Free Bulletproof Vest by Maria Venegas Page A

tavern. Pascuala a nun? It didn’t make sense. There was something so barricaded about that three-letter word— nun. There was no room to negotiate, or even to argue. It wasn’t like he could challenge a rival to a duel. Who would his rival be? The convent? The priest? God himself? Nun. It was the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end.
    In the following days, he started contemplating something that had never occurred to him, but the more he thought about it, the more obsessed he became with the idea, and not before long, he was making calculations—measuring the distance between town and her home in Santana. On Sundays, after misa, Pascuala, her mother, and her three sisters usually went to visit their tía Nico in town before heading back to Santana—the journey on horseback along those solitary dirt roads took about three hours. That would be the perfect place to take the women by surprise, unless Manuel was with them. If Manuel was with them, things could get complicated. So be it. If it came to blows, he was ready and willing to fight for Pascuala, to the death if need be.
    He picked a date and enlisted Salvador and two of his cousins. There was a tavern two blocks away from Nico’s house, and that’s where he and his men were waiting when the boy he had paid to be the lookout came barreling through the swinging doors, announcing that the women were loading their groceries onto the horses. The men polished off their drinks and headed outside. Everyone knew what to do. They would track the women from a distance, and when they reached the outskirts of town, they would descend upon them, kicking up dust and disorienting them enough so that he could swoop in and claim his bride. He was feeling good, the adrenaline already surging through him, and the minute he was on his horse he dug his spurs into its ribs and pulled back on the reins with such gusto that the horse reared and sent him flying backward. He hit the ground with a thud, smacked his head on a rock, and was knocked unconscious.
    The day finally came when in a fit of desperation he rode his horse out to Santana and right into her courtyard. His parents arrived close behind, already apologizing to Andrea, Pascuala’s mother, from the other side of the gate, saying that the boy had been at a rodeo all day, and had gone home saying that he needed to see Pascuala, that he had to see Pascuala and, well, before they could stop him he was back on his horse and on the way. Andrea invited them in for a cup of tea, and while he sat nodding off on the couch, his parents explained to Andrea that the kids had recently taken a ride on the Ferris wheel and had talked about marriage. Andrea knew nothing about the ride on the Ferris wheel, but she was a firm believer that marriage was not something one should rush into. She suggested they set a six-month plazo, this way her daughter would have time to think things over. His parents agreed, and when they got up to leave, they couldn’t wake him. He was out cold. It was already late, Andrea gave them some spare blankets, and they spent the night in the living room. Though they woke and left before sunrise, Santana and all the nearby ranches were already abuzz with the chismes, the latest gossip—he had slept under her roof.
    His parents were very punctual, and six months later they were back, asking what the girl had decided. To everyone’s surprise, she had said yes. Yes, she would marry that man. They were married a month later in the main cathedral in town. She was seventeen, and she wore a proper white wedding dress and a long white lace veil. He was twenty-one, and the black shoes he wore were so finely polished that the tips were gleaming. After the ceremony, they walked across the plaza to the sprawling house with the pink limestone arches that belonged to Timoteo, Jose’s grandfather. This is where the reception was held, and where they spent their first night together