Part Two, Chapter Fifteen

After the ceremony, Donovan tried to get Carina to go with him to town to help him buy some things for the family, but she claimed a monstrous headache and wanted to hole up in their motel room and rest. So he went to the shopping district alone.

It was a busy place, not unlike Macrina in its combination of shops and street vendors, but here no one pretended to be poor. The Feds were diligent about both tax collection and crime control, so a show of poverty would have been useless. Due to the moderate wave of prosperity brought by the railroad, everyone with something to sell wanted to stand out. The result was several blocks of shiny windows, freshly painted signs and inviting displays. In the breezy afternoon, license certificate ribbons and patriotic flags fluttered from the street vendors' stalls. Criers stood on corners hawking news, passing out advertisements and directing people to specialty stores. It seemed there wasn’t a shop window that didn't feature flags, eagles and slogans in big letters and bright colors. Everything was quite brazenly for sale and Donovan was dazzled.

He found a shop that specialized in children's clothing and selected a few ready-made items for Will and Tasha. He went to a general dry goods store that offered free deliveries, and from a list he had memorized for Amalia, ordered cloth, needles, thread, ribbon, buttons, and dye. On impulse, still thinking enviously of Alvi's smart turnout that morning, he went into a haberdasher's and tried a few things on. He agonized over the price, but paid anyway, then went back out to the street and mingled with the crowds until he found a pocket to pick. It wasn't much, but it would help. He bought some tacos from a street vendor and sat in a park to eat them, watching the people go by.

He marveled that since coming to town, no one had challenged him about his draft status. The leg brace and being in the company of Alvi no doubt helped. But now that he was alone in broad daylight, he couldn’t help noticing a few puzzled glances as he went about his business. Still, they let him be. Maybe it was the black suit he was still wearing from the morning's service. Mourners retrieving their dead were a big part of the local economy. Funny how it hadn't occurred to him that this would be a perfect cover. Who would expect to find a deserter walking the streets of a federal town, and who would dare harass a crippled man in mourning?

With these thoughts, he found a cheaper clothing store than the haberdasher's and bought himself some black pants, a couple of dark shirts and a black jacket and hat. Then he picked another pocket, a better one this time, and was ready to finish his shopping.

He went inside the best ready-made ladies' store he could find and bought Amalia some pants and shirts for farm work, a skirt she could wear with either one of the shirts and a lilac dress trimmed in black that would be appropriate for Miles' funeral. He had to pay to have the items delivered to the hotel, but that was okay.

His final stop was a bakery that also sold confections. Here he bought big boxes of chocolate for Amalia and Carina, and smaller boxes for the children. Remembering the way the dessert the night before had sparked Carina's appetite, he also bought a dozen brownies, and when the baker threw in an extra one free, he fished it out and ate it as he wandered the streets, trying to remember which was the quickest way toward the cab stand.

Suddenly something in a display window caught his eye. He stepped around a woman cajoling her cranky toddler and took a closer look. It was a deceptively simple necklace— merely a few blue beads strung on a collar-length silver chain. But the beads! Donovan had never seen anything so intensely blue before. The one in the center was like a teardrop flanked by smaller round stones which decreased in size on either side until they became the same size as the tiny links of the chain itself. Although the gems weren't faceted, they had been polished until they seemed to glow with an inner light, impossibly beautiful, impossibly blue. He reached a hand in his pocket. He still had one gold piece, a couple of silvers, a federal bill and a few federal coins. In Macrina, that would get him a long way, but money didn't buy as much in Jonasville. Well, it never hurt to ask.

* * *

It took two hours for him to drum up the cash he needed. Long enough get nervous that the chocolates in his bag might melt. Long enough to worry his luck wouldn't hold and he might find himself in a hairy situation. Finally he hit the jackpot when he found an old man dozing in a church pew. Who would be on the lookout for a pickpocket in church?

In short order the blue necklace was his. He even had enough money left over to find a store that sold scotch whiskey. He hired a bicycle rickshaw and went back to the motel, exhausted and only now remembering that he hadn't slept the night before. Well, it had been worth it.

When he got to his room, he found that most of his purchases had already been delivered and were piled on the sofa. He wondered if the delivery boys had disturbed Carina, or if someone from the front office had let them in. Not that it mattered much, but he had hoped Carina would have a few hours to herself.

He set the bags from the confectioner's on the coffee table and started toward the bedroom with a mind toward taking a nap before they had to meet Alvi for dinner, but a low murmur of voices from the other side of the door stopped him. He strained to make out the words, then put his hand on the doorknob and walked in.

Carina sat on the edge of her bed, clenching her skirt so tightly that her knuckles were white. Alvi was leaning over her, speaking words so low, fast, and intense that even with the door open, Donovan couldn't make them out. On the bed was a polished wooden box trimmed in silver, closed with a key, and on the floor was the collapsed remnant of the cardboard box she had been given at the ceremony that morning. Donovan’s first thought was that Carina had become distraught over the keepsake box Alvi had brought her, but by the way the peddler's eyes flashed as he stood up straight, it was clear that something more was going on. "Friend Donovan," he said in a voice as cool and smooth as a knife blade, "It would be nice if you knocked before opening doors."

Donovan walked into the room and met his gaze. "Why would I knock before entering my own room?"

"I'd hardly call it yours since you have yet to sleep in it. Besides, I was thinking of Carina. There are certain courtesies—"

"Hush, Alvi," Carina said, just barely above a whisper. "It doesn't matter."

Alvi rearranged his features into a smile. "Well, then. If it doesn't matter to the lady, it doesn't matter to me." He made a show of looking at his watch. "It's almost dinnertime anyway, so this was good timing."

"I'm not hungry," Carina told him.

"We're not starting that again are we, love? We will have an early dinner at a less pretentious place tonight, since we have to be on the road early in the morning." Then to Donovan, "I told her I would take your wagon to collect her dear husband in the morning. They won't look at my ID. Not that I care if they do."

Donovan wanted to protest but recognized the wisdom of this plan. "I’ll have the wagon ready. Carina and I can follow with your wagon if you like, so we can all get on the road immediately after."

"It sounds like we are in agreement." He turned to Carina. "If this lovely lady will do us the honor, we will go get something to eat. And then," he looked at Donovan, "We will all turn in early. This will be a good night to rest and not be out late, don’t you agree?"

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Part Two, Chapter Fourteen

“Travesty” was the right word for it. After they checked in at the military base, they were taken to a room where little flags were pinned to their lapels and they were coached on how the ceremony would proceed, and then they were led to an outdoor chapel where the flag-draped coffin had already been placed and a group of soldiers stood waiting for the function to begin.

It was in essence a military funeral, originally conceived as a substitute for the graveside services that the government could no longer afford after slashing their domestic budget to accommodate the increasing costs of war. The passage of years had elaborated and stylized the service into a masterpiece of scripted ritual, part military, part religious, part something else entirely. There were times to sit, times to stand, times to kneel. There were words that must be spoken on cue and songs that must be sung with just the right air of pathos. Flags unfurled, bells rang, soldiers saluted and fired blanks into the air. Men who had never known the deceased spoke well-rehearsed lines about the unique qualities of the dearly departed and expounded on what a terrible loss to the country was his valorous and untimely demise.

Finally a man with medals covering his chest pinned a special Widow’s Medal on Carina while a trio of geeky, effeminate soldiers sang of the beauty of honor, country and sacrifice. Carina closed her eyes, bit her lower lip, and with every fiber of her being forced down the urge to scream. With a supreme effort of will, she accepted the box containing Miles' effects and the folded flag from his coffin. She ducked her head and curtsied as she had been coached, and the soldiers saluted her.

Then it was over and she was deposited at a counter in a stark gray office. A teenage girl in uniform wandered over. “Name?”

“Carina Cunningham.”

The girl pulled a folder from several that were lined up on her desk. She opened it, flipped through a few papers and looked up. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said, in a manner that suggested she recited the phrase dozens of times a day. She reached into a file drawer, rifled through some papers and pulled out an envelope. After checking that the name on the outside matched the name on the file, she handed it to Carina and pushed a pen and sheet of paper toward her. “Sign and date by your name, indicating you received your settlement.”

Carina did as she was told, the muscles in her jaw working.

“When can we expect pickup?”

“What?” Carina looked at Alvi and Donovan for guidance. “I guess tomorrow morning.”

The men had held back out of respect, but now they hurried over. “How early can I come by?” Donovan asked.

“We open Building 32 for pickups at 0500.”

Donovan put an arm around Carina’s shoulders. “Will you be ready to leave in the morning?”

She nodded. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

“I’ll be here at five o’clock, then,” he told the girl behind the counter.

“Great. I'll get you a claim slip.”

This last was too much for Carina. She turned to leave, blundering into Alvi who pulled her close and whispered something in her ear. “I’m going to take her outside," he told Donovan. “We’ll meet you out there.”

While the girl pounded the keys of a typewriter, Donovan debated asking if this process was always so insensitive, but what would be the point? The social contract between the military and the rest of society had been shredded until it was a mere carcass of what it had been in decades past. Maybe there had been genuine compassion once, back in the early days of the resource wars, but a whole generation had grown up since then. People no longer expected mercy.

The girl shoved a colored piece of paper at him, the words, “Captain Miles Cunningham” and the date and time of pickup neatly typed. Then she handed him a crudely printed map with Building 32 circled. “Go to the east entrance. Show them your ID and your ticket and they’ll let you in. Take the first left and you’ll see it straight ahead, can’t miss it. There’ll be people there to load the coffin for you, if you need assistance.”

“Thank you.” If they were checking ID that meant Carina would have to go. He wondered if there was any other way. Maybe Alvi...

“Will there be anything else?”

Only that Carina be strong for this one last thing. “No. You’ve done enough.”

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Part Two, Chapter Thirteen

Alvi showed up at eight o'clock, fresh and dapper in a black double-breasted suit. He wore a black felt fedora with a black and gray speckled feather in the band, and the collar of his matte silk shirt was closed with the latest fashion— a gold button imprinted with the picture of an animal, in this case a jaguar. Donovan felt unstylish by comparison in the handed-down suit he had worn to Mass the previous Christmas. He wished it had occurred to him to do a little shopping of his own while Carina was trying on dresses, but there was nothing he could do about it now. At least he'd gotten a good shave from one of the street vendors, and had the boy trim his hair while he was at it. Donovan was exhausted and he knew it must show around his eyes, but at least he didn't look unkempt.

Carina was still getting ready, so he motioned Alvi to a seat.

"Thank you. You look like you hardly slept last night."

By now Donovan had figured out some of the nuances of Alvi's speech and behavior. This was his way of saying he knew. "I didn't."

If Alvi was disappointed that they wouldn’t be debating this point, he gave no sign. "I don't sleep so well myself. Sometimes it gets so bad I have to go for a walk to clear my head."

"Do you?" Damn him.

"I especially like that part of the morning just before the sun comes up, when the people who have been up all night are coming home and the ones who turned in early like good children are starting their day. It's very interesting, like watching the changing of the guard."

"I bet it is."

Alvi fell silent for a moment, then looked Donovan in the eye. "I ran into an old acquaintance this morning. He says he was clobbered in a poker game last night; a game where he had reason to believe someone was cheating. Too bad. He has a sick child at home."

"Yes, too bad. One would think a man with those kinds of responsibilities would be more careful."

"You would think, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," Donovan said. "I would."

Alvi stretched out his hands and examined his nails. For all his ready cash and fancy suit, his hands remained those of a working man, calloused and patched with deep-set grime. "It was a very odd evening at the establishment my friend went to. It seems a few wallets went missing."

Donovan shrugged. "It happens."

The men locked gazes, each waiting to see if the other would come right out with it. Finally Alvi said, "If I ever hear of you cheating or stealing from my friends again—"

"How am I to know who are your friends? Will they be wearing special signs?"

"They are all my friends in this town."

"All of them?"

"All of them." Alvi took a breath. "You know, those papers I got for you..."

Donovan scowled. "How much do you want?"

Alvi sat up, genuinely surprised. "This isn't bribery. I don't want any of your stolen goods." Reading the skepticism on the younger man's face he went on. "I only want for you to take your game elsewhere. What you do in Macrina or some other town is your business, but we have our ways here and don't need any of yours." Before Donovan could sputter a reply he added, "Did you ever think of her?" He waved in the direction of the closed bedroom door. "If you'd been caught, what was she supposed to do? I can't take her home. I’m committed to a circuit going the other way. I’ve stayed too long in town as it is. My movements only look free. I’m caught up in this game as much as anyone."

“Quit, like I did.”

“And be a fugitive?” He chuckled. "Thank you, no. What I do has its perks. But for every man I’ve got goods on, there’s someone else with goods on me. If you’d been caught last night, it’s Carina who would’ve suffered. She would've been stranded here. Most likely, she would've tried to make it home on her own and anything could've happened without someone to protect her."

Donovan felt his face grow hot. He hadn't thought about the danger to Carina.

"You were selfish."

"No. We were nearly out of money and there are things we need before we go home."

"I would've bought them for you. What do you want?"

"A gift for Amalia, and a few things for the children because they're growing so fast. And some proper dye so if Carina keeps insisting on wearing black, she can make some of her own things from the wool we trade for in the valley." He frowned. "And I don't want you to pay for it. I can do it myself."

"Feeling the weight of being head of the household, are you?"

Donovan sat back. "That's not how I would've put it. But now that there’s no one coming home, they have no one but me to look out for them."

"They can look out for themselves."

"Women shouldn't have to."

The peddler smiled. "Maybe you haven’t noticed, but Amalia and Carina are the last of an obsolete breed; women raised to neither need nor want a male protector. Oh, they like being fussed over, as who doesn't? It’s fun for them to have a man like you around for decoration, but they don’t need you."

Donovan bristled at the suggestion he was merely decorative. "There’s a lot of work to be done on that farm; the kind of work that only a man should be doing. You've seen the condition Carina is in. You can't say she doesn't need someone."

"Someone, yes. A friend, absolutely, but a man, specifically? No. If you hadn't been there, Amalia would've brought her to town and it would've worked out fine."

Although he knew Alvi was right, Donovan didn't want to hear it. "This is an interesting conversation, but the reality is that I was there and I'm looking out for her. For both of them. The children too, damn it. If that means I have to steal in order to give them what they need, that's what I'll do."

Alvi stood and stretched his arms overhead. "Life is tough when you've got to be the alpha male."

Donovan wasn't sure what that meant, but had a vague feeling he should be insulted.

"You know," Alvi went on, "There's a reason why in countries where a man is allowed more than one wife, he often doesn't bother. It's because the headache and responsibility—"

The door to the bedroom opened. Carina looked from one man to the other in bewilderment as the conversation suddenly stopped. "I’m sorry I interrupted your private chat."

Alvi walked over to her. "Carina, angel, you are the prettiest of war widows and I must give you a kiss." He pressed his lips against hers just a little too long to be platonic, then stepped back to get a better look at her. "The dress is lovely, my dear. Turn around, let me see. Margaret did a wonderful job. I will send her flowers as a token of our appreciation." He took her arm, preempting any attempt by Donovan to get close. "Do you have everything you need?"

"I think so." Carina scanned his face in bewilderment.

"Good." He steered her toward the door, not bothering to see if Donovan was following. "Let's get this travesty over with."

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Part Two, Chapter Twelve

The sun had barely risen over the horizon when Donovan stumbled in the door, reeling with drink and exhaustion. He was hungry, rumpled and dirty, but his pockets were heavy. He leaned against the door and murmured a prayer of thanks to his personal gambling deities. As an afterthought, he added a silent, fervent hope that Carina hadn't noticed his absence. Moving slowly so his pockets wouldn't jingle, he peeked inside the bedroom door. She lay with her back to him, seemingly asleep, but as he tried to think how he would get undressed and climb into bed without waking her, she rolled over and opened her eyes. From the cool way she appraised him, it was obvious she had been awake for awhile.

"Where have you been?"

"Out."

"I can't believe you'd go carousing when—"

"No, Carina. It wasn't like that."

She sat up and pulled the folds of the blanket around her. "What else is one to think when a man stays out all night?"

"I had things to do."

"In the middle of the night in a strange town?" She reached for the new black dressing robe lying across the chair by her bed. "That sounds like whores, cards and drinking to me."

"Not whores," Donovan assured her. "Absolutely not whores."

"So just cards and drinking."

"Yes." When she still looked unconvinced, he sat on his unused bed. "We were out of money. I had to get us some more."

"By playing cards."

"You know that's how I get my money."

"I thought you just stole."

"Thanks a lot."

"So you don't steal?"

"Not always. Okay, I picked a couple pockets, too. But most of the money I won."

"Won honestly?"

"Sometimes."

Carina stalked into the bathroom where she splashed some water on her face, then she went back into the bedroom and dug in her bag for the makeup Amalia had insisted on packing. "Did Alvi go with you?"

"No. Don’t say anything to him, because he worries himself to death over you. He'll want to know why I didn't ask him to stay with you."

She examined her makeup kit as if rouging her cheeks and applying mascara was an overwhelming chore. "We don't need these kinds of entanglements, Donovan. How did we manage to run out of money already, with Alvi paying for so much?"

"I don't think you realize how expensive those clothes were. And then there's this room and quartering the animals...yes, Alvi has been helping, but I don't feel comfortable with the way he tries to buy everything.”

"Why not?"

"A man has his pride." Donovan went into the bathroom to wash up. The cold water felt good on his face, but he would need hot water for shaving. Maybe there was some place he could go for a shave before they had to be at the base. He should've asked Alvi about that. Maybe one of the vendors he had seen setting up coffee by the cab stand would know. "I'm going downstairs. Do you want anything?"

Carina looked up from toying with a lipstick. "No. I'll make us some coffee, though."

"I'll buy us some."

"I thought money was a problem."

Exasperated, Donovan began pulling things out of his pockets and laying them on the bed in front of her: gold, silver, federal bills and coins, ration books, and a man's gold ring. "I can afford to buy you a cup of coffee, Carina."

She sucked in her breath. "This is so wrong. Why do you do it?"

"How else am I supposed to get money? Should I have hauled my share of this year's crops to town and tried to sell them? I couldn't have done it even if I wanted to. They don't need our stuff. They've got the ranches and the train."

"But it's heartless to steal, and we've got other resources. I'm going to get a settlement today. It won't be much, and it'll be in federal scrip, but..."

"That's your money."

"I can pay you back for the clothes, at least."

"Some of that came from your money anyway, or don't you remember? No, I guess you don't. You weren’t paying much attention when Amalia and I tried to figure out what we would need for this trip." Donovan gathered his money. "But I wouldn't let you pay, anyway. Sometimes a man likes to buy things for a pretty woman."

Carina peeked into her compact mirror. "I'm not pretty this morning."

"You are to me." He said the words without thinking, and their eyes met. Donovan looked away first. He grabbed a handful of federal coins and shoved them in his pocket. "I'm going to get some breakfast." He had his hand on the door when Carina called his name.

"If you still want to buy me a cup of coffee," she said, "I’d like that very much."

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Part Two, Chapter Eleven

Donovan sat on the striped sofa flipping through a deck of cards by the light of a solar lantern. It was after nine and the electricity had been turned off, but he didn't care. He wasn't used to so much bright light, anyway. With practiced ease, he laid out a game of Klondike. After a few hands he went to the bedroom door. Carina appeared to be sleeping. That was good. He had contemplated giving her one of Amalia's tranquilizing drinks, but Alvi had been so emphatic about the dangers of allowing her to have such a concoction after so much champagne that he abandoned the idea. Now he had to wait until he was certain she wouldn't hear the sound of the door opening and closing. This was no time for an impulsive move, and he needed to be sure she would sleep deeply enough not to wake and wonder where he had gone.

He switched off the lantern, waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then walked to the balcony. The lights in Alvi's wagon still shone. Didn't it just figure he was an insomniac? Donovan couldn't escape the feeling that the location of their room, right where Alvi could see it, was no accident. He wouldn't approve of Donovan leaving Carina alone, even if she was asleep, but there was no way around it. They were out of money and he was tired of Alvi paying for everything. Where did he get all that money? Spying must be lucrative. There were probably ample opportunities for blackmail.

Donovan sat down again, but he had to leave soon. He had already made a mental map of how he would get to the cab stand without being seen from the campground. If only he could be certain that Carina was really asleep and Alvi wasn't wandering the grounds, looking for people to pump for interesting information. Donovan stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes.

Suddenly he sat up. How long had it been? He hurried to the window and glanced toward the gypsy wagon. No change. Back to the bedroom. No change there, either. He wished he knew what time it was, but he sensed he couldn't wait much longer. He patted his pockets to make sure he had the last of his money on him, then he checked his papers. All was in order.

He slipped out the door and down the hallway to a staircase at the far end of the building. At the ground level, he shut the door softly behind him and looked around. He was standing in a sparse field with a long row of stables in the distance at the end a dirt path. That was where their animals were, if he wanted to get one. But no, it was easier to hire, even though it meant spending money. The driver would know where to take him, and maybe he could talk the boy into giving him the "special" rate.

He walked around the far side of the building, making a long circuit before coming up behind the last cab in the queue. He knew he couldn't ask this boy to take him anywhere because they went out strictly in the order they had arrived, but that didn't mean he couldn't catch the next driver before he pulled in. When he saw an impossibly young Hispano boy come around the corner driving a bay hitched to a two-wheeled gig of old auto parts, he ran over. "Where can I find a poker game, son?"

The boy yanked on the reins. "You looking for directions or you looking for a ride?"

"I was kind of hoping you'd take me. That is, unless you’re looking forward to waiting in the dispatch line tonight."

The boy cast a morose look at the line of hacks and rickshaws waiting for customers. "I don't make no money sitting in line."

"And I don't win money standing here talking." Donovan reached for the door. "Have we got a deal?"

"Claro. I know just the place."

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Part Two, Chapter Ten

By the time they reached the dessert course, Carina was drunk. At first Alvi had cajoled her into laughter with his stories, but by the time she gave up picking at her steak and polenta, her mood had darkened dangerously. All around her were brightly dressed military wives, hanging on the arms of their officer husbands. It should've been her. Not that she had ever wanted Miles in the military to begin with, but since they had forced him to go and made him a captain in deference to his status as a doctor, it seemed unjust she had never had the opportunity to enjoy the perks before they shipped him off, never to return. How was it that these ladies got to wear pretty dresses, dine in restaurants and keep their far less worthy husbands at their sides while hers had been killed in some far-away place? It wasn't fair, and drink emboldened her to say so.

“All of life is unfair,” Alvi said. “These people will get what’s coming to them. Time is running out. Very soon they will envy you.”

Carina scoffed. “For what? For my intimate acquaintance with alfalfa, seed stock, and manure?”

“Quite likely, yes.”

She took another look at the room full of soft, well-fed townies, and shook her head. “No, these squeamish mercenaries would rather die than live any other way than this.”

“They probably will die.” Alvi motioned the waiter over. “Coffee and brandy, and something chocolate for all of us. Do you have mousse tonight?”

“No, sir, but we have pot du crème.”

“That will be fine.”

Carina remained immersed in sullen thoughts. “We left city life so long ago. My parents convinced us everything was falling apart and there was no time to lose. But there are places where things have carried on anyway.” She looked from Alvi to Donovan, challenging them for an explanation. "I could’ve been living like this all along.”

Alvi shook his head. “Carina, this place is hardly typical. Do you know anything of the history of this town?” When he got only a vague answer in reply, he went on. “This place was nothing when there was oil. How many highways come here? One, and it’s not even an interstate. Corporate farming and petroleum-based transportation nearly eradicated it prior to the crash. It came back to life only because of the railroad and because droughts in better ranch lands made this valley profitable. This is all new wealth, and there's little enough of it, if you were to see the rest of the town. The success they've had here couldn’t have been predicted. And when the trains stop coming, as they will very soon, the people who have come to count on small luxuries like a night on the town once in a while and electricity for a few hours each day, will suffer the same fate as the people of Catalunia, the people who died in the Macrina riots, and the people who Donovan grew up with.”
“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do know that.”

“How?”

“I have sources."

Carina raised an eyebrow. “You do seem to know an awful lot for a peddler.”

Their dessert arrived before Alvi had to answer. Carina tasted hers as cautiously as she had everything else, but there the resemblance to the rest of her recent eating habits ended. Donovan smiled. “I think we know how to get you to eat.”

She pushed the little bowl away, stammering about chocolate and childhood memories, then buried herself in her brandy snifter.

Donovan looked at her askance. “We should probably think about getting back to the motel. We have to be up early.”

Carina, whose mood had lightened over dessert, became angry again. “Oh yes, the homecoming ceremony. They can’t just kill a man and let his wife collect what’s left, but they have to make it into some sort of pseudo-religious, patriotic bullshit thing with the corpse as a hostage for your good behavior.”

Alvi motioned for the waiter to bring the check. “It’s just their way of trying to honor the sacrifices you both made.”

Carina leaned toward him. “I don’t want to hear another fucking thing about my sacrifices. I’m not a brave war widow, Miles was not a hero and there is no honor in any of this shit.”

Both men stared in shocked silence. Donovan reacted first, jumping to his feet and adjusting Carina’s wrap around her shoulders. “Let’s get you back to the motel.”

“You think I’m drunk, don’t you?” She snatched the edge of her new velvet cloak out of his hand. “You know I'm speaking the truth.”

By now some people at the next table were looking at her. “It’s okay,” she told them. “I’m just the bereaved widow of one of our gallant heroes. Nothing to see here.”

Donovan grabbed her by the elbow and steered her toward the door. “Let’s go outside.”

“Why? Are you embarrassed by me?”

The words were offered rhetorically, but Donovan squeezed her arm. “Yes, you are embarrassing me. And Alvi. And yourself.”

Such a direct answer startled her long enough for him to get her out the door while Alvi remained behind to settle up with the waiter. Outside, the cool autumn air brought Carina back to her senses. There were a number of hacks waiting for fares, but Donovan guided her to the dim circle of light beneath a solar-charged streetlamp.

Carina took a deep breath of the cold air and buried her face against Donovan’s chest. “I should’ve stayed home. You and Amalia were right. I can’t handle this.”

Donovan wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t let these hypocrites get to you. You’re stronger than you think.”

“No I’m not.” Her voice was muffled by Donovan’s jacket. “I can’t. I just—“

He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. Had she looked up at him for even a moment he would’ve kissed her lips and whispered all the words of love he wanted to say, but just at that moment Alvi came hurrying out of the restaurant. Donovan took a step back. “Alvi and I are going to take you back to the motel, all right? You need to rest. That’s why you’re behaving like this. You’re exhausted.”

Carina nodded and dabbed her eyes with the edge of her cloak. Then she let herself be guided to a waiting cab, where she leaned back in the upholstered seat, turned her face away and closed her eyes. By the time the horse trotted up to the motel, she was asleep.

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Part Two, Chapter Nine

Alvi took Donovan and Carina to dinner at an old hotel on the town plaza, a great overdone edifice of granite archways and heavy oak doors. It was a place favored by town leaders, railway officials and a few local ranchers whose government contracts had liberated them of the need for frugality.

It was also popular with military officers. It seemed everywhere Donovan looked he saw men in brass and stripes. Had it not been that many of them knew Alvi and came over to shake hands and wish them a pleasant evening, he would've been so nervous he would've given himself away by fleeing. With a stern effort of will, he followed Alvi and Carina to a pleasant corner table and frowned over the menu, trying to make out at least one familiar word.

"The steaks are very good here," Alvi said, covering for Donovan's difficulties. "There are several big ranches nearby. The boys on base are supposed to make sure all the best stock ends up on trains to the larger bases and cities, but somehow the good citizens of Jonasville get tender porterhouse steaks and our boys at the front get stringy remnants in dented tins."

"I think I remember having that for dinner a few times," Donovan said. He put the menu aside. "I'll have whatever you recommend, since you obviously know what's good."

When the waiter came by, Alvi ordered a bottle of champagne and steaks for all three of them. Afterward he noticed Carina pouting. "I’m sorry dear, but you had already read everything on the menu and still hadn't made up your mind."

"I don't know what I want," she said petulantly, playing with one of the cuffs of her new black dress. "It all sounds like it would be good, but then I think about having to eat it..."

"That's why I chose for you.”

Their champagne arrived and Carina surprised both men by the vicious determination with which she attacked it, downing her first glass even before their appetizers arrived. Donovan frowned but didn't say a word as Alvi refilled her glass and turned a friendly smile on a paunchy, uniformed man who had wandered over to their table with his wife on his arm.

"Good to see you here tonight, Alvi."

Alvi jumped to his feet and pumped the man's hand enthusiastically. “Even more of a pleasure to see you, Major.” He beamed at the pretty brunette in pink spangles and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "What a lovely rose you are tonight, Claire. Keeping your man in line, I hope?"

"I'm trying." Her eyes darted toward Donovan and Carina, and Alvi made hasty introductions. Carina sucked in her breath when the woman made the common assumption that anyone in black was in mourning and gave her a stylized peck on the cheek, murmuring, "You have my utmost sympathy, dear."

Luckily their stay was short. "An acquaintance from base," Alvi apologized after the couple had gone to their table.

"How do you know them?" Carina asked. "They don't look like the type to spend much time on muddy farms, in need of huaraches."

"I have business dealings with them, nonetheless."

Carina was unconvinced, but before she could say anything, their appetizers of roasted nopalitos and local cheese and chiles arrived. She looked at her plate in dismay, but forced herself to take a bite.

"It's good, darling, isn't it? You must eat it all."

Donovan squeezed her hand under the table. "Eat as much as you can."

Carina frowned and was about to quiz Alvi again about his friends in high places when a mariachi trio appeared at their table. The leader blasted his trumpet and all hope of discussion was lost.

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