Julio scowled and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but he did not dispute her.
“Armando, have a casket built, the best our carpenter can make,” Juanita directed. “Julio, ride to San Pedro and bring back the undertaker. He can do things with the body that we can not.”
“Why me?” Julio objected. “Why not a vaquero?”
Juanita walked over to him and gently cupped his chin. “Because Dar is your father, not theirs. Leave immediately. Bring the undertaker whether he wants to come or not.”
“I will tie him and throw him over a horse if I have to,” Julio vowed. He turned toward the steps, but stopped when their mother said his name.
“One more thing. Ask around while you are there. Find out if any strangers have passed through San Pedro recently.”
“Strangers, mother?”
“Just do as I say.” Her dress rustling, Juanita came toward the doorway, but stopped on seeing Trella. “Are you all right, young one?”
“How can you ask that at a time like this?” Trella could not keep her voice from breaking. She was close to breaking herself, and barely able to hold her tears in check.
“I am going to my room to cry myself out,” Juanita said. “You would be advised to do the same.”
A lump formed in Trella’s throat.
“It is not fitting to weep in front of everyone,” Juanita continued. “We should indulge our misery in private.”
“I will do as I please,” Trella said. But she returned to her room, flying on wings of sorrow. Throwing herself onto her bed, she buried her face in the pillows and cried and cried, a torrent of tears that drained her physically and emotionally. Later, spent, she stared at the same sunlit window she had stared at so sleepily earlier, her world turned topsy-turvy.
My father is dead. Trella let the truth of it seep through her. One of the two people who loved her most in the world was gone. He had been a fine father, always treating her kindly, even when she misbehaved. She remembered many a winter’s evening when she climbed into his lap and he rocked her to sleep in front of the fireplace, and many a summer’s night when they had sat out on the porch contemplating the stars.
Trella would miss him. She had not realized until that instant exactly how much. His had been the strong hand that guided their family. He had been the rock on which they all depended.
More tears came. Trella gave them full release. Afterward, she wiped her nose with her sleeve, not caring if she was a mess. These were special circumstances. She would clean up later.
Trella wondered if Julio was right, if the Circle T was to blame. If so, they must die. All of them. A mental image of Nancy Tovey being shot or hung jarred her. She had always liked Nancy. But if the Toveys were involved, then they had to pay.
Next, Trella considered who would run the DP now that Dar was gone. Steve was the oldest. It would fall on his shoulders. Or would it? Trella asked herself. Her mother had never shown much interest in overseeing the day-to-day operations, but that might change. It was not unheard of, a woman running a ranch.
Trella wished Hijino was there. She had not spoken to him since the other night, but she thought about him often, about how handsome he was, and the sound of his voice, how it stirred her. Most vividly of all, she remembered the feel of his lips on hers. She would very much like to feel those lips again.
A soft sound caused Trella to rise on her elbows. She gave a start when her sister unexpectedly sat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you all right, little one?”
“A stupid question,” Trella flared. Even at a time like this, Dolores treated her like an infant.
“I ask because I care. We need to talk.”
Trella rolled onto her back. Her sister’s face was a wreck, streaked by drying tears. Trella almost giggled at how silly Dolores looked. “What about?”
“We must be strong for Mother’s sake. She will take this hardest of all of us. You and I must tend to matters she normally would, until she is recovered enough to do them herself.”
“Such as?” Trella thought she had some idea, but she wanted to be sure.
“The cooking, the cleaning, the thousand and one things mother oversees. We must take charge of the servants, and not let them disturb her.”
“They’d better not,” Trella said.
“There will not be time to contact our relatives and friends south of the border and have them attend the funeral. It would take weeks for them to get here. We will be the only support mother has.”
“I know that,” Trella peevishly responded.
“You must keep Julio under rein. Have him control that temper of his, and not argue with mother so much.”
“Why me?”
“You have always been closest to him. He will listen to you where he will not listen to me or his older brothers. Talk to him. Make him promise not to do anything rash. We do not want more blood spilled.”
Trella disagreed. “We do if it is the blood of Father’s killer. I am with Julio in that.”
“Do you truly think the rest of us do not want whoever is responsible to be punished? But we must proceed with care. We must be sure before we act.” Dolores bit her lower lip, then said, “Father talked to me before he left. He told me how sad he was over Berto, but that he would not let himself be blinded by anger. He was going to the Circle T to uncover the facts, and he would only act once all the facts were known. We must do the same with his own death. We must not let anger sweep us away.”
“I suppose you are right.”
Dolores smiled and squeezed Trella’s arm. “We have not always gotten along, you and I. We scratch at each other, as sisters will do. But I love you, little one. I love all our brothers, too.”
“And I love you,” Trella said, although it bothered her that once again her sister had referred to her as “little.”
“It is our love that binds us. Our love that will see us through this.” Dolores stood. “I go to see if Mother needs me. Make yourself presentable, and instruct the cook to prepare a light meal. No one will have much of an appetite, but our brothers must be hungry after their long ride.”
“I will take care of it.”
Dolores whisked out. Trella slid her legs off the bed, and moved to the mirror. She recoiled at her reflection. She looked hideous, her face as much a mess as her sister’s. Quickly, she tidied herself, and was about to go to the kitchen when light tapping sounded on her windowpane.
Trella brightened like the sun. She dashed over and opened it, and did not resist when Hijino enfolded her in his strong arms.
“Have you missed me, my love?”
“Perhaps,” Trella said. Then, more sincerely, “If my brothers catch you, they will shoot you.”
“I will only stay a minute. I came to say I am here for you if you need me. You can depend on me for anything. Your slightest wish is mine to carry out.”
“I thank you for your concern.”
Hijino stroked her hair. “I am sorry about your father. It is most terrible.”
The lump returned to Trella’s throat.
“Whoever did it must pay with their life. I will kill them for you, sweet one. I will kill them gladly.”
Trella coughed, and whispered, “Can I see you tonight? After all the others have gone to bed?”
“Under the willow?”
“No. Here. My bedroom.”