Part Two, Chapter Twenty-Nine

It seemed incredible that it should be such a fine autumn day. Carina sat with her sister on the seat of the two-wheeled gig, gazing in wonderment at the bright landscape around her. Funerals were so final, appropriate for a day with low scudding clouds, not this brilliant blue sky framed by poplars slowly turning from green to gold. Even the prairie dogs didn’t seem to know it was a funeral day. They poked their heads out of their holes and watched the gig and wagon go by as if they were attending a parade.

Carina focused on Cordelia’s nodding head and steady gait. When that bored her, she picked out sheep in Peterson’s far pasture and looked for alpacas as they passed the Torres farm. Maybe this would be a good time to suggest alpacas to Amalia again. She darted a look at her sister, who had been more than indulgent. The Torres family always needed money or trade goods in order to support their many children. Surely they had a weanling or two they could part with. She would ask. A new project would be a welcome distraction.

As they approached the church, they saw that the wagon lot was full, as was the empty dirt field beside it. It didn't take a regular churchgoer to realize that this was more than the usual turnout for Sunday Mass in the valley. "Joaquin said he'd make sure the groundskeeper kept a spot open for us," Amalia said.

Sure enough, as they pulled in they noticed the gardener standing guard over a couple of empty spots near the building. They pulled in, and while Donovan gave the man a tip, Amalia helped Carina from the gig. Just as they were about to go inside, they were approached by a wizened old man who Carina recognized as a sharecropper on the vast Estrada ranch. She had once treated his only milk goat for thrush and refused payment out of her disgust for the way the Estradas abused their laborers. Carina held her breath. Would she have to accept pity from this man? To her relief, he merely took off his hat. "Bendígale, Señora."

It was just a blessing. Carina took his hand in gratitude. "Gracias, amigo."

It was the same inside. Everywhere Carina looked were people she knew. They smiled at her, but not in a pitying, condescending way. They each had a few words for her, not about bravery or sacrifice, but simple words of appreciation for all she had done for them. They were words that said they stood by her as friends, as the people who loved her. Carina had arrived with her insides in knots, but slowly the tightness in her body melted. She lifted her head and found she could smile at these people. They cared, and that made them the best people in the world.

Joaquin performed the Mass without any mishaps Carina could see, and she was touched when he gave a special homily on the ultimate meaninglessness of death. The words seemed too mature for young Joaquin, but he spoke them with all appearance of sincerity, so what did it matter if some wiser man had probably coached him?

Then the Mass was over and Joaquin asked that all who wished should accompany them to the cemetery. Amalia had requested a brief graveside ceremony with no frills and no long processional of the coffin up the hill, so it was a simple group that assembled outside. Joaquin led the way, followed by Carina and the family. Neighbors filed in at random in a long line that wound up the hill, through the cemetery gates and to the family's plot, where they gathered as close as they could.

The coffin had already been placed near the waiting grave, and although chairs had been set out for Carina, Amalia and the children, Carina preferred to stand. Out of solidarity, the rest of the family did, too, and offered their seats to the most elderly of their neighbors.

Joaquin went to the head of the coffin, sprinkled a bit of holy water and began reading, but Carina wasn't listening. She thought about the dreams she had associated with this man, all the feelings and hopes of a youth she had wasted in waiting. It had been for nothing, but to her surprise, it wasn't painful to prod those recollections. Either she was numb, or she had already started moving beyond the place where it hurt. There was still work to do, after all. Unless she planned on jumping into that hole with him, she had to keep going. What she was really burying were her ideals, and the world wouldn't stop for the death of her fantasies.

Unconsciously she reached a hand toward her throat, where she still wore Donovan's blue necklace hidden beneath her high collar. It was like wearing her foolish notions against her skin as a reminder not let them lead her astray. She cast a fond look at Donovan, standing with the other men who would help lower the coffin when the ceremony was over. He was handsome in his new black suit, even though its fashionable cut made him look out of place among the simple ranchers. Well, he was out of place. Try as he might, he would never fit in.

Joaquin finished speaking and looked at Carina and Amalia to see if there was anything else they wanted. This was the time when people came forward to share their memories of the deceased, but no one other than the sisters had known him. Amalia squeezed Carina's hand and looked at her, a question in her eyes. Carina shook her head. Enough words had been said. Amalia motioned for Joaquin to continue, and after a few more words he directed the men in lowering the pine box into the ground.

The wind picked up, fluttering the sisters' skirts around their calves as they came forward. Carina stooped to pick up a handful of the desert earth, waited a moment for the wind to die down, then dropped it in. She had thought she would be moved at the finality of this act, but oddly, it was just a job, like any of the other tasks she did each day. Amalia bent down, gathered some dirt and did the same. Then they stepped back and let the others come forward. It seemed to take forever for everyone to file past.

Finally it was done and people began wandering down the hill. Amalia went to the other graves in their family plot, picking up small stones and placing them on the headstones. Carina knew she should do the same out of respect for her parents and Alan, whose marker but not his body lay here, but she had done as much as she could for one day. She needed to go down the hill and rejoin the living.

Amalia and Donovan had paid Joaquin to arrange a reception, and kind neighbors had brought additional food to share, as was the custom in these difficult times. Carina walked into the hall and allowed herself to be led to the refreshment table. Although the pies, cakes and breads looked good, she took only a cup of coffee. Then she sat down and neighbors came over one by one or in pairs. Carina accepted their attention graciously, but quickly turned any conversation to the topic of their animals. "How is Baru-- did that limp clear up? Did your guinea ever start laying again?" And when the Torres patriarch wandered over, "Are you looking to sell any alpacas?"

* * *

Amalia, standing off to one side with Donovan, watched her sister closely.

"You don't think she's overdoing?" Donovan asked. "Maybe we should cut this short and take her home."

"Let her decide. She looks like she's handling things all right."

"I'm just thinking of Jonasville and all those people who tired her out."

"This isn't Jonasville," Amalia reminded him. "You worry too much about her."

"It's a habit I got into, I guess."

Amalia turned away, not entirely satisfied with his answer. To distract herself, she scanned the room, looking for the children. Tasha was in a corner playing a game with Jimmy Montoya and one of the Torres girls, but where was Will?

"I think I saw him sneak outside with Diana," Donovan said, reading her thoughts.

"Probably to debate the merits of every horse and mule out there. Those two can talk animals almost as long as Carina can."

"Maybe instead of a valley medical clinic, she should be thinking of opening a valley veterinary school."

"That's not a bad idea. I might mention it to her. We'll need someone to look after the animals if she marries Alvi."

Donovan started. "Why would she do that?"

"Oh, I'm just joking. He's not her type. But he did ask her while you were in Jonasville, or didn't she tell you?"

"I knew something happened between them," Donovan said darkly. "I wasn't sure exactly what."

"He's always pretty fervent in his devotion to her, so I'm not really surprised, but it was in very bad taste to ask when he did. It's a crazy notion. What can a peddler offer her?"

"He’s a federal spy, Amalia. The peddling is a cover."

"You can't be serious. Our Alvi?"

Donovan nodded. "He makes a lot of money at it, too."

"Then perhaps he does have something to offer," Amalia said thoughtfully. "Not that I would want her to leave, but if he could give her a house in town and some measure of security..."

"You said he wasn't her type," Donovan reminded her. "Besides, she told him no."

"I was just thinking out loud, but you're right, it's totally ludicrous."

Next>>
<<Previous