Free Daughter of Fortune by Carla Kelly

Masferrer’s feet? She should have done
as Margarita insisted and thrown herself on the governor’s mercy.
Perhaps Margarita would have changed her mind in the morning light.
Mama had said she had been changeable as a young girl. Maria
stopped in the road, reluctant to move closer.
    “Come, come,” said Emiliano impatiently.
    She trailed after him to the gate. He called up to
the guards now standing still and watchful on the hacienda’s roof.
One of them waved Emiliano on and the men resumed their slow walk.
Emiliano jangled the bell by the front gate, the noise loud in the
midnight stillness. The crickets in the trees stopped singing, but
the dogs standing by the massive front door began to bay.
    They were enormous dogs, probably descendants of the
first mighty dogs that Cortez had brought in armor from Spain. One
of them bounded to the gate and stuck his jaws through the
grillwork, growling and showing his teeth. Maria drew back, but the
old saintmaker stood there, his hand on the bell.
    “Who is there?” called a voice. Maria straightened,
clutching her dress in tight bunches. It was Diego, and he sounded
angry. She should never have come.
    “It is Emiliano, my lord,” called the Indian.
    Maria could hear several bolts thrown on the other
side of the door.
    “And what do you want, old man?” Diego called, his
voice kinder.
    “I have something for you, Señor, that will not keep
until morning. Something you must have carelessly left behind in
Santa Fe.” For an Indian, Emiliano spoke with great familiarity.
Maria wondered at the relationship between the old man she stood by
and the lord of the hacienda.
    Before Diego opened the door, he called to his dogs.
They bounded to him and crouched by his bare feet, watchful.
    The ranchero had thrown on a robe and was still
tying the sash around his waist. He ran a hand over his curly hair
as he walked toward the gate. Maria shrank into the shadows.
    “What have you for me, old man, that could not wait
until Christians are abroad in the land again?”
    The santero smiled and pulled Maria toward
the open gate.
    “This one, my lord.”
    Diego stared at her. “ Dios mio ,” was all he
said.
    It was enough. Maria flung herself into his arms,
sobbing. Diego put his arms around her, his hand heavy on her hair.
“Thank you, Emiliano.”
    The santero turned to go. “I will return
later.”
    Diego and Maria walked slowly toward the hacienda.
Maria tried to speak, tried to explain, but her face was muffled
against Diego’s robe and she was crying too hard to be understood.
They crossed the galeria slowly and went into the house.
Diego released her and shut the bolts.
    He turned to her then, his face in shadow. Maria
wiped her nose on her sleeve. She dropped slowly to her knees and
held her hands in front of her, palms up. “I throw myself on your
mercy, my lord,” she said.
    Quickly he put his hands under her elbows and jerked
her to her feet. His face was still puffy with sleep, but his eyes
were alive, his color livid. She tried to draw back, but he held
her by the elbows.
    “La Viuda?” was all he could get out.
    Terrified, Maria nodded. “She would not have me,”
she managed to say. She had never seen anyone so angry before.
Maria started to cry again as Diego held her by the elbows.
    Then it was over. He let her go and ran his fingers
through his tousled hair. “Maria chiquita , I am not angry
with you. I am angry at myself.”
    She stopped crying, bending down to dry her face on
her skirt. He continued, his voice weary. “I should never have left
you there. I should have known better. Dios mio, I did know
better!”
    Maria shook her head. His words were not making
sense to her anymore. She needed to sit down, but the room was dark
and she could not see any benches. “Please, Señor, is there a place
to sit?” Diego appeared to be growing and shrinking, moving from
side to side, and again there was that sparkle around her eyes.
    “Of course. My pardon,