"A woman's sole vocation is her husband, her children, and the management of her household," the old matron said sternly. "An education would put false ideas in her head and teach her nothing she can use. I, for one, am proud that we have never had our minds weakened and polluted with book learning."
"Is that all there is for us?" Eléna asked. "All we are good for—bearing babies and baking bread? Was not one of the greatest monarchs in the history of Spain, our beloved Isabella, a woman? Didn't the warrior called Joan of Arc lead the armies of France to victory? Elizabeth of England was on the throne of that cold island when our great and proud Armada was—"
A hard, sharp slap sounded and Eléna cried out in surprise.
"You impertinent girl. I shall advise Don Diego of your unladylike remarks. Like all of us, your place in life has been set by God. If your uncle has not instructed you of that, you will soon learn when you marry and your husband takes the strap to you."
"No man will take a strap to me," Eléna said defiantly.
Another slap, but this time Eléna did not cry out.
Ojalá! Had I been on the seat beside Eléna, I would have slapped that old woman's head off.
"Great Mother, she's only a girl with foolish ideas," the other woman said.
"Then it's time she learned her place as a woman. What kind of wife would she make for Luis with these crazy thoughts racing through her brain?"
"I shall marry whom I please."
Another slap. Dios mio, this girl had heart!
"You are not to speak again unless I speak directly to you. Do you understand? Not one word from you."
At which point Luis emitted a mean, malicious laugh, clearly amused at his bride-to-be's discomfort.
"Don Ramon has instructed me on the handling of a woman," Luis said, "and trust me, my hand will be firm."
I so recoiled at Ramon's name that I almost exposed myself.
"He told me they're like horses," Luis said. "When breaking them in your saddle, he said, do not forget to use your whip."
The older woman laughed, the mother's guffaws segued into a rasping, hacking cough. I had heard that grate before. On the streets they called it "a death rattle." One day she would expectorate blood. Soon after that she would be gone.
If the Dark Diceman cast lots for her soul, the lots would come up coffins.
Eléna's response to their ridicule was blood-chilling silence. What spirit the girl had! If Luis thought to break this one to saddle, he would be bitterly disappointed.
"I've heard from your married cousin that you've been writing poetry, Eléna," the old woman said. "She said it scandalizes the family. When we return you to Don Diego after your visit, I shall discuss this and other matters with him. These strange interests you evince are the devil's idle hands, not God's handiwork. If necessary, I shall whip that devil out of you—personally."
From my vantage point I could see Eléna's foot tapping, tapping, tapping. She seethed under the lecture—but was not one bit cowed.
The side of Luis's boots bore his family's coat of arms, etched in silver: a shield featuring a rose and a knight's steel, mesh glove forming a fist. There was something vaguely familiar about the coat of arms, but many wealthy Spanish possessed them.
The city's cobblestone streets now yielded to the sandy Jalapa road, presently taking us through the dunes and swamps. Even though it was reinforced by timbers, the coach wouldn't follow it for long. The mountain foothills were impassable for anything larger than a donkey cart.
Where the passengers were ultimately headed, I had no idea. They could have been journeying to the City of Mexico for all I knew. Whatever their destination, they would not be continuing by coach. Soon they would choose between mule litter or horseback.
I was just starting to doze off, when the driver yelled down that we were being stopped by soldados.
A moment later one of them said to us, "We are checking all travelers departing the city. A notorious lépero thief has murdered a beloved priest in cold blood. Cut open his stomach and twisted the blade by the looks of it. Apparently, the priest caught him stealing."
Juanita gasped. I could see Eléna's legs stiffen. The heinous accusation put her conscience to the test. The fray's words echoed in my mind: If they catch you, nothing will save you.
"Are you sure he did it?" Eléna asked. She was clearly troubled, even forgetting to follow the old woman's injunction to remain silent.
"Naturalmente. Everyone knows he did it. He has murdered other men before."
Ay caramba! My crimes were growing!
"Will he get a fair trial if you find him?" she asked.
The man laughed. "A trial? He is a mestizo, a half-breed lépero. If the alcalde is merciful, he will not be tortured too severely before execution."
"What does he look like?" Eléna asked.
"The devil himself. Bigger than me, with an ugly face and murderous eyes. Looking into his eyes, you can see the devil grin. And his teeth are like a crocodile's. Oh, he is a mean one, that's for sure."
"But he's just a boy!" Eléna exclaimed.
"Hold on," the soldado told the driver, "a rider on horseback is signaling for you to wait."
I heard the man's horse move away from the coach, and the old matron directed questions at Eléna. "How did you know it was a boy?"
I froze with fear at the question and almost gasped.
"Why I—I heard men talking near the coach when I came out."
"Why do you ask so many questions?"
"I—I was just curious. A lépero boy begged from me while I was waiting for you. After my encounter with the street boy, who knows?"
"I hope you didn't give the lépero money," Juanita said. "Keeping them fed would be the same as feeding the rats who steal our grain."
Horse's hoofs pounded up to the coach.
"Bueno dias, your graces."
"Ramon!" Luis shouted.
"Bueno dias, Don Ramon," said the grandmother.
My blood raced. I almost shot out from under the seat, screaming. The murderer of Fray Antonio was here. Of all the thousands of Ramons on this earth, this one had to haunt me like a shadow wherever I went.
"How goes your hunt?" the old matron asked.
How did she know Ramon was hunting for me?
Ay, I did not have to stick my head out from under the seat to discover the color of the woman's dress. It would be solid ebony without even a hint of white lace at the cuffs. A crone who wore widows weeds as a badge of honor—and authority.
Now I remembered where I had seen the coat of arms on Luis's boots—on the woman-in-black's coach door. I had escaped into the hands of my pursuers.
"He will not get out of the city," Ramon said. "I have offered a hundred pesos for his capture. We will have him dead by sunset."
"Dead? But what of a trial?" Eléna asked.
I heard a slap. Again, Eléna refused to cry out.
"I ordered you to be silent, girl. Do not speak unless spoken to. But if you must know, mestizos have no rights under the law. Ramon, send word to the hacienda the minute you know something. We will be there a few days before we leave for the capital. Come yourself when you have good news."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Good news" would be news of my death.
The coach moved on. Behind me a killer was leading a city-wide search to find and kill me. Ahead of me was a hacienda where the killer would come when he couldn't find me in the city.
THIRTY-SIX
The coach rumbled on for two hours. From their talk I realized we were still on the Jalapa road. They had closed the wooden windows and put nosegays on to ward off the miasma swamp that causes the dread fever.
The grandmother gratefully slept.
Juanita tried to sleep but was continually awakened by her consumptive death rattle.