Free Sun God by Nan Ryan Page B

envelope.
Auntie Meg,
    Is it as hot in New Orleans as it is on Orilla? I hope not, because I’m sure the kind of summer we are having would kill all your beautiful begonias.
    Oh, Auntie, it seems ages since I left New Orleans. So much has happened! Can you keep a secret? I know you can, and you must! For a while at least.
    Remember me telling you about how Tonatiuh always ignored me and acted as though he was much older than I, when in fact there is only a year’s difference between us?
    Well, all that’s changed. And he has changed! He’s a man now and so handsome it takes your breath away.
    Aunt Meg, we’re in love! Isn’t it wonderful? I’ve never been so happy before, but please don’t tell Daddy. You know Daddy, he would say we’re too young and don’t know what we want. But we do. We want each other.
    I’ve told no one and neither has Tonatiuh. Everyone here thinks we are just friends and that’s best for now.
    I must close. Pedrico is leaving for Sundown and I want him to post this for me. Besides, it is almost time for Tonatiuh and me to ride up to Sunset River. We go there every afternoon to swim.
    I miss you so much! Come home to Texas and Orilla where you belong!
    Your loving niece,
    Amy
    Smiling, Margaret lowered the letter. Carefully she refolded it and placed it back in its envelope. She climbed the stairs to her bedroom, crossed the deep-rose rug to the set of white louvered doors giving onto the small back balcony. She pulled the doors open and drew a deep breath of the heavy, moist air.
    She turned and placed the letter atop her rosewood writing desk, then picked it up again. She sat down, took out the letter and read it, then read it once more. She stopped smiling.
    Pressing the letter to her breasts, her blue eyes clouded with worry. Should she immediately write Walter and warn him to keep a closer eye on Amy? No. It wouldn’t be fair to Amy to reveal the secret she had shared. Besides, it was probably nothing more than a girlish infatuation born of the long separation between the two children.
    And, should it prove to be a serious, lasting relationship, it might be the best thing. From what Walter said, there was no finer man than Don Ramon Quintano, no better-mannered, harder-working boy than Luiz.
    Margaret Sullivan hoped she was doing the right thing in keeping quiet. Amy’s happiness was all that mattered. God knew she did not want Amy’s life to turn out like her own.
    Cold, solitary Christmas Eves while everyone gathered with their families. Sultry summer nights alone in a bed meant for two. Bleak Sunday afternoons that stretched on endlessly. Sudden tropical storms blowing up out in the Gulf, and where were the sheltering arms to protect her?
    Alone. Always alone. Eating, sleeping, laughing, crying.
    Margaret Sullivan had grown used to it, and she didn’t mind anymore. But she wanted better for Amy. Amy must have all the happiness she herself had missed. A full, rewarding life that a woman could not hope for without a husband. Her own faithful, loving husband.
    Only hours after Baron Sullivan had seen Amy and Luiz ride away from the ranch that July afternoon, he went in search of his father. He found Walter Sullivan in the upstairs library behind his pine desk. He was not alone. Don Ramon sat across from him. Baron stiffened when he saw the don sitting calmly smoking a long brown cigar as he looked over an Orilla account book. It had never sat well with Baron that Orilla was co-owned by the Spaniard. He’d heard the story, many times, of how the don had come to his father with the proposition: “I divert my water, you share your land.”
    Baron thought Walter Sullivan had gotten the short end of the deal. He should have claimed Quintano’s water and kept all the land. It rankled Baron that the green-eyed Spaniard and his half-breed Indian son considered themselves his equal. As far as he was concerned, they were not and would never be.
    Walter Sullivan looked up when his oldest son