Chapter Eighteen

After traversing the center of town, Donovan and Amalia turned onto a residential street. It was peaceful after the bustle of the main drag, but there was something close and mysterious about it, too. The houses were ramshackle, the lights faint and few, the trees too twisted against the darkening sky to make anything about this dirt road with its crumbling sidewalks feel homelike. Shadows darkened and elongated across the road, and by the time they had passed the third house, the darkness had engulfed nearly everything in their path. It was with relief that Donovan saw Amalia turn Goneril in the direction of a gate, hardly distinguishable from the others with its splintering wooden posts. They walked their animals into a dusty courtyard of cracked and missing tiles, almost artistic in its placement of broken planters and dead potted trees.

Amalia swung herself down from her jenny, tossed the reins over a post and helped Donovan off his mount. His brace squeaked as he followed Amalia to the door of the seemingly deserted house. Amalia jerked a string by the side of the door and from somewhere inside, a bell jangled. There was no response at first, then they heard at the door as someone fumbled with the locks, then the door opened a crack.

"Who is it?"

Amalia's lips curled down in annoyance. "It's me, Magda. Amalia Channing."

The door opened a little and Donovan could see a pale face rimmed with a mass of dark hair. "Who's the man with you?"

"His name is Donovan Sloan. He's a friend."

"And how do I know that?"

"Because I'm telling you so. For Christ's sake, let us in. What the hell is that you have on? And where's your grandmother?"

The door swung open to reveal a young woman standing in the dim light of an oil lamp, dressed in a stiff red gown, her neck and arms dripping with gold chains and charms. The dress was too tight for her pudgy body, but she wore it as though the bulges and straining seams were the height of fashion. She stood back to let Amalia and Donovan enter, glaring from under kohl-blackened lids. "My grandmother is resting," she said. "She wasn't expecting you. It's been so long, she was beginning to think the raiders got you." She turned an imperious gaze upon Donovan. "Maybe they have."

"Cut the crap," Amalia said. "All we want is to see Mother Reyes, get my ration books and go. Your grandmother is still alive, right? You haven't suffocated her with a pillow so you can get your inheritance early?"

Magda widened her eyes in mock horror as she shut the heavy door behind them, so many rings glittering on her fingers that she could barely lift her hands. "I don't know how you can say such a thing. I guess being out there in the country dries you up and makes you bitter." Without waiting for a return comment, she led the way across the tiled floor, wobbling in her stilettos, to another heavy door, this one of finely carved oak set in a freshly plastered wall decorated at the top in a blue native design. With a smile that was all confection and pretense, she said, "You'll see for yourself how well I care for Nana."

They entered a sitting room so richly furnished and bright with electric lamps that one didn't notice at first that it was small. The plastered walls were decorated with the same blue trim as in the previous room and a fire blazed in a rounded fireplace in one corner. Paintings and Indian rugs hung on the walls, and thick-pile woven rugs of a strange design lay scattered over the tiled floor. The dark wood and leather furniture looked too stiff to be more than decorative, but in a concession to comfort, there was a mound of tasseled pillows in front of the fireplace. Perched on one of the pillows was a tiny wren of a girl who watched the strangers with glittering eyes.

"Hello, Cruz," Amalia said. Her words were affectionate, even if her tone was not. "You've grown so big since I last saw you."

The girl rose warily and brushed down the skirt of her ruffled dress. Like Magda, she was weighted down with jewelry. She stared silently at Amalia for a moment, then fixed her gaze on Donovan. "Who are you?"

"He's Mrs. Channing's bodyguard," Magda said, crossing the room in quick strides and opening another door. "He's here to make sure Nana doesn’t short Mrs. Channing any of her ration coupons because you know they're terribly poor out there in the country, without a thing to eat but tumbleweeds and cow manure."

"Oh, for God's sake." Amalia sighed and followed her into a hallway with Donovan close behind.

They walked to a door at the end of the hall, which Magda opened after a perfunctory rap. "Nana," she said,"It's that friend of yours." The way she spat the word "friend," she could've been talking about rats. "She seems to have brought a friend of her own with her."

Amalia and Donovan stepped into a bright room full of blond wood furniture and decorated with framed photos and religious pictures. In the bed, looking lost amid the white sheets and colorful quilts, was a white-haired old woman, frail and wan, but with startling blue eyes that lit up at the sight of her guests. "Amalia!" she said, pushing herself up in bed and holding out her gnarled hands. "Come here, dear. I've been so worried."

Amalia took the woman's hands in her own for a moment, but then gave the woman a hug instead. "Mother Reyes, it's so good to see you."

"Good to see you too, mi hijita. Stand back and let me have a look at you."

Amalia submitted to the old woman's clucks and nods as she took in her short hair, boots, heavy work pants, and checked cotton shirt stained with the dirt and sweat of a day working the market. "You still dress and cut your hair too much like a man."

A haughty sniff indicated Magda's approval of this remark.

"But you look healthy. You get enough to eat?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Then you won't need your ration books," Magda grumbled.

The older women ignored her. "Do you still read?" Mother Reyes asked.

"Yes, I'm reading Robinson Crusoe with Carina, and the Bible every night before I go to sleep."

This last surprised Donovan and it must have shown on his face because both women turned toward him. "And who is this nice-looking young man?"

Amalia motioned him forward. "This is Donovan Sloan. He works on our farm now."

Mother Reyes took one of Donovan's hands. "I'm glad to know the girls have a little help. A farm is too much work without a man."

"He can't be much help with that thing on his leg," murmured a voice from the doorway.

"He manages well enough," Amalia said. Her eyes met the old woman's and flashed her a wink so quick that Donovan would've thought he was imagining it if he hadn't caught the slight change in Mother Reyes' tone.

"I bet he does," she said. Before Magda could make another caustic remark, Mother Reyes looked at her. "Magda, dear, I'm sure your daughter could use a little company. You should never leave a child alone with a fire."

Magda pouted. "Cruz is fine. And besides, Laura is out there. Somewhere." She turned on one of her sharp heels and flounced away. Amalia shut the bedroom door behind her. "So how are you really?" she asked, sitting beside the bed. "I can't believe you've put up with her attitude for so long. I thought she would've run away by now, or that you would've kicked her out for the sake of your own sanity."

The old woman put a cautionary finger to her lips and motioned for Donovan to pull up a chair. "Let's talk softly. I don't put it past her to listen at the door."

Amalia took one of Mother Reyes' hands in her own. "Can't you find someone else to take care of you? I know you can afford to pay."

"Yes, I still employ Laura, and I assign her to do most of the cooking and cleaning. Magda doesn't do much at all except go through my closets and jewelry boxes, trying to wear everything at once."

"Will Kevin not take her back? You don't need so much anger and negativity around here."

"Kevin doesn't need it either, I'm afraid." Mother Reyes sighed. "And I can hardly turn my daughter's only child out into the street. She and my great-granddaughter are all I have left."

"You have friends, Mama. Friends can be as good as family."

Mother Reyes winked at Donovan. "Doesn't that sound more like something Carina would say?"

"It sure does." When he saw Amalia bite her lip in annoyance, he added, "She's feeling happy. It was a good day at the market."

Mother Reyes patted Amalia's hands. "We need more good days for you, then. You used to be such a chipper little thing."

"Okay, okay…"

Sensing her embarrassment, the woman changed the subject. "How is your sister? I have a couple letters from Miles for her."

"Good. She'll like that."

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