THE SECOND MILAGRO (n/a) Page 22

  looking at her feet. She pushed up from the chair. Instead of the

  smile or sneer that she expected, Daniel only stared at her. His eyes

  moved over her face.

  Without a word, he grabbed his coat and tossed it at Carmina.

  “Venga!” he ordered and went out the door. Carmina quickly

  followed. The silence left behind was solid, preventing movement. “What was that all about?” Patricia asked Gena, bringing the

  girl’s attention away from the door.

  Gena smiled. “Oh, the mother of Daniel is siempre mal.” Daniel’s light eyes and pale skin danced before Patricia’s face

  like a ghost. “Carmina’s s-son?” A deep cold so stiffened her that

  she felt she might shatter if she breathed. “How could that be?”

  She finally asked of no one.

  “Si,” Gena was saying, “And she is, how you say, a tiger to hold

  him.”

  “But, he, he’s not Mexican,” Patricia stammered.

  “Si, he has American father. She live in America one time, you

  know.”

  Questions tumbled through Patricia’s mind, like shiny, hot

  marbles, painful, yet intriguing. Which one to pick up? Which one

  meant less hurt? Which might hold a particular beauty? Or horror?

  She pulled at a thread on her shirt, unraveling a button stitch by

  stitch. She concentrated on the lengthening thread and tried not

  to listen to Gena talking to Rachel, telling her about the Festival at

  Real. She was trying to hold on to other words. When they appeared

  more clearly in her mind, she pushed them away. Her eyes changed

  their focus from the string to her feet. The words she was trying to

  forget hid under others coming from Gena. The girl kept talking,

  talking.

  Time lifted to another plane while she remembered Daniel and

  Carmina and how they had smiled at each other. The beatific smile

  on Carmina’s lined face was worthy of Michelangelo. The muscles

  in Daniel’s face had been set firm as a marble bust. In her mind the

  outlines of bone and muscle shadowed by the soft lights aged and

  hardened him. The fullness of youth on his cheeks faded into deep

  creases like elongated dimples.

  Her father’s face swam before her eyes, and she shuddered. She tossed the button into the fire, watched tiny flames leap up

  the chimney and vanish. “Gena, what did you want to tell me about

  Daniel?” The words came out in a whisper. The air in the room

  seemed to have vanished.

  Gena stood between her and the fire. Her silhouette quivered

  as she made a soft, giggling sound, her hands covering her mouth.

  She moved one hand and bit her bottom lip. “Daniel would be

  angry for telling,” she whispered.

  Patricia knew the answer; she waited for the words. “The toes of your feet, Señora, you know.” She pointed down.

  “Daniel’s are the same.”

  The light from the fire sputtered and died and all was dark.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Patricia opened her eyes slowly and realized she was huddled into the bunk bed. She wondered briefly if she had been dreaming the scene in the cabin that assaulted her mind at first thought. Surely she had, she reasoned. Reasoned, because no other reality could be true. Before she could give more time to the turmoil within her, Rachel touched her face.

  “You okay?”

  Patricia nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

  “You gave us a scare there. I didn’t know if someone had

  clobbered you or if you’d taken a dive. What happened?” Patricia felt for plain, non-revealing words. “I, I just felt faint.” “Well, that’s certainly understandable.” Rachel shifted position

  to lean against the wall. “Anything else you—?”

  “Señora, you are awake?” Gena interrupted, moving closer and

  putting her hand on Patricia’s forehead. Patricia recoiled from the

  touch.

  Gena stood back, fists on hips.

  “Why you take bandage from arm, Señora? You must have it,

  you know.”

  Patricia flexed her arm, which hurt like hell. “It is not broken,

  Gena. I don’t need to be hobbled.”

  “Hobbled, Señora?”

  “Nevermind.”

  “Okay, Señora. You take these medicina.”

  “I don’t need them.”

  Gena ignored her and placed a small white pill in Rachel’s hand

  and reached to put another one in Patricia’s mouth.

  Patrica pushed her hand away.

  “You must. Take medicina. Pronto.”

  Gena stood over them, her demeanor changed from menace

  to pleading. She haltingly explained that Carmina had sent them

  something to make them sleep, to keep them quiet. “You must,

  Señoras. If not, you know, I must say to Carmina.” The girl looked

  toward the door with a flicker of fear.

  “Are you afraid of Carmina, Gena? Do you think she’d hurt you?”

  Rachel asked.

  “Afraid? No hit and bite, no. But, she can hurt.” The girl’s features

  pinched as if she tasted something unpalatable.

  “What do you mean?” Patricia whispered.

  “With Daniel. She hurt me with him.”

  Patricia looked toward the window. She could hear voices outside

  the cabin and knew the time to learn anything was short. “Hurt you with Daniel?” Rachel asked.

  Gena’s brow rose, and she smiled at Rachel. “Si, she with him

  siempre. She say he go and to do. He go Tlantoloc and help

  pepenadores, even when he work and have money. His madre want,

  you know, how you say—control him.” She talked rapidly, watching

  Rachel’s eyes. “She not like me, Daniel not.” She swung her arms

  out, as if to shove away the thought.

  “When he works, is it for Jorge Morelos?”

  Gena stared at Patricia, her eyes wide. “No, Señora. Daniel no

  work for him.” Her face pursed in anger.

  Patricia knew she had made a mistake. Before she could think

  of what to say, Rachel put her hand out toward Gena. She smiled.

  “Are you in love with Daniel, Gena?”

  Gena’s face softened. “I say mi te amo,” she said. “Daniel no say,

  only two time.”

  “He loves you. I can’t see how he looks at you, but I can hear it in

  his voice. You’re a lucky girl,” Rachel said.

  “Señora, you not look like you not see.” Her eyes brightened.

  “You think he love me?”

  “Yes. A man has a way of speaking to a woman when he is in love

  and others understand.”

  Rachel sounded as if she were reading the words out of some

  romance novel. Patricia hoped Gena believed them. She held her

  arms, forcing herself to be still.

  “Is true, Señora. Si, I know this. Daniel, he never say to his

  madre, but he love her. She no want a woman for him. She keep

  him home.”

  Patricia reached out for Gena’s arm and drew the girl near her.

  “Gena, I know you love Daniel. I know you don’t want him hurt. I

  don’t want that either. But, I think Daniel is mixed up in the

  kidnapping of my son. Do you know anything about Max?” Gena stared at Patricia. She tensed her arm and jerked away. “I

  not know su hijo. Daniel not take him. He help you, you know. How

  you say bad things? Daniel love Señor Miguel; he love you. Senior

  Miguel say to Daniel go down the mountain for you, he g
o.” “Miguel? When did he talk to Miguel?” Patricia asked more

  sharply than she should have. She watched the girl stiffen, wary of

  the quickly spoken question, the muscles of her face telling a story

  of doubt and fear.

  Gena lowered her head, but her eyes stayed in link with

  Patricia’s. “Daniel only help you, Señora, to find su hijo. He know a

  mother love her hijo.”

  Mother. Son. Miguel. Max. Daniel. All the unthinkable

  possibilities of life’s twists of fate slammed into her and she couldn’t

  breathe. She tucked her hands under her arms to still their

  trembling.

  She bent over, rolled her trouser legs down, and eased herself

  onto her sore feet. “Please, Gena,” she stared into the girl’s eyes.

  “When my son is free, I want to do everything to be sure that Daniel

  isn’t blamed. Can you help us? We must get out of here.” Sounds of a vehicle silenced her.

  “It is maybe Señor Jorge come back,” Gena whispered as she

  ran to the window.

  Patricia rushed to her side, leaving white powder prints on the

  cold plank floor.

  “Señor Jorge is not always a nice man.” Gena hesitated. “Daniel

  not happy that he come here. He say Daniel does not do his job.” “What job?”

  Gena looked wary. “La medicina, Señoras,” she ordered, tossing

  the pills on the bed. Throwing a glance back at Rachel, she slipped

  outside.

  Patricia looked at the door, willing herself on the other side.

  She could hear rising voices. All she could see were shadows. “Sounds like an argument,” Rachel said. She too stood at the

  window. “Daniel and Jorge, I think.”

  Patricia wanted to storm out there and demand to be taken to

  Real, but she had already faced Jorge Morelos and knew that wasn’t

  going to get her anywhere. Besides, she also had to think of Rachel.

  What if they separated them?

  Other voices joined in and sounds of a scuffle erupted. As the

  din increased, Patricia’s heart seemed an accompanying drum beat.

  Rachel clasped her upper arm and the pressure of her fingers felt

  like a tourniquet.

  The door opened and shut quickly. It was Gena. Her eyes were

  wide with fright, her dark skin, pale.

  “Hurry, Señoras,” she whispered. “Su zapatos.” She pointed at

  Patricia’s feet, reached for the mud-stained shoes still drying before

  the fire and thrust them into Patricia’s hands.

  While Patricia winced at her efforts to cram her swollen, bruised

  feet into the stiff shoes, Gena rolled up a blanket and put it in

  Rachel’s arms. Then she hurried to the single window on the far

  side of the cabin.

  “Aqui, ayuda!” she called, pushing on the wooden sash. “What’s happening?” Patricia asked in a gush of breath as the

  window gave and slammed upwards. Cold air wedged around them. Gena seemed paralyzed, hands clasping her mouth as they

  waited to see if the noise had been heard outside the front of the

  cabin.

  When no one came rushing in, she pushed Rachel toward the

  window. “Hurry, Señora Rachel. You climb. Hide in rocks.” “Why? What’s going on?” Rachel hissed the words. “Señor Jorge mucho mad. He say Daniel made deal for mines.

  Angry miners come.”

  “What are you talking about? What deal?” Patricia held the girl

  by her shoulders.

  “Go. Now. No time.” Gena shoved Patricia away. The two women

  stared at each other for only a second.

  “Let’s get out of here, Rachel,” Patricia said, still staring at Gena.

  “I’m going out first. Wait until Gena tells you, then follow me.” She took the blanket roll from Rachel and tossed it outside. With one leg over the window sill, she grabbed Gena and gave her a quick

  hug. “Thanks,” she whispered into the girl’s hair.

  Once Rachel was out, Patricia glanced back into the cabin and

  saw Gena bunching pillows and clothes under blankets to make it

  look like the two women were bedded down for the night. “Gena,” she called as loud as she dared. The girl ran back to the

  window. “My basket, over there by the bed.”

  “No time, Señora.”

  “Yes! Give it to me!” If she had to, she’d crawl back in for it. She

  and Rachel were not coming back.

  Gena thrust the basket through the window, pulled the sash

  down and snapped the curtains closed. Patricia took Rachel’s arm

  and they stumbled up the hill that rose behind the cabin. She steered

  them toward the road that edged the mountain. They would need

  to stay in the scant brush for cover, but she must keep her bearings

  or they would be lost. They both kept slipping on the dew covered

  rocks, but never slowed their pace. When they had reached a small

  plateau a good distance from the cabin, they stopped to catch their

  breath in the thin mountain air.

  “Who do you suppose was our hero down there, besides Gena?”

  Rachel asked, her voice unsteady, breathy.

  “Maybe she just felt sorry for us and acted on her own. I can’t

  imagine any of the other—”

  “Listen! What’s that?”

  In the direction of the cabin below the crack of gunshots rang

  out. Crouching behind a rock, Patricia searched the dark night for

  someone on their trail.

  “Do you see anything?” Rachel asked.

  “Nothing.”

  The night was quiet. No bats swooping above them, no dogs

  baying in the distance. An unreal silence.

  “What do you suppose that was all about?” Rachel whispered. “I don’t know. I just hope to God they didn’t find we were gone

  and take it out on Gena.” Patricia shivered.

  “It’s probably just Jorge letting off steam. We better get farther

  away while we can. If you’re okay.” Rachel stood in place, waiting

  for guidance.

  Patricia took her hand and led her back into the brush. “My

  feet are better. I should have put some of that white pow—” An explosion cracked the air. Light flared around them. When

  Patricia whirled to look in the direction of the cabin, she saw splinters

  of wood streaming through the sky in an arc of fireworks. Words

  began to form in her mind to describe the sight to Rachel, but her

  murmurs were drowned by screams that split the night like sharp

  knives thrown on swift winds.

  “Oh, my God,” Rachel whispered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Light swirled, igniting the dark night. Timbers crackled. Patricia stood motionless, her hand caught viselike in Rachel’s.

  “I can smell smoke,” Rachel whispered. “What do you see?”

  “Just flames. The cabin. It exploded.”

  “You don’t see any people? No one running?”

  “Not up the mountain. I think I’d see movement. Can’t see the road.” The cool mountain air crawled beneath her clothes. She shivered and wondered why she didn’t feel the heat of the inferno. She drew closer to Rachel, seeking warmth for the chill in her soul.

  “What should we do?” Rachel asked.

  “Go back.”

  “Don’t you think that’d be dangerous?”

  “We can’t leave. What if he’s—they’re hurt?”

  “And what if the men Gena told us about set that fire and are just waiting for us to come back?”

  Patricia couldn’t argue with the
fact that if the cabin had been blown up by someone who thought she and Rachel were asleep in it, they might have lingered, waiting to make sure. And if it was Daniel, she didn’t want to know.

  Neither of them spoke for awhile. Patricia listened for voices in the popping of the flames.

  “If someone had been hurt, we would have heard shouts and calls for help,” Rachel offered at last. “Sounds carry pretty far out here in the night air.”

  “What about the screams?” Patricia asked, her voice irritated.

  “It was before the explosion. Maybe Gena was trying to protect us. To make them think we were inside.”

  “Unless they’re all hurt. Or dead. What if . . .,” her voice ceased, choked off by an invisible noose.

  “Go then. You have to see, don’t you?”

  Patricia put her hand on Rachel’s arm. “I do. I can’t just leave.”

  Rachel felt around for somewhere to sit. Easing down onto a smooth stone, she said, “I’ll wait here. Just be careful.”

  “I can’t leave you out here at night by yourself.”

  “And why not?”

  Patricia flinched at the truth. It probably made no difference to Rachel if she were left on the mountain at midnight or midday.

  “I’ll be okay. I’ll sit here and listen for you. If the lizards get too loud, I’ll sing. Go on now.”

  The path Patricia took was a straighter, quicker one than that coming up. She still skirted around jagged rock ledges and slippery slopes, trying not to send noisy pebbles and dirt avalanching before her.

  Large rocks lay at the edge of the clearing. She climbed until she could see all around, stretched out, and tried to breathe. The air seared her eyes, nostrils and throat. Her arm and feet throbbed. Her hands, still raw from thorns and falling down the mountain, burned as if she held them in the fire she watched.

  Suddenly, a motor roared above the crackle of flames. A jeep.

  She hid in the shadows. Voices, muffled and speaking Spanish, drifted in and out as two figures appeared. Three men silhouetted by the light of the burning embers. She changed positions to keep them in sight. They walked all around the cabin.

  One of the men bent and picked up a piece of wood. It flamed like a torch, lighting their faces.

  Miguel. Daniel. Jorge.

  While they stood there, two other men moved out of dark shadows into glowing light.

  Patricia clamped her hand over her mouth. A cruel mixture of relief, anxiety, love and hate forced tears onto her cheeks. Her muscles warred with her mind. She wanted to tear over the rocks to them. She wanted to hide forever.