Chapter Nineteen

While Amalia and Mother Reyes talked about farm animals and economic matters, Donovan looked around the small bedroom, paying attention to the little things—the rosary and glass of water on the nightstand, the lace runner on the dresser and the little bottles and framed photos that were arranged on top of it. The photos were of a man in the stiff-looking suit and tie of long ago, a pretty, laughing woman, a black-haired little girl with a mischievous smile, and a fuzzy snapshot of two young mothers with their children. This was the picture Donovan wanted to look at more closely, and he stood up.

"Amalia's mother and I were great friends," Mother Reyes said, seeing what had caught his interest. "So were our girls."

"My parents had a summer home just outside of town," Amalia said. Her tone was oddly clipped, as if each word carried a price. "We came here every year during school vacations. Our parents wanted us to get used to the land in case the worst happened. Regina was our best friend and was Magda's mother."

Donovan nodded. Asking what had happened to Regina seemed like dangerous territory. "Your family doesn't have a house in town any more."

"No. My father sold it when the war with Iran began."

"A smart move," Mother Reyes added. "Things were crazy here for awhile. Soldiers, shortages, riots…"

"We were hardly immune," Amalia reminded her. "We still had to come to town for supplies."

"Of course." Mother Reyes patted Amalia's arm and Donovan remembered that Carina had said their father died in a food riot. "But at least your family and your livelihood weren't in daily danger, and that was what your father wanted."

"Yes," Amalia said in a tone that sounded unconvinced. She stretched her arms overhead and pretended to yawn. "I hate to cut this short, Mama, but we're pasturing at Cortina's tonight and we need to go while there's still a chance we can hitch a ride back into town."

"Your letters and ration books are where they always are, love." The woman fumbled with the drawer of her nightstand. Amalia reached over to help. Inside she found a stack of envelopes clipped together and marked with her name. She flipped through them, pulled out the ration books and did a cursory check for missing coupons.

"I apologize for my granddaughter's behavior tonight," Mother Reyes said.

"It's a tough world," Amalia said.

"Not for her, it isn't. I give her everything she needs, and more. The world may be mean, but that doesn't mean she should be. I've told her. . ."

Amalia's face softened and she gave Mother Reyes a hug. "Don't worry about it, Mama. I'm way too old to care what a teenager thinks of me."

Mother Reyes looked away, ashamed nonetheless.

"I’m more worried about you than about her," Amalia went on. "Are you getting everything you need? I wanted to bring you something tonight but I had no idea what you might want."

"You're sweet to offer," Mother Reyes said, clutching Amalia's hand. "But your mother would haunt me from her grave if I took anything more from you. She'll probably haunt me anyway for letting Magda keep Carina's ration books. I should be giving them to the church to help feed and medicate the poor."

"Well, as Regina's comadres, we promised to help look after Magda if anything should happen. You know that."

"Like that little ingrate needs your help. Some days I'm tempted to cut her off entirely, let her see what the world is like when you don't have Grandma and generous comadres to pay for every little whim."

"That's between you and her." Amalia kissed Mother Reyes on her thin cheek. "We've got to get going."

"Will I see you again soon? Next month's market, maybe?"

Amalia exchanged guilty glances with Donovan. "We thought we might send Donovan alone next time," she admitted.

The old woman smiled on Donovan. "If you come, you'll be just as welcome as Amalia and Carina have always been." She fumbled for his hand.

Donovan started to shake her hand, but then gave her frail body a quick embrace instead. "Thank you, Mother Reyes. I'm looking forward to seeing you again."

"And I'm looking forward to seeing you too, young man. Take care of my girls for me, you hear?"

* * *

The road out of town was lit only by a few dim stars on this hazy night. Amalia pulled a small battery-powered light out of her donkey's saddlebag and stuck it through a loop on the animal's bridle that until now Donovan hadn't been able to guess the purpose of. This provided a little shaky light on the path ahead of them. As they rode quietly through the town's outskirts Amalia was silent and Donovan was reluctant to intrude on her private thoughts.

Cortina's place was a ranch on the derelict west side of town. Tonight one of his sons was minding the operation. "I didn't expect you so late, Ms. Channing." He took hold of the bridle so Amalia could dismount.

She swung a leg over the saddle and jumped to the ground. "We had to make a stop and it took longer than we thought."

"Ain't that the way of it?" He handed off the jenny to a little boy, then went to help Donovan. "You'll be wanting a rubdown and pasture tonight for these animals. Anything else? Oats? Alfalfa?"

"No, pasture and grooming is enough.We'll probably leave day after tomorrow."

While the boy took the animals away to be curried, Martin made a few calculations on a piece of ledger paper. After examining it, Amalia nodded and handed him some coins. "Any wagons heading back to town that you know of?"

The man shook his head. "I'm sure if you wait long enough, someone will come by."

They waited at the gate for several minutes before Amalia turned on her flashlight. "Come on," she said. "We'll probably encounter someone along the way." She cast a doubtful look at his leg. "You can still walk a little, can't you?"

"Sure," Donovan said, although he was anything but certain he could hold up the entire way. Luckily after only a quarter of a mile they found a man on the side of the road, digging a stone out of the hoof of one of his mules.

"I can take you into town," the man offered. "But not to the market itself, and only if my mule don't start limping again. I don't want to be unfriendly but. . ."

"Of course not," Amalia said. "We wouldn't want to add to the load of an animal that's hurt."

The man flapped the reins and clucked to his team. The mules pulled against the traces and the wagon jerked forward. Two miles later, he dropped them off in the center of town and went on his creaking way. "Come on," Amalia told Donovan with a tug at his sleeve, but Donovan hesitated, sniffing the air. He was hungry and this time his stomach wouldn't be denied.

"Why don't we get us a bite to eat at that restaurant? My treat." When he saw the hesitation in Amalia's eyes he added, "We haven't eaten since lunch. What are we going to do? Go back to camp and wake everyone up cooking?"

"I had thought we'd just eat leftovers."

"When we can eat a hot meal in a restaurant instead?"

"We're here to make money, not spend it."

"I've got a little cash of my own. Let me treat you. It's the least I can do after all that you've done for me."

Amalia shook her head. "If you want to go in and get something, that's your business. I'll wait out here."

Donovan's stomach growled and he grabbed Amalia's hand. "When was the last time a man asked you out to dinner?"

Amalia was so surprised by this tactic that she had no answer ready.

"That's what I thought." Donovan put a hand on the back of her waist and guided her toward the scent of cooking food.

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