Chapter Thirty-Five

In spite of the women's entreaties that he stay through Christmas, Alvi insisted on leaving. "There are deals to make and people along the road waiting for me," he told them. "I would be selfish to spend my time in the company of two beautiful women while my friends across this lovely land expired for lack of silk scarves and calamata paste."

"But. . ." Carina looked at the low gray clouds. "The weather. . ."

"Means nothing to me. I am the storm and the desert wind."

Amalia had taken a sip of coffee, but now she choked. "Maybe you should be like the desert wind and come around more often."

"Of course, my dear." He glanced at Donovan, standing by the low garden wall. "Your new friend has asked a special commission of me, so I won't delay any more than is strictly necessary."

Both women gave Donovan a puzzled look, but he made a motion as if to say it was unimportant. Now it was Carina's turn to throw her arms around the peddler's neck. "Be safe out there. And if you hear anything. . ."

"Corazón, if I hear so much as a rumor I will have Patrón and Caudillo gallop all the way here so I can give you the news."

"Thank you." She hugged him again.

Donovan shook Alvi's hand. He had given him all his gold that morning and much of his silver, leaving only enough to buy into a poker game next time he was in Macrina. He prayed it was the right call. "See you this summer."

"You will," Alvi assured him. "And you won't be sorry."

While the women exchanged curious looks, the peddler climbed onto the seat of his wagon. Donovan half-expected him to make a flowery speech of some kind, but instead he seemed genuinely sad. "Adiós, my friends. We will meet again soon."

* * *

A few days later, Carina began preparing for Christmas. From out of chests and drawers, she produced a carved nativity, wreaths of willow branches with red ribbon bows, and candles scented with bayberry. She hung Christmas stockings on the wall near the heating stove in the living room, and from under her bed she brought out a box of small dried gourds, painted with Christmas scenes. She fixed Amalia with a serious look. "You'll let me hang these this year, won't you?"

Amalia rolled her eyes. "If you must."

"I think I must."

"How come Amalia doesn't like these?" Donovan asked after she had walked away.

"They bring back memories, and she's always been a little shy about showing her work."

"She made them?" Donovan inspected one of the painted gourds more carefully.

"It was a project she and Mother undertook on our first Christmas after we moved here for good. Amalia has a real talent for artistic things." Carina's eyebrows flickered in annoyance. "I think she should do things like this to sell, or maybe specialize in fancy needlework. People are starved for pretty things, and it's easier than hoeing, but she won't hear of it."

"I wonder why."

"Too many deaths and too much hard work, I suppose."

Their next project was to make Christmas cookies. Amalia protested that they were a waste of sugar, butter and good wheat flour, but Carina found her star and bell-shaped cookie cutters and wouldn't be deterred.

Over dinner that night Carina looked hesitantly at her sister as she picked at a quesadilla. "I was thinking," she said. "It might be nice to go to Mass this year."

Amalia looked at her in disbelief. "We haven't been to Mass in years. Why now?"

"It just seems like a nice thing to do. Get out and see a few of the neighbors, give thanks and all that."

"We can give thanks right here."

"Sing carols."

"You don't want to hear our valley neighbors try to sing, and we've got batteries for the CD player. We can play carols here."

"You know that's not the point. There's just something about going to Mass on Christmas day."

"I'll go with you," Donovan said. "I didn't think you were Catholic, though."

"We're not," Amalia said. "She just likes churches. They give her an excuse to dress up."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"How about you two go do Mass and when you get home I'll have some wassail waiting. That way you can't say I’m never festive."

Carina beamed. "Okay. We'll do presents, too."

Donovan was surprised when Amalia nodded as if she was expecting this. He had thought he was the only one who remembered Christmas presents, since neither woman had mentioned it previously.

Carina turned to Donovan. "I'll find something nice you can wear to church. It'll be fun."

* * *

The sun had not yet cast its first glow over the mountains when Donovan hitched Goneril to the two-wheeled trap, hung a couple of lanterns and brought it around. He was wearing a dark wool suit, a slightly faded blue shirt, and a silk tie, all of which made him feel very elegant.

The kitchen door opened and Carina hurried over in a flounced blue dress with spangles at the hem. She had tied rags in her hair the night before and now it hung in long loose curls, bright against the fading blue velvet of her cloak. She hiked up her skirt and climbed onto the seat.

Donovan slapped the reins on Goneril's back. There was a sturdy wool blanket on the back of the seat and Carina arranged it so that it covered her clothes, including the cape. "You'll want to wrap up," she told Donovan. "Most of the time we don't notice how much dust we get on ourselves, but today. . ."

Donovan stopped the cart and did as he was told, then clucked to Goneril again.

"You're pretty excited, for just going to church.”

"Real opportunities for socializing are kind of limited around here," Carina reminded him. "If we could make a living in town, I'd move there in a second."

"As a veterinarian and an herbalist, I bet you'd do well."

"Macrina already has a veterinarian," Carina said. "Higdon has one, too. Until a couple years ago, the reservation also had one. I can't go moving in on someone else's turf. There wouldn't be enough business to go around, and it might even be considered an act of aggression."

"I see." Donovan set the brake as they started down a hill. "I suppose it's not much different if you want to set up shop as an herbalist?"

"There are amateur herbalists like me and Amalia everywhere. My mother could've done it because she was an expert and had a license, but not us."

"I guess you wouldn't want to go very far from here looking for work?"

"This is the land we know. Besides, with the mail so uncertain I want to stay where Miles can find me when he gets discharged."

"Maybe when he comes back?"

Carina shook her head. "I'm established here. Miles will come home and we'll have a doctor in the valley again. The wars will end and new people will come out here to live, or will come out of hiding and return to the homes they once had. Babies will be born. People will invest in land and businesses." She smiled, her eyes full of confidence at a future full of heightened possibilities. "It can only get better, can't it?"

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