Free Dust Devil by Parris Afton Bonds Page A

part of which would have the greatest of effects on her future.
    Rita stayed with her until her child was born, five days later. It was an easy birth, and Stephen was jubilant. The child was a son, James Gallagher Rhodes.
    "Your husband, Rosita, he is very good to you, is he not?” Rita asked as she watched her suckle the infant at her breast.
    True, a jubilant Stephen had presented her that morning with earrings of pure gold nuggets taken from the mines at Rincon. And while the baby was given the name of Stephen’s father, Stephen did suggest bestowing the middle name of Gallagher on their son; but she suspected that was an astute gesture made in tribute to his partnership with her uncle rather than out of deference to herself.
    "I shall miss you, Rita,” she said, avoiding answering her friend’s question.
    And she meant it, for Rita’s vivacity kept Rosemary’s loneliness at bay, stilled the emptiness that gnawed within her — an emptiness that could not be assuaged by Stephen’s gifts or his intense attentions when he was not occupied by his political affairs, for he could be overwhelmingly charming when he chose to do so.
    And as she thought about Stephen, it dawned on her that he would soon be directing his more intimate attentions toward her; for a healthy man like Stephen could not go long without sexual release. And Rosemary sensed Stephen was the type of man who would want a long line of children to glorify his existence and his name.
    But on this point she erred. For Stephen did not deign to visit her bed as she had expected.
    One morning, when Jamie was almost seven months, she teasingly questioned Stephen about brothers and sisters for Jamie.
    Stephen paused in sipping the thick, black coffee. "I have me son,” he answered and went back to reading his weekly New Mexican newspaper.
    And have his son he did, for Stephen spent every free moment with the child, pitching him in the air and rough-housing with him until Rosemary’s breath caught in fright for the baby. She sensed that Stephen planned to monopolize his son; that he would exclude her from his son as much as she was excluded from his office.
    She told herself she should be happy that Stephen cared so much for their son. And did she not have what she wanted— a healthy son, a husband, and a home . . . Cambria? In the space of less than two years she had come a long way from the penniless waif she had been.
    She would repeat these blessings to herself at night, like counting sheep, to bring the escape that sleep offered. But some nights even sleep was denied her, for Jamie would wake screaming, and she would hurry to him.
    Jamie awoke continually one August night, which was so hot even the thick sandstone walls could not keep out the heat. Rather than relinquish the maternal role to one of the servant girls, Rosemary herself went to the baby’s side each time he awakened. For a few moments she held the small, precious form, feeling his soft breath in the hollow of her neck. "’Tis all right, my pet,” she whispered a s he whimpered in his sleep. She laid him back in the crib, wiping the damp auburn curls from his forehead and fanning him until he quieted.
    Instead of returning to her adjoining bedroom, she padded to the kitchen on bare feet in search of the fresh water preserved in the large adobe jarra . From beyond the kitchen in the direction of Stephen’s forbidden offices came the staccato bursts of sobs. Rosemary set aside the dipper, straining to listen for the soft recurring sound that was almost lost in the the vast house.
    She thought she caught the crying again and felt her way through the darkened hallway to the sound’s source, Stephen’s office. Light seeped from beneath one doorway. When her light knock brought no response, she opened the door.
    Shock washed over her like ice-cold water. The sputtering candlelight in the wall sconce flickered on the horsehair sofa opposite the desk. The sofa’s two occupants, their nude bodies