Authors: Emilie Richards
“I doubt I have to do anything.” She stepped forward to make up for the ground she’d lost. Anger shot through her as she remembered how vulnerable she’d felt when he’d stood in front of her with a sledgehammer. “And unless you’re really not very smart, you realize there are people nearby, yes? People who will come if I scream.”
“Don’t scream!” He looked around. “I mean, there’s no reason to scream. God, that will make things a whole lot worse.”
“I doubt your God has a thing to do with this. Maybe you ought to leave.”
“But I can’t! It’s my dad. He’s inside. And, well, somebody’s got to help me get him outside so I can take him home.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, and her expression must have said so.
“My dad, he’s, you know, mad at Reverend Sam. Real mad. Furious. I came home all wet and, like, soaked from that walk. And I had to tell him what happened. And I didn’t blame anybody. I told him it was just me being stupid.”
For the first time she noticed a bruise on his cheek. “He hit you?”
“He never hits me. I…tripped.”
She would just bet he’d tripped. Right into his father’s fist. She was beginning to feel sorry for the boy, and sorrier for falling prey to pity.
“Why does somebody need to get your dad and bring him outside?”
“Because he’s drunk, that’s why! And if I go in there by myself…”
Good old dad would hit him again. She saw the fear, and, worse, she saw the love. The boy was worried about his father’s safety.
“Leon—that’s your name, yes?”
He nodded.
“I don’t see what I can do about this.”
“Somebody’s got to do something.”
“I can go find the minister. Maybe Sam will know what to do.”
“No, he hates Reverend Sam. He really hates him. That’s why he came. He says he’s going to find him and show him what he thinks of him, once and for all.”
She wondered if the boy dealt with this problem often. It explained a lot about the way he had behaved that morning.
She debated her role. She had no reason to get involved except one. She liked teenaged boys, understood them as well as any parent, and unfortunately, this one was tugging at her heartstrings.
“¡No cabe duda que jamás cambiaré! Por mucho que juré no volver a arriesgarme el pellejo por desconocidos, ¡Ahí voy de nuevo!”
“What?”
“Short version? I said I’m a fool. But I’ll go in with you and look for your father. What should we say to get him outside?”
“He won’t hit a woman. He never did, not even when my mom said she was going to leave him.”
“Did she leave?”
He nodded. “A long time ago.”
The heartstrings were twanging. Mama had left the young boy to the mercies of an abusive father, and Leon had watched her leave. Considering all this, he was a model of deportment.
“What will he say if I ask him to come outside to look at something in front of the church?” she asked.
“He might come.”
“If he does, will you be able to get him in…” She stopped. “Do you drive? Are you old enough?”
“I drive. I followed him here in the pickup.” He waited. She didn’t answer, just lifted a brow expectantly. “I’m fifteen,” he admitted. “I just have a learner’s permit, but better me driving home than him, right?”
She supposed so. “You’ll come with me?”
“If we get him outside, I can get him in the truck.”
She muttered in Spanish as she opened the front door. She didn’t ask what the boy’s father looked like. She hoped there weren’t too many angry men in the building to choose from. She wandered a minute or two with Leon just behind her until she heard voices. Following the sound, she stepped into a large room and examined a group standing around a man who was passed out cold in the corner.
“
Increible
…” They were clearly too late, but she started toward the men anyway. Behind her, she could hear Leon breathing hard, as if he was trying not to cry.
For just a moment, Sam watched Elisa and Leon approach; then he turned to the others. “I think it would be best if you left. He’s going to wake up in a minute, and it’s going to be worse if he has an audience.”
“You’re sure?” Early asked. “I mean, we don’t want him to take another swing at you.” He paused. “Or you at him.”
Sam stared at him without comment, and Early finally stepped back. “We’ll wait nearby. Just in case.”
“It’s taken care of,” Sam assured him. “But thank you just the same.”
The men left by the side door. Sam was fairly sure they would continue to hover there.
Elisa and Leon reached him. Sam spoke before they could. “He took a swing at me, stumbled and fell.”
Elisa stooped and put her fingertips against George’s throat. Then gently—and what looked like thoroughly—she probed the back of his head, his neck and shoulders, running her hands down his arms, then over his back and legs, in a manner he could only term professional. For a moment Sam had the oddest desire to
be
George, passed out cold on the social hall floor.
She got to her feet. “No obvious injuries. How hard did he hit his head when he fell?”
“He stumbled and pitched forward. He wasn’t standing tall. I think he more or less caught himself. Then he just…dissolved.” He paused. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“What?”
“That kind of examination.”
“I worked at a bar in El Paso. There were a lot of fights.”
“Is he going to be all right?” Leon asked.
“I think he’s going to have
un grandísimo dolor de cabeza.
” She sighed. “One big headache. Mostly from the liquor.”
George punctuated her words with a groan. He stirred, and in a moment he tried to push himself off the floor. Elisa bent over him. “Mr. Jenkins, are you all right?”
“What happened?”
She looked up at Sam and motioned for him to step away. He was only too aware that his presence would not be appreciated.
“You poor thing,” she said in her musical voice. “You fell and hit your head. But I think you’re going to be okay. Let me help you sit up.”
“Where the hell…am I?”
“Not where you should be,” she soothed him. “You need fresh air for that poor head of yours. I bet it hurts, doesn’t it?” She smoothed her hand over his cheek.
“It hurts…like hell.”
“I am sure it does.”
He rolled to his side, and she positioned herself to help him sit up. With a minimum of fuss, he was soon sitting with his head in his hands.
“You aren’t going to feel any better until we get you some fresh air.” She sounded concerned. “It’s hot in here, not comfortable at all. You need to be comfortable. You deserve it. Let me help you stand.”
He looked up at that point and saw Leon standing a few feet away. Jenkins squinted. “Lee?”
Leon approached tentatively. “Right here, Dad. I’ll help you up.”
“What…r’you doing here?”
“I asked him to help me get you outside where you’ll feel better,” Elisa said in a voice like gentle rain. “He is a good son. He is right here waiting to help you.”
“Always been a good son.”
Sam watched as Leon and Elisa positioned themselves on either side of the man and lifted him as if they had always worked together. He felt helpless, but he knew better than to assist. One glance at him and the fight would all come flooding back.
George hobbled toward the door, stopping once, as if nausea was building. Luckily he seemed to recover. They got him through the door and out into the fresh air. Sam followed at a distance. In only minutes they had George inside an old truck with Leon at the wheel.
“You’ll be okay?” he heard Elisa ask Leon. “You can drive this home?”
“I drive all the time.”
“And you can get him to bed?”
“I’ve done it before.”
“Watch for signs of concussion. Wake him up a few times through the night to be sure. But I think he’s going to be fine.”
She stepped back and slapped the passenger door in signal. Leon gunned the engine, and in a moment, the pickup was gone.
She was still staring at the road when Sam came to stand beside her. “You seem to know how to defuse every situation,” he said.
She faced him. “What is it about this church that there are so many situations to defuse?”
She said it with good humor. He smiled at her, not quite sure how to thank her, not quite sure exactly what he was feeling at that moment.
He didn’t have time to worry about either. Early and the others approached and congratulated them both on their handling of the incident. Sam was sure he would hear more about this—and not necessarily congratulations—in the weeks to come.
“Sam?” Christine joined the growing group at the front of the church.
“You’re okay?” he asked Elisa, before he faced Christine.
“I’m fine. Now I’ll go find Marvin and see what else a good sexton has to do.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
She nodded.
As Sam whisked Christine off to the side, the others were already embellishing the story beyond recognition.
Christine spoke first. “You punched somebody?”
He wasn’t sure if she was pleased or embarrassed. He suspected she was just sad she had missed the excitement.
“I didn’t punch anybody. I dodged a punch.”
“And Miss Mexican Working Girl helped you?”
He told the story quickly. “Elisa managed to convince him to go home. It’s not as exciting as it sounds.” He changed the subject. “What are you doing out here?”
“I decided to go back to the inn. I’m tired.”
“I need to stay around for a while.”
“By yourself, I’m afraid. I’ve done all the good I can here.”
He was sorry she wasn’t enjoying herself, but what exactly had he expected? That she would fall in love with these people tonight when she hadn’t fallen in love with them in the years of his ministry here? That she would fall in love with the valley and the green hills of Virginia when he wasn’t certain
he
had?
“Would you like me to go with you to make sure you get back all right?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine.” She touched his cheek, and her eyes sparkled. “After tonight, you’re definitely going to hire that woman, aren’t you?”
“Apparently she can handle anything we throw at her.”
“I guess she’ll be another of your do-gooder projects.” She gave an intimate laugh. “That’s one of those things I love about you. The way you take little wounded birds under your wing and make them all better.”
“Elisa is nobody’s wounded bird.”
“Of course you look for the best in every person and situation. I love that about you, too.”
Sam had known for a long time that Christine did not look for the best. She looked for the most comfortable, the most familiar, the most expedient. Most of the time he was glad of it. She was practical. She kept him on track when he lost his focus.
Still, he knew his intended well. Tonight she was also pointing him along the highway she intended them to travel together and warning against detours into the unfamiliar forests of the soul.
Christine might not see herself as ideal minister’s wife material, but she was reminding Sam that someone like Elisa Martinez was even less so.
S
am did not believe in putting on a show on Sunday mornings, nor did he believe boredom was conducive to spiritual growth. His worship services were high-energy affairs that made use of the arts to emphasize the simple message that God asked us to love our neighbors and treat them the way we wanted to be treated ourselves.
This was at the core of every one of his sermons. He was less interested in proclaiming ironclad answers to life’s questions and narrowly interpreting scripture. Those who needed a longer list of
do
s and
don’t
s, or weekly promises that their way was the only way, had moved on to other churches. For every family he lost, he gained several more.
On the Sunday after the fiesta, he was donning a colorful liturgical stole woven in Guatemala to brighten his somber black robe. His early service had been well attended for one so late in the summer, and a peek into the sanctuary a few minutes ago had confirmed that this one would have respectable attendance, too.
He was wiggling the stole into place and matching the edges when Andy, the choir director, stomped in. He was a young man, flamboyant and outspoken, who, despite impressive credentials, had not been able to find a position in a church near his Strasburg home until Sam hired him.
“They’re murdering the Spanish on the processional! I’ve never heard anything like it.” He flopped down on Sam’s sofa, mock outrage distorting his face. He was a lanky six feet, with a collar-length Prince Valiant haircut colored a stunning orange, and large teeth with a pronounced overbite that made for a spectacular smile. “You’re sure you want us to process to that…that song
again?
”
Sam was used to Andy’s tirades. “
‘Des Colores’
is the official song of the United Farm Workers. Did I tell you that?”
“About a million times. You’d better hope there aren’t any union members at this next service, or they’ll come after you with shovels and hoes. Oh, I got some more rhythm instruments after the last service. Somebody donated them. We’ll march with maracas this time.”
“Good, that will drown out the bad Spanish. God works in mysterious ways.”
“I just can’t believe you keep this job!” Andy got to his feet. “Off to see who shows up to sing. You know, I could have gotten a gig in D.C. They wanted me at the Cathedral.”
“We’d miss you, Andy.”
Andy grinned.
Out in the hallway, Sam was greeted by the dance director in leotards and a tunic adorned with a wide swath of brightly colored fabric. Liturgical dancers were an innovation he had encouraged, and as they headed for the sanctuary, he agreed to smooth out a transition between his sermon and the dancers’ entrance to a recording of “Amazing Grace” played on marimbas. The theme of the day was clear. The celebration of
La Casa Amarilla
was still in progress.
At the wide double doors leading into the sanctuary, he stood at his place in front of the choir. The sanctuary was nearly full.
As always, he said a short prayer as the organist concluded the prelude. Then he lifted his head and waited for the opening bars of the processional. He felt his traditional mixture of elation that he’d been blessed to stand in front of these good people and fear that he wasn’t worthy.
He realized, as the processional began, that today he didn’t feel sadness that he was not walking down a longer and wider center aisle to the music of the one-hundred-voice chancel choir of Savior’s Church.
Adoncia Garcia’s home was crowded with toys and furniture her mother-in-law had given her. The mother-in-law, and Adoncia’s two children, Maria, age three, and Fernando, eighteen months, were the only good things to come from her marriage to Fernando Garcia the first, who now rested permanently under a headstone on which his mother was still making payments.
Fernando had been a bad choice for both Adoncia and the woman in whose bed he’d been shot by a jealous boyfriend. Adoncia, who had been courted by half a dozen faithful, hardworking men in her home city of Guanajuato, had been blinded by Fernando’s smile and promises of a better life in the United States. Both the smile and the promises had been lies. Now she was in Virginia, and her family was in central Mexico. For better or worse, her children were U.S. citizens and her home was here.
“Maria, you put away your toys now, so we can get ready to go.” Adoncia demonstrated by dropping Maria’s favorite teddy bear in one of three bright plastic tubs along one wall. “You do it like this.”
Maria complied. She had her father’s smile and her mother’s energy. Elisa was certain the little girl would go far.
“Today is an English day,” Adoncia told Elisa, who had the day off and was letting it unfold slowly for a change. “Today we speak to the children in English only. Tomorrow, Spanish.”
“Does Diego agree to this system?” Diego was Adoncia’s boyfriend, a good-natured, intelligent man who was determined to get ahead in the world. He was the polar opposite of Fernando the former.
“Diego will do anything I say.” Adoncia made a face. “Almost anything. But he will speak English today, or I will not speak to him.”
Elisa dusted the few vacant surfaces as Adoncia moved into the connecting kitchen to do dishes from their late breakfast. She and the children had an outing planned with Diego, something she had looked forward to for days. Adoncia worked five difficult shifts each week at the chicken plant south of Woodstock in Edinburg, while the children stayed with their grandmother. The overly attentive Mrs. Garcia spoiled her grandchildren as badly as she had spoiled her son, but Adoncia made sure they obeyed the rules at home.
Fernando toddled over and raised his arms to be lifted up. Elisa settled the little boy on one hip and finished dusting with the other hand.
“The good thing about a small house is that it takes no time to clean.” Adoncia pulled the plug in the sink and let the dishwater drain out. “I should be grateful for poverty, huh?”
“After Diego moves in, you can save enough to buy a little house of your own. As hard as you both work, it shouldn’t take too long.”
“That’s what he says, only he says big house. He wants a big house for all the children.”
Wisely, Elisa said nothing.
“Many children.” Adoncia began to rinse and dry the dishes she’d washed. “A hundred children.”
“Probably only ninety-five.”
Adoncia laughed. Whenever she did, the responsibilities that weighed so heavily on her twenty-four-year-old shoulders seemed to disappear. Elisa thought her friend was beautiful. She was too plump by this country’s anorexic standards, but she had black hair that curved around her face in shining layers, and warm brown skin she enhanced with bright cosmetics and clothing. It was no surprise to Elisa that Diego Moreno had fallen in love with Adoncia the first time he’d set eyes on her.
“He would keep me pregnant until I’m an old woman, if he had his way. I tell him ‘one baby will show the world what a big man you are, Diego,’ but he doesn’t see it that way.”
“You think he’s trying to prove his manhood?”
“You know a man who isn’t?”
Elisa thought about Sam Kinkade, who twice last Wednesday had been forced to prove his. She doubted he had wanted or relished either experience.
“No,” Adoncia continued, “Diego is determined to show everyone he is a big man. In every way,” she added slyly.
Elisa laughed. “And you’ll be a big woman if you have all those children.”
“Bigger.” Adoncia pulled the elastic band of her pants away from her waist to illustrate. “Much, much bigger.”
Elisa genuinely liked Diego, who often complained of missing his extended family in Mexico, just as Adoncia missed hers. “I don’t really think he wants a large family to prove anything. I think he wants a family to love.”
“The effect is the same. Me, pregnant. Over and over. And he wants it to happen soon.”
This was new information for Elisa. Adoncia had enough stress in her life, and although she was an exemplary mother most of the time, her temper was already too short by the end of the day. “Soon?”
“Marry him, have his baby the next year. No compromise.”
“But you have your hands full, Donchita,” Elisa said, using her pet name for her friend. “He doesn’t see that? Working, taking care of two small children?”
“He says once we’re married I can quit my job, that he makes enough money to keep us happy. But I know better. We will struggle. We need a year, two, maybe even three, to make things right, to save for a house, to get Nando out of diapers. Then maybe we could have a baby of our own, even two. But no more.”
Elisa was sorry to hear that her friends were locked in disagreement about something so fundamental. “Is birth control the problem, do you think? Because there are ways that the church approves of. Not perfect ways, but better than nothing.”
“One of the problems, yes.”
“I hope you and Diego can agree about this.”
“So do I. He wants to marry just as soon as—” Adoncia stopped. “As soon as we’re able,” she finished after a moment.
Elisa realized what her friend hadn’t said. Until Elisa moved out of the mobile home, there was no room for Diego here. Right now Adoncia shared the master bedroom with her children, while Elisa slept in the tiny second bedroom.
“I’m going to look harder for another place to stay,” Elisa promised.
“You are a good friend, and I am in no hurry.”
The debate was interrupted by a crash, then a wail, from the corner by the toy baskets. Elisa spun around to see Maria surrounded by shards of the ceramic lamp that had once resided on an end table.
“Don’t move, Maria,” Elisa commanded, reaching her in three strides. She scooped the little girl against her vacant hip and away from the broken lamp.
“I’m…I’m bleebing!” Maria looked down at her hand.
Elisa whisked her to one of two old armchairs crowded in the corner. Adoncia had reached them, but instead of taking Maria, she lifted Fernando into her arms so that Maria had Elisa all to herself.
“Let me see now.” Elisa gently pried the little girl’s fingers away from her wounded palm. “Oh, it’s not so bad. Just a little scratch.”
“It hurts!”
“Well, yes, that’s good. If it didn’t hurt you might not know you had scratched yourself.”
Adoncia had turned her back on them, supposedly to jiggle the whimpering Fernando, but in actuality Elisa knew her friend got queasy at any sign of injury. Once they had seen a dying robin by the roadside, and Adoncia had nearly passed out.
“Let me get the first aid kit,” Elisa told Maria. “Then you can help me clean the cut and put on the Band-Aid.”
“I’ll get it,” Adoncia said. She returned from the bedroom she shared with her children and presented it to Elisa, turning her eyes to her daughter’s face. “Ah, Maria, you are very brave. A good brave girl.”
Maria stopped sniffling.
“How did you break the lamp?” Adoncia asked.
“Don’t…know.”
“I bet she got her foot tangled in the cord,” Elisa said. “It would have been easy to do.”
Adoncia addressed her daughter. “I will make you an ice cream cone. Would you like that?”
“Choc-late,” Maria said.
“And one for Nando, too.” Adoncia headed back to the kitchen.
Elisa had the kit open now. She lifted Maria in her arms and carried her to the bathroom to wash her hand with cool running water. Then, back in the living room, she let the little girl guide her as she put antibiotic ointment on the shallow cut and covered it with a glow-in-the-dark SpongeBob Squarepants Band-Aid.
She finished just as Adoncia returned with an ice cream cone in each hand and the broom tucked under her arm. “I will just clean up the mess now.”
Someone knocked on the front door before Adoncia could begin. Elisa got to her feet and swung Fernando into the chair beside his sister. Then she went to answer the door, expecting to find Diego.
Sam Kinkade was standing on the porch. He wore dark pants and a gray T-shirt bearing three monkeys and the words: “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for enough good people to do nothing.”
“Amnesty International,” he said, as she silently read the words. “Once I join enough organizations and buy enough T-shirts, I won’t have to give sermons.”
For a moment she didn’t know what to say, but his warm smile—all too rare when last she’d seen him—made him more approachable. “I like it.” She stepped away from the door and motioned him inside. “Please come in.”
“I don’t want to bother you. I just thought—”
“No, please come in and meet my roommate and her children.”
As he stepped inside, she saw the trailer through his eyes. It seemed more cramped, dilapidated, even more crowded with furniture Adoncia thought she could not afford to throw away. The last occupants had knocked a hole in the paneling, which Adoncia had covered with festive strips of adhesive-backed paper. The curtains had been intended for different sized windows and pinned to fit, since Adoncia had no sewing machine.
Elisa made the introductions and explanations, and Sam gravely examined Maria’s hand, despite the fact that it was now sticky with melting ice cream.