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Array
(
[sid] => 89248
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Margarita XLVIII
[time] => 2005-03-29 21:10:33
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Huerra and Segundo rode before the coach with swinging lanterns searching the trail for holes and obstructions. Day was spent and night was dark with new moon. Lapa lay thirty miles behind, San Laurius ten miles ahead. They had traveled all day stopping every few hours to rest the horses; heavy baggage and a rutted trail made their progress slow. Huerra knew at this rate they wouldn't reach the hacienda until after midnight. A gentle breeze rustled the cottonwood leaves, it whispered through the high grass; occasionally a coyote yelped. Twelve hours of bumping, twisting and turning had tired the passengers. All slept except Father Cheliso who alone enjoyed watching the glow of Huerra's and Segundo' moving lanterns ahead of the coach; he listened to the creak of the coach wheels, felt the night's cool breeze against his cheeks. This isolation of hills and fields, this utter loneliness gave him long thoughts. He breathed deeply of the night air, redolent of bush and trees. How long had he been at Lapa? Twenty years? More. It was twenty-one years since he had left Dolores, Guanajuato. How the years had flown by. It seemed but yesterday he had replanted Father Hidalgo's mulberry bushes and grape vines reestablishing those two previously forbidden industries. Again he heard Hidalgo's words: " Viva la Independencia! Viva Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe!" Those were heroic years. How tenaciously people held to the hope of freedom from Spain. How many of those people had he subsequently give the last rites to at Villadoid, at Chilpancingo? Dozens? He'd given the last rites to Captain Huerra at Chilpancingo when a bullet had caught him in the head. Wasn't it Diego Silva who stayed with the Captain while the Spanish were bayonetting the wounded. Three times Silva had fought off the attacks allowing the last rites to be given to Captain Huerra. Later, most amazingly, Silva had nursed Huerra back to health. It was a miracle. The captain lost all his hair, retaining a deep scar behind his left ear, but he still had his life. And then the years at Lapa. Again he visualized yesterday's campanario conversation with Don Hernandez. Surely Jose exaggerated his Theresa complaint. Padre Cheliso's reverie was suddenly interrupted by snores filling the interior of the coach like the sound of many bees held captive in a flour sack. Chuckling, Father Cheliso realized Don Hernandez must have found a more comfortable position. Dona Theresa, wakened because of her husband's snores, scolded him. "Take your head off my shoulder, Jose. Do you think my ear was made for such noise? Put your head against the cushion if you like but not on my shoulder." Snoring continued. " I said, take your head off my shoulder." There was sound of movement and the thud of something hitting against the window frame. Theresa's callous act of pushing her husband's head against the side of the coach astounded Father Cheliso. It was an act signifying neither love nor respect. Jose's snoring stopped. A low grown came from the corner of the coach. Priest Cheliso realized the couple's marital relationship was indeed seriously troubled. Perhaps he shouldn't wait. Perhaps he should talk with Dona Theresa tomorrow about her attitude and not wait until Jose had told Margarita about Edwardo. It was certainly something to consider. Conversation outside of the coach diverted his thoughts. Words came to him clearly. " Segundo, what do you make of the lights in the north?" " Riders, patron. Many riders. They carry torches." " San Laurius vaqueros?" " Si, Patron." " They come to meet us? " I think so." " Swing your lantern, amigo. Tell them they are seen." Father Cheliso looked north. Flickering lights came at an angle of interception. Spread out, lights moved at different speeds. He whispered across to Don Hernandez. " Do you see the lights, Jose?" After a pause, Jose gave a yawn and a sleepy reply. " Yes, Padre. I ---- I think Miguel has sent vaqueros to welcome us." Theresa made interruption." What is that you say, Jose. Why do you speak so softly?" " We see riders, Theresa. It is Miguel." " Let me see." She leaned rudely across husband to look out the window. She gave a sudden startled cry. " Margarita! Margarita!" Wake up! Look! Miguel has sent the vaqueros to welcome you home." " What is it, Auntie?" younger woman asked, aroused from her sleep. " What's wrong?" " Your papa! He's coming to meet you! Look! See all the lights! Isn't it wonderful!" The lights drew closer; silhouettes of men and horses begin to appear under the glow of waving torches. Distant yells became audible. Faces became visible under the light of the torches. " It's my father! My father!" Margarita cried excitedly." " But who leads?" Don Hernandez asked in wonder. " Man is too short and stocky to be Miguel. It looks --- it looks like Pedro!" Gunshots filled the night; thunder of horse hoofs circled the halted coach. Huerra, mounted on his sorrel, came to the window with a lantern and quick words " It's Pedro your brother. He's here!" From out of the night a booming voice riveted everyone's attention." Aiiiiii! Aiiiii! Where is my big sister?" He directed his voice to Huerra. "Out of the way, vaquero!" Huerra's sorrel reared back as a bullish man on a huge gelding wedged between him and the coach. The man pulled the door of the carriage open with a free hand." Big sister. Where is my big sister?" Margarita drew back in fright. She hardly recognized her younger brother. He had become one much man." Pedro, is it you?" " Come! We're going." No one dared stop him. In one motion he had her out of coach and sideways, laying across his saddle. Blood gushed to Margarita's head. Her heart was beating so fast she lost her breath. Half turning in the saddle, she tried to look up and get a closer look at this strange man who no longer resembled the brother she knew three years ago. His burning cigar filled her lungs with pungent odor. " Where are you taking me?" she gasped. " Where is father?" " Ha! You ask many questions, sister. Don't you want your horse?" " Diablo? You have Diablo? " " He waits for you. Let's go!" They left Theresa and Jose in the carriage open mouthed in astonishment. " Stop them, Jose. Stop them!" " Why? He is her brother." " Where are they going?" " San Laurius. He's taking her home." " Padre, isn't there anything we can do?" Father Cheliso, smiling at Don Hernandez' wife, gave her laughing advice. " We can relax and enjoy the rest of our journey." Secretly, Dona Theresa was happy. Three years had made a difference in Pedro. He had become a man since she had last seen him. His father's murder threat didn't seem at all impossible now. Let Margarita try and run off with the gringo. Pedro would follow them wherever they went and break his neck. Huerra was not offended by Pedro telling him to move out of the way. How could the bull-like man know he spoke to a superior? He hadn't been told De Oro's Patron would be there. Huerra liked the way Pedro took his sister; he liked Pedro's forceful behavior. He went to the front of the coach and found the driver talking excitedly to Segundo. Diego ended their conversation when he saw his patron. He backed Bravo away from the coach. Huerra motioned the driver to get the horses moving. " Segundo," he said, once the friend was at his side." Doesn't Pedro look and act like a bull?" " He becomes like Sergeant Fuentes." " Of our old company?" " Si. One good man." " You think he is like Fuentes?" " Maybe - it's too soon to say." " Didn't we call Sergeant Fuentes ‘El Toro'?" " Si, patron. We called him that." " Let's you and I watch Pedro and see if it might be a good name for him." " I have a feeling about him, patron." " What is that, Segundo?" " I think he is getting plenty tough." " You think so, eh?" " Si, patron. His kind gets very tough." " You know something, amigo? I think you are right." Pedro took Margarita to her father. Don Miguel waited, reins in hand. Margarita pushed herself up and away from Pedro's saddle before the big gelding had halted; stumbling, she threw herself into Miguel's arms. He caught her fast. " My little Amapola!" he cried, lifting her off the ground, swinging her. Margarita clung to him in happiness." Papa! Papa," she could only repeat, kissing his cheeks. Miguel realized how much he loved her." I've missed you very much little blossom," he said lowering her to the earth with a big hug. Margarita, out of breath, leaned back in his arms. She managed a few words." And --- and --- I, you, papa." Pedro, watching the reunion of his father and big sister removed the cigar from his mouth grinding it against the trunk of a near tree; he spit bits of the tobacco from his tongue. He never smoked when near his father out of respect. He spoke across to his father." Uncle Jose and Aunt Theresa are in the coach," he said. " Did you bring Margarita's clothes?" " They are in Diablo's saddlebags." " Give them to her." Pedro gave a thumb jerk and single command to a near vaquero. The man moved fast to obey Pedro's order. No one ever questioned Pedro's authority anymore. Since the fight with Drango last month, they had come to know his temper and strength. Drango had three ribs and an arm broken in the fight. Never again would anyone ever laugh at Pedro Hernandez. Margarita released her arms from around her father's neck and took the clothes handed to her. " And my boots and spurs. Where are they?" Turning in the saddle, Pedro took out the boots and spurs from his own saddlebags. The spurs had long pointed rowels -- dirty, rusty from three years wait. " They have been kept for you, big sister. No one has ridden Diablo or worn your boots and spurs since the day you left." He handed them down to her. She turned to Miguel asking him a question. " Where do I change my clothes, papa?" " Show her a place, Pedro." Pedro took his sister from the torches and led her quickly to a place of privacy. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 171 [topic] => 68 [informant] => ramfire [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => fictional )
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