When a neighbor's or a cousin's husband traveled, she would come to stay at the ranch for a week or even several weeks, to compare letters and gossip, do needlework and talk about her family. A woman had no status in the real world except as someone's wife. It was only in the company of other women that she became a person with authority and privilege. Daughters imitated their mothers and older sisters until they were able to reproduce the same manners, the same habits, the same kind of friendships.
Sometimes Addie sought out Ben just for the sheer pleasure of being able to argue and let out her frustration, and he always obliged her. He would debate anything with her, holding nothing back and talking to her without the polite condescension other men used when speaking to a woman. It was a relief to be treated like a human being, even if Ben was sarcastic and insulting. Their arguments had become private conspiracies, conducted behind the others' backs. Her battles with him would have been stopped, one way or another, had anyone else been aware of them, and Addie didn't want that. In a way, Ben had become her safety valve.
She still knew little about him, despite the amount of time they spent near each other. Ben escorted Addie and Caroline to town, found a few minutes to spend with Russell and Addie as they watched the busting of a horse, and brought the young cowboy with the pink silk stitches in his forehead up to the house in order to thank Addie personally for what she had done. Ben also escorted Addie to the Double Bar on the mornings that she went to meet with Jeff. Occasionally she was prompted by a sixth sense to tum around, and she would find Ben standing close by, watching her like a cat after a mouse, looking for God knew what.
Addie stood in the parlor, pushing aside the lace curtains just an inch and looking out at the steps of the veranda. Night had almost fallen. From the next room came the clatter of plates being cleared from the table and the murmur of voices. A bulky figure sat on one of the steps outside, his back to her, his hands busy with the task of rolling a cigarette with tobacco and a com husk. The Mexican named Diaz. She wanted badly to go out and talk to him, but she had no idea of what she would say, what she would ask. Why was he just sitting there? It looked as if he were waiting for something.
As she stood there, he turned his head slowly and looked at her through the window, his wrinkled brown face illuminated by the last rays of sunset. Their eyes met, and Addie held her breath. She saw something in his eyes, an awareness that made her almost lightheaded. He knew her. He looked at her as if he knew her, and about the fact that she wasn't Adeline Warner. She was almost certain he did. Agitation hummed through her veins.
"What are you looking at?"
She whirled around at the sound of Ben's voice. He was leaning against the doorframe, his long legs crossed.
"Nothing," she said sharply, dropping the window curtain. Ben smiled lazily and walked over to the window, glancing outside. Diaz was facing outward again, silhouetted against the darkening sky.
"Diaz-interesting old character," Ben mused.
"Can't work worth a damn, but his stories are so good we had to hire him on. He's worth his weight in gold on a trail drive."
"I didn't ask for your opinion." Suddenly Addie made up her mind and walked out of the room, brushing past Ben on her way to the front door. He tucked his hands in his pockets and followed her.
When she walked across the veranda, Diaz turned his head and smiled slightly, nodding his head at her.
"Mr. Diaz," she said nervously, clasping her hands and wringing them together. His eyes were so bleak she could see her reflection in them. "Mind if I sit with you for a minute?"
"Of course. Please." As he gestured for her to do as she wished, she saw that his face was kind. He was a grizzled old cowboy, his skin darkened by years of working in the sun, his gray hair flattened from having worn a hat all day. His body was squat and solid, slightly paunched, but undeniably hardy. Hands that were rough and strong from hard work rested on his knee as he sat with his feet propped on the steps.
Silently she sat down beside him, locking her arms around her knees, heedless of the damage the rough steps might be doing to the fabric of her dress. Ben went to lounge near the bottom of the stairs, pretending not to notice Addie's obvious desire for him to leave.
"There's something I'd like to discuss with you," she said to Diaz, and stopped in confusion. She didn't know how to continue. What exactly did she hope to learn from him? What was it that Leah had said about him? He had his own ideas about such things. Everyone used to love to hear his stories. He could predict the future … he could make the craziest things seem natural. …
Diaz smiled as if he could read her thoughts, picking up a short hemp rope near his feet and coiling it carefully. "Look at that sky," he said, gesturing with the tail of the rope. "So clear you can see every star. Nights like this get me to thin kin '. Folks looked at those same stars a hundred years ago, prob'ly thought the same things 'bout 'em as we do. And a hundred years from now, they'll still be lookin' at 'em. The stars never change."
"You sound kind of superstitious," Addie said hesitantly.
"Superstitious? Yes, ma'am. I've seen and heard of things that'd make any man in his right mind superstitious. "His voice was heavily flavored with a Texas drawl.
As she looked at him, there was an awakening of hope inside her heart that wouldn't be quelled. The understanding she sensed in him was not the result of wishful thinking. If there was such a thing as intuition, then hers was prompting her to ask some questions. He had some answers. She would stake her life on it.
"So you believe that things can happen that don't make any sense? Things that sound like they belong in a storybook?"
"Of course. I've seen a lotta miracles in my lifetime. Trouble is, most people don't see 'em for what they are." Noticing the cynical twist of Ben's mouth, the older man smiled. "That one, there," he said, pointing to Ben, "he's one of those. He'll try to explain away miracles if he can't figger 'em out."
"But that doesn't mean miracles don't happen," Addie said, and Diaz smiled at her.
"Well, y'see-"
He was interrupted by Ben's jeering laugh. "Whatever it means, I know one thing. It doesn't do anyone any good to believe in hocus-pocus like miracles and little elves-"
"We're not talking about elves," Addie said, irritated by his interruption. "And if you want to talk about them with Mr. Diaz, come back later, but for now I'm having a private conversation with him, and if you're not going to leave, you can at least keep quiet."
Ben grinned, standing up and dusting off the seat of his Levi's. Clearly he thought she was indulging in a flight of fancy, and he was far from interested in hearing about it. "All right. I'll leave you two to discuss your hocus-pocus. I've got a guitar to restring."
Addie watched him stride away, her gaze troubled, and then she sighed. "I have a question. It sounds too silly to talk about with him listening. It's a question about time. "
"Time? That's somethin' I don't pretend to know much about, Miss Adeline." He smiled. "'Cept it goes too fast, an' I sure do like to waste it."
"I've been thinking about things that happen to people in the past and whether or not it would be possible to… well, to go back and change things."
"That'd be a miracle, all right. A big one."
"Do you think time could work that way?" She flushed as she realized how silly she must sound.
Diaz did not seem to be surprised by the question. "Do you think it works that way, Miss Adeline?"