THE SECOND MILAGRO (n/a) Read online

  She quickened her pace past Tomas’s hodgepodge collection of nineteenth century silver mirrors lining the corridor to her office. She had kept this room and the five room penthouse on the floor above just as Tomas had left them. Unlike the office in Washington, she felt uncomfortable here. And she never stayed in the penthouse. It had always been used by the men in Tomas’s inner circle and she never liked how they appeared without being invited. Even now, she preferred a hotel.

  Patricia read her messages with quick glances. Her shoulders sagged as she saw no news of Max. She took the list of names from the briefcase and gave it to Elena.

  “I want to meet with all of these people tomorrow, if possible. If not, I want to know why. Be persistent. Just tell them a member of the Morelos Company wants to meet. Don’t mention my name. Don’t let them wiggle into a lunch date. I don’t have time for a threemargarita lunch.”

  Elena smiled and nodded. She scanned the list. A frown drew her face downward. “Miguel Ramirez? Señora, are you sure? Señor Tomas would not want his brother to come here.”

  “If I get what I want from these people who should have some say with the miners, I won’t need to see the wicked step-brother, now or ever. However, just in case, I don’t want to waste time. I’ll have to see him, even if he does bite.”

  “I think he does, Señora. I have heard Señor Tomas scream loudly many times when he talk to his brother.”

  “Well, I’m not afraid of him, so make the appointment. Just don’t tell him who’s asking for the meeting. We wouldn’t want him to have a chance to sharpen his teeth. Just in case, right?” She picked up her briefcase and hugged Elena with one arm. “You know you’ve made your father very proud. I wish I could mint the look on his face when he speaks of you.”

  “It is the same look you give to Maximilian. The one you will give him again soon.”

  Elena’s smile was framed in sympathy. Before Patricia could turn away, tears filled her eyes.

  “Thanks, Elena. Call me at the hotel, if there’s word.” She turned away into the elevator, begging its doors to close quickly.

  * * *

  Room service arrived with tortilla soup and fruit just as the phone rang. Even though she had eaten little during the day, she had no appetite and was glad for the interruption. As she said hello, her heart quickened with the ever present hope.

  “I just had the biggest plate of chile rellenos and gained three kilos. Have you eaten?”

  “Rache, you and your seventh sense. They just brought dinner.” She stared at the cooling soup. “You get settled in okay? Marta looking after you?”

  “That woman acts as if I can’t hear or see. Either that or she’s getting hard of hearing herself. But yes, she’s seen to everything. What about you? No news at all?”

  “None. Elena was waiting. She’s making appointments with the people I need to see.”

  The telephone line crackled in the silence.

  “Rache, you there?”

  “I guess you’re going to see him?”

  “He has a name.”

  “Which one of them you want? Seems I remember Tomas using a number of them. None of which a lady would repeat.”

  “I don’t care who or what he is, if he can help get Max out of those mountains.”

  “And what if he won’t even listen to you? You going to get down on your knees and beg? I can just see that. Wouldn’t he have a laugh.”

  “Maybe not. He can’t be all that bad. There was a time—”

  “Oh, you remember?” Rachel asked. “You going to tell him the truth?”

  “Damn it, Rache.”

  “Just the truth, Patricia. You have a hard time with that sometimes, face it.”

  “It isn’t always advisable, Rachel. Or necessary.”

  “It might just be this time.”

  “Okay. You’ve made your point. Tell you what. It’ll be my ace in the hole, but I’ll decide when I need to use it, understand?”

  “Sure. Whatever. Talk to you tomorrow. Try to get some sleep. And eat your soup!”

  Patricia lowered the phone and smiled. Rachel, always controlling, she thought. What would the world be like if that woman could see. Not that being blind had ever held her back, that was for sure. Rachel had been a driving force in Patricia’s life since the day Rachel met Dorothy Tucker.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ALABAMA 1962

  In time, life with Elsie and Jeff McFall in the little house on Coffee Street, a few blocks from the town square, became quite ordinary to Dorothy. She walked to a nearby school and did chores in the afternoon while Elsie worked at the Courthouse Diner. By the time Dorothy was eight, she was good at washing dishes, peeling potatoes and sweeping. She fell into the routine without fuss or feeling.

  Jeff was a mechanic. He worked long hours and spoke little. He had one love—flowers. He tended his roses and left his wife to tend Dorothy. Elsie turned her sewing room into a bedroom, decorated it with frills and ruffles, and still made more little dresses than Dorothy could wear out. On her bed lay a collection of new dolls. The only one she cared about was the one she had brought from home. The tiny faced china doll.

  By the time Dorothy was a teenager, she helped out at the diner on Saturdays and during school vacations. One hot August day when she was fifteen, she sat at the counter putting paper napkins into metal holders. Now and then she twirled round on the stool, stirring hot air. It cooled her more than the big fans swirling in the ceiling. She’d wanted to go to the pool, but Elsie’s help didn’t show, so she had to work.

  The screen door opened. Customers. She hopped down, got some glasses and a pitcher of water. A man, woman, and a teenage girl were sitting in a booth when she returned. They looked like a family in Saturday Evening Post.

  The man mopped his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. His greying hair was damp. His seersucker suit was fresh and coollooking. He was as handsome as a movie star. The woman, in a silky green dress, matching hat and gloves, whipped a fan back and forth. A sweet fragrance swirled around her. The girl was beautiful. Brown hair in soft curls, green eyes, deep dimples. A miniature of the woman. Down to the gloves.

  “What ya’ll want to drink?” Dorothy smiled at the girl. “I’d like a cherry Coke, Father.” The voice was as clear as the chimes on the Episcopal church. The green eyes didn’t look her way.

  “And what for ya’ll?” She nodded to the man.

  “I’ll have some lemonade,” the woman said.

  “Same here, and two menus, please,” the father added.

  Looking back from the kitchen pass-through, Dorothy watched as the man and woman read from the day’s fare. The girl stared toward the counter, nodding her head.

  “Here. Take their orders.” Elsie pushed a pad of paper into her hand.

  “That girl’s blind,” Dorothy said.

  “Shush, she’ll hear you. And don’t stare. Those folks sense when you’re staring at ’em. I’ve told you that.”

  The girl didn’t look like the ones from the Blind School, except for the blank stare. She didn’t blink much. If she moved her eyes, they looked normal. They were see-through, like an empty green bottle.

  The man and woman finished their ham sandwiches, but the girl hardly touched hers. Dorothy refilled their water glasses. The girl looked toward her, just to the side of her face. “Have you a restroom?”

  The woman got up and took the daughter’s arm. “If you’ll tell me where, Miss, I’ll—”

  “Oh, I’ll show her.” Dorothy clasped the girl’s hand and pulled her around tables and chairs. She kicked her own foot into a chair leg, almost tripping. When she giggled, the girl halted. She started to apologize, but something in the girl’s face stopped her. A question on the brows, then a frown. The girl seemed to look through her. Suddenly, they squeezed hands and laughed, as if they’d just shared a secret.

  “Ya’ll on a vacation?”

  “I’m coming to school here,” the girl answered from behind the stall door.

/>   Dorothy studied her pixie haircut in the mirror over the sink. She pulled at the short straight strands, curling them around her fingers. Then she shut her eyes and tried to imagine not being able to see herself. She stepped back from the sink in her self-imposed darkness and swayed against the wall. Her foot struck the trash can, overturning it with a loud clatter.

  “You okay?” the girl called out.

  Dorothy opened her eyes and picked up the trash quickly. “Sure, how about you? You need anything?”

  “I’m fine.” The door opened. “You can check and make sure things are in place, if you don’t mind.” Turning slowly, the girl touched the wall and sink as she moved, as if she knew right where they were. Her oxfords looked expensive; her hair neatly styled; the blue voile dress store bought. The skirt wasn’t turned up. Dorothy brushed her hand against the fabric anyway.

  “What’s your name? Where’re you from?”

  “Rachel Wellington, from Alexandria, Virginia. Close to the capital, Washington. My parents brought me down to get me settled at the school. They fuss too much, since I became—”

  “Well, that’s what parents do, isn’t it?” She didn’t want to hear the girl say the word “blind.” “They seem nice. Your mom’s pretty.”

  Rachel held a damp towel in her hand. Dorothy took it. “And you? I don’t know your name.” She laughed and leaned against the sink. “And I’ll bet your mom’s pretty, too.”

  Dorothy stared into the bottomless eyes, reflecting the bright single bulb hanging from the ceiling. “I’m Dorothy, Dorothy— McFall. My—my mom and dad own this place.” She hadn’t expected to lie. It just came out. Everyone in town knew she was a Tucker, but this girl didn’t have to know. It wasn’t like she’d be seeing her anymore. She wouldn’t go to her school or hang out with anyone she knew. She could tell her anything.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Rachel held out her hand. “Do you still go to school?”

  Dorothy blew her nose to buy time. Lying good meant gathering stuff, throwing out the bad and piling up what was left. “Sure, I go to school. I’m here in the afternoons some time and on Saturdays for Elsie—Mom.” Drat, she thought, but recovered quickly. “Sometimes I call her Elsie. Makes her really mad.” She laughed and rolled her eyes.

  “Is your mom here now? I’d like to meet her.”

  Dorothy took her time opening the door. A swarm of hornets filled her head. Elsie could be a problem. “She’s probably busy; usually is. Unless I need her,” she added, trying to move her mouth the way Mrs. Butenschon made them do in choral so the vowels wouldn’t sound flat.

  Mrs. Wellington was frowning at them as they walked back to the table. “You all right, sweetheart?” Her soft, lilting accent was answered by a broad, coarse drawl.

  “What ya’ll been up to in there so long? Had this girl’s ma worryin’.” Elsie came from behind the counter, sloshing water from a pitcher. “Oops, gave myself a bath.” She whooped a laugh, dabbed at her ample breasts. Dorothy looked back at Rachel’s mom, so cool, slim and beautiful.

  “Is this your mother?” Rachel asked.

  “Yes.” She shot Elsie a look. “Mom, this is Rachel Wellington from Virginia. She’s gonna go to school here. Isn’t that great?” Her smile stretched her jaws. Elsie had her “liar, liar, pants on fire” look that meant trouble later.

  “What class are you in school, Dorothy?” Rachel was talking to her and the adults were shaking hands and all talking at once as if they were old friends.

  “Sophomore.” She strained to hear Elsie’s words.

  “That’s what I am, too,” Rachel said.

  So they were in the same grade, but Rachel wouldn’t attend Talladega High. Wouldn’t be going to ball games and hanging around. They’d probably never see each other again. She looked at the three Wellingtons, as out of place in the diner as royalty.

  “Won’t you, Dorothy?” Elsie said.

  “What?”

  “I was telling Rachel’s folks how you’d be delighted to show her around, look after her. I’m always telling this girl to go be with friends. She sits in here with me too much. Course, she is a help, but it’d do her good to have a friend.”

  Dorothy stared at Elsie. She was sorry she had called her Mom. She looked at Mr. and Mrs. Wellington and saw hope on their faces as clear as the Dr. Pepper sign over their heads. And Rachel’s smile had scooped her dimples deeper. Well, she’d really done it now. Elsie would have to stay “Mom” or she’d be caught lying. “Sure. I was gonna ask if Rachel wanted to do something, some time.” She grinned at Elsie. “Mom won’t need me this afternoon, will you?”

  Elsie shook her head slowly.

  “It’ll have to be another day, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Wellington said, as she got up from the booth. Mr. Wellington handed Elsie money and the check. “We have an appointment at the school today. One of my college chums is the director. He assures us that Rachel will be in the best hands here. It’s nice to see how friendly people are already. We’ll be leaving tomorrow and I’m sure Rachel would love to see you again, young lady.”

  Dorothy followed them out the door, telling Mrs. Wellington that her hat was pretty. When she walked back in, Elsie was looking in the mirror above the glasses, patting her hair net. Dorothy thought she saw the letters MOM across Elsie’s broad back like a football player’s name.

  Sunday morning she dressed early and left a note for Elsie that she was going for a walk before Sunday School. She would meet her and Jeff in church.

  It was already hot and humid. Her slip stuck to her like an extra layer of skin. She headed up Coffee Street, then up by the “silkstocking district” where the worn dirt path became concrete sidewalks lining manicured lawns, and the houses were mansions shaded by giant magnolias.

  She liked to daydream about these places, about spiraling staircases with portraits sidestepping up the stairs. And grand pianos in parlors with Queen Anne chairs and fireplaces. She knew such things because she read about them. Jane Eyre. Wuthering Heights. Gone With the Wind. Whatever these houses held, it was as far away as Tara to her.

  She crossed South Street onto the campus of the Talladega School for the Blind. The buildings looked empty. Sunday. The offices are closed, she thought. How would she possibly find Rachel? This was a stupid idea.

  She tried doors on several buildings. All locked. She was getting hotter. Her skirt was limp, her blouse damp. So, what was a promise to a girl that probably didn’t want to see her again anyway? Rachel had a ma and pa. She didn’t need anyone else. She was rich enough to hire someone to show her around town, if she wanted to. She headed back across the campus toward Grace Baptist Church and familiar territory.

  As she turned the corner of a building, she heard a tapping sound, above that of distant music and laughter. Rachel was coming down the walkway in front of one of the dormitories. She stopped several feet in front of Dorothy, her white cane silently poised in front of her.

  “Hello?” Rachel called out. “Who’s there?”

  How did she know? Dorothy wondered. Forget leaving. She wished it wasn’t necessary, though, to explain all the things that the girl would know if she could see.

  “Hi. Remember me? Yesterday?”

  “Dorothy. Of course I remember.”

  “You knew someone was here?”

  “Oh, I—we, have all kinds of strange abilities. Do you want me to tell you what you’re thinking?” Her eyebrows arched, as she leaned forward on her cane.

  “Oh, sure, and I guess you can smell what I’m wearin’.” Rachel frowned and Dorothy regretted her words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Don’t apologize. As a matter of fact, I can,” Rachel interrupted and propped her hands on the head of her cane like a tap dancer. “You’re not wearing anything,” she whispered. Her dimples deepened.

  “I’m what? I am—”

  “You are not wearing any perfume, that is.” Rachel giggled. “I smell Ivory soap. Um, and maybe a rose you picked. Not rose perfume tho
ugh. They don’t smell the same, you know.”

  Dorothy wanted to sit down. Her confusion and agitation exhausted her more than her long walk. She sighed, wishing she’d gone on to Sunday School. Why had she tried to find this girl anyway? Was she being a smart-aleck or what?

  As if sensing Dorothy’s questions, Rachel put a hand out. “Why don’t I show you my room in the dorm? Wasn’t that why you came over? To find me?”

  Dorothy thought of the mansions on “silk-stocking” street. Rachel’s room was probably like those houses. She imaged a carved bed with a heavy brocade canopy, lace curtains, a fireplace. She’d never want to bring Rachel home to Elsie and Jeff’s. So, what difference did that make? Rachel couldn’t see it anyway, so she could tell her whatever she wanted to. Besides, she’d like to find out why this girl’s ma and pa would bring her so far from home and leave her. School hadn’t even started. They acted like they loved her, but family that loved you didn’t send you away.

  “Well, I’m supposed to meet, uh, Mom in church. I guess I can miss today. Yeh, I’d like to see your room.”

  Rachel pointed her cane across the grassy courtyard. “This way.” She slid her hand under Dorothy’s elbow where it lay lightly on her arm.

  Which way? Dorothy thought. There were three buildings straight across from them. How was she supposed to lead Rachel if she didn’t know where they were going? Her feet simply wouldn’t move. What if Rachel stumbled? How would she get her across the street?

  They stood for what seemed like forever. A couple of mannequins. Suddenly, she was moving. She was being nudged along by a pressure from Rachel’s arm and side. It was such a light touch, she could hardly tell that Rachel was in complete control.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MEXICO CITY September 26

  “Señor Ramirez? I leave now. My class, you know?”

  Miguel looked up as his secretary, Gena, appeared around the door to his office. He ran his fingers through his hair, lifting damp strands from his forehead, and tried to wipe away the frown he felt across his brow.