably, but it made me the slightest bit uncomfortable. It seemed an intrusion.

I spotted Rosa and her father up in the front, and Julio nearby. Odd to see him in a suit. He sat very stiffly, as if he was uncomfortable. Next to him was a slender woman who I guessed was his mother.

Just before eleven, the brassy-haired woman came in and stood by the holy water font just inside the doors. A late-coming couple paused to talk to her: an Hispanic man in a crisp black suit accompanied by a blonde, also in black, her long, pale hair in a straight ponytail down her back. Both of them took water from the font and crossed themselves.

The brassy-haired woman shook her head at something the man said. He continued talking—arguing, it looked like—until finally the woman stalked down the aisle away from him, shouldering her way through the standing crowd. He followed, returning greetings from people in the crowd, the blonde clinging to his arm.

The cathedral bells rang, putting an end to the murmuring chatter of the attendees. I listened, enjoying the cascading music of the bells, thinking of Maria. The archbishop himself appeared, accompanied by several attendants. Hints of frankincense reached me even in the back of the church.

The mass went on rather a long time, with tributes from many of Maria's family and friends, and guitar music played by a young man who looked familiar in the few glimpses I caught of him. Rick Garcia spoke in a voice charged with grief, and I found myself wishing I could see his face better. Tony was watching intently, I saw, having placed himself near the front pews where he had a good view.

At last the tributes concluded, and the archbishop led the Lord's Prayer. While not deeply religious, I am able to recite this prayer with perfect, and on this occasion rather heartfelt, sincerity. Hearing the united voices of hundreds of people joined in prayer to honor Maria was rather moving.

Next was communion, which took quite a while, considering how many were present. I watched Tony, curious whether he would go forward to take communion. He did not.

Finally the mass was concluded, and the congregation was invited to go to the fellowship hall where a massive potluck was laid out. Many people queued up to inch their way through a long receiving line and express personal condolences to the family. I felt obligated to join them, and Joan came with me.

As we reached the family I noticed Tony leaning against a wall nearby, and noted now that he was dressed in his dark suit out of respect for Maria. This time he saw me, but gave me only a small nod. I nodded back, then stepped up to shake hands with Maria's kin.

I saw Rosa standing with her father at the head of the receiving line. Working my way up to them through the rest of the twenty-odd family members, I found myself confronting the brassy-haired woman.

 

 

20

“H
ello,” I said, offering my hand. “I'm Ellen Rosings, Rosa's employer.”

A spark of interest lit her face, making her look slightly less cynical. “You're the one who found Mama.”

“Rosa found her, but yes,” I said quietly, acknowledging the unspoken point that Maria had died in my establishment. “I'm so sorry.”

A wry smile turned her mouth. “Thanks. I'm Rosa's Aunt Estella. She talks about you a lot.”

“Oh.”

“She loves working in that tea place.”

“I'm glad. We enjoy having her there.”

It was time to move on, though I wanted to talk more with Estella, who if I recalled correctly was estranged from Maria after going through a divorce. She intrigued me despite her rather tough exterior.

The next people in line were the Hispanic man and the blonde woman I'd seen come into the church together. I introduced myself.

“Matt Garcia,” said the man, giving me a firm handshake. “And this is my fiancée, Sherry Anderson,” he added with just a hint of defiance in his tone.

“How do you do?” I shook hands with Sherry, whose cheeks had flushed slightly, making her look even prettier. I turned to Matt. “Please accept my condolences.”

“Thank you.”

“I only recently met Maria. I wish I'd had the chance to know her better.”

“Thank you,” he repeated with a brief smile, and turned his attention to Joan, who was coming along beside me.

Julio was next in line, more subdued than I'd ever seen him. He just nodded when I expressed my condolences, and turned to the slender the woman I'd seen him with earlier.

“This is my mother, Eva Delgado.”

“Ellen Rosings. I'm glad to meet you, though I'm sorry it's on such a sad occasion.”

She smiled slightly and murmured her thanks. I stepped forward and found myself facing a woman in her forties, slightly taller than I with the statuesque form of a flamenco dancer and the posture to go with it. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her gestures and movements were graceful. She gave me an inquiring glance, but before I could speak, Rosa had joined us.

“Mama, this is Ms. Rosings, my boss. Ms. Rosings, this is my mother.”

“Lydia Garcia,” the woman added, extending a hand. “I'm glad to meet you.”

I shook hands, noting the feather-lightness of her grip. “Please accept my condolences. I'm sorry I didn't have the opportunity to know Maria better.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling gently. “From all I've heard, she would have enjoyed knowing you.”

“That's very kind.”

“This is my son, Ramon,” she said, putting a hand on the shoulder of the young man who had played the guitar during the mass. He wore a black suit and a discreet silver hoop in one earlobe. He looked a couple of years older than Rosa, and I saw now that they both got a lot of their looks from Lydia, yet I still thought him familiar not just for that reason.

I offered a hand. “Hello, Ramon. Have we met before?”

He blinked and shook hands. “I-I don't think so.”

“Well, I enjoyed your music.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you live in Santa Fe?”

“I'm going to UNM, but I'm home for the summer.”

Rick had finished chatting with the people before me in line, and now turned to me. He smiled as we shook hands.

“Ms. Rosings. Thank you for coming.”

“Ellen, please. I'm so sorry about your mother.”

“Thank you. Thanks for the flowers you sent, too.”

“Oh, well. So many people admired Maria,” I said, gesturing to the crowded hall. I was surprised and touched that Rick had noticed my offering among all the rest.

“We're having a small gathering at our house after the burial,” Rick said. “Just family and a few friends. Will you join us?”

“Thank you, I'd be honored.”

“Rosa can give you directions.”

I exchanged a smile with Rosa, then stepped a little to the side as Joan joined the group. She shook hands with Lydia and nodded to Rosa and Ramon, then extended a hand to Rick.

“I'm Joan Timothy from the Rose Guild,” she said. “I've known your mother for twenty years. She was a wonderful woman and we'll miss her very much.”

“Thank you,” Rick said, a little stiffly. “And thank you for sending the roses.”

“It was the least we could do. We're planning to place a memorial bench in the City Rose Garden as well.”

Rick smiled sadly. “She'd like that.”

The next people in line were waiting, so Joan and I moved away. The long buffet was now crowded with everyone who'd gone through the receiving line. We headed for the coffee urns on a table off to one side.

“Oh, my,” said Joan with a sigh. “Such a sad day.”

“Yes.” I tasted my coffee and found it rather strong, so I added a dollop of cream. “Although I can only be impressed at how well-loved Maria was.”

“Well, it isn't surprising, here.”

I looked at Joan, wondering exactly what she meant by that. Here in the basilica? Here among her own kind? I was probably oversensitive after my conversation with Tony the previous day.

I glanced around the hall, noting that Hispanics were in the majority, though there were an ample scattering of Anglos, a few Indians, and a handful of other races mixed through the crowd. Joan and I found seats at the end of one of the long tables set up in the center of the hall.

“You said some members of the Guild were hateful toward Maria,” I said quietly. “May I ask who?”

“Oh, dear. I really don't like to say.”

“Lucy Kingston?”

“Lucy's a follower. I love her dearly, but she hasn't got an original thought in her head. Sadly, she chose to follow the hatefulness.” Joan shook her head. “I'd hoped to stamp it out, though I suppose it doesn't matter now.”

“Do you have any other Hispanic members?”

Joan shook her head. “Joining clubs, at least our kind of club, doesn't seem to be popular with Hispanics.”

I wondered if Tony would have found that remark offensive, or if he would have considered it vindication of his own opinion. I glanced toward where I'd seen him earlier, watching the family. He was still there.

“What if another Hispanic wanted to join?” I asked. “What would you do?”

Joan looked at me with momentary dismay. “Make her welcome, of course,” she said firmly, and raised her cup.

“You'd face the fight all over again.”

She fixed me with an appraising look, then gave a small shrug and sipped her coffee. “Some things are worth fighting for.”

A rosebush. An equal chance. An ideal.

Maria Garcia had left many legacies, including an unfinished argument. Or so it seemed to me, but perhaps my imagination was overactive.

Joan sighed and stood. “I'd better be going. I'm glad we connected, Ellen. It was nice to see a familiar face.”

“So am I.” I stood up with her. “I think I will join the Rose Guild.”

Joan smiled. “Oh, I hope so.”

“So you'll have an ally if the fight comes up again.”

“Thanks,” she said as we shook hands. “I can use all the help I can get. I'll be calling you tomorrow about that quote.”

I said goodbye and watched her go, then glanced at the buffet line. Still long, and I wasn't especially hungry. I went to refresh my coffee instead.

Tony appeared at my elbow, reached for a cup and filled it. “Hi.”

“Good morning,” I said formally, Miss Manners's mantle descending on my shoulders, preserving me from embarrassment about our last meeting.

He glanced at his wristwatch. “It's afternoon. Got a minute?”

“Very well.”

He stepped away from the table and I followed, strolling with him down the length of the hall, sipping coffee. I waited for him to speak since he'd requested my company. This was a chicken-hearted move, particularly since Gina had made me promise to invite him to the lecture, but it was within the bounds of good manners.

“Heard you had a little disturbance last night,” he said.

“You police. Always gossiping.”

“Why didn't you call me?”

“I didn't want to bother you. It's just kids goofing around. Isn't that a beat cop's job?”

“Yeah....”

He didn't say anything more until we were at the far end of the room, well away from the receiving line and the nearest tables. He stopped and turned to me. I braced myself.

“What's your impression of the family?” he asked.

“Oh.” I was slightly disappointed, thinking he might have been about to say something dramatic about race-relations, or us, or both. “Well, I know Rosa, of course, and I'd met Rick before. I like Lydia and Ramon. Estella seems interesting. Matt seems ... lawyer-like.”