She scrambled the eggs briskly, poured them onto two plates and carried them to the table. “Anything else?”
“No, no.” He frowned. “Please sit. This is very good.”
From the corner of her eye, she noticed that he put his napkin in his lap, and sat with his back straight, and he held his fork correctly. No, more than correctly. Elegantly.
What had she expected? The answer shamed her. Not this. She had expected ignorance and sloppiness. A hand clutched around the midsection of a fork that shoveled the food into a mouth that chewed openly.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“A place called Jaral, Mexico. Do you know it?”
“No.” She smiled. “I'm afraid I don't.”
He swept a lean-fingered hand. “It is very small. A long way from here.”
“You must have been here a long time. Your English is very good.”
“Not so long.” He sipped some of the coffee. “When we were children, we lived in Mexico City. I had good schools. And when I came here, two years ago, I read the newspapers every day, to remember.”
“Really?”
He straightened, putting his fork down. “You want to know why I am in those fields if what I say is true, no?”
Molly lifted her shoulders, let them go. “Yes.”
He nodded. “I will tell you. Later. When you come back from Wiley.”
She smiled. “Fair enough.” Finished, she took her plate and gestured toward his. “Do you want something more to eat?”
There was strain around his mouth. “No. Thank you.
Viejo
goes back to bed.” He attempted a smile, but it was plain that the simple business of washing and eating had drained him.
“Let's get you back to bed, then,
viejo.”
Â
Josefina did not feel so good when she woke up. Her back hurt from the cold ground and her arms and legs were stiff from the long night without covers. The little dog had helped, but it was getting close now to winter, and in the cool bite of the morning, she could feel winter coming.
And her cough, usually no problem in the daytime, was bad this morning. It burned through her chest like the fingernails of a ghost, clawing at her. The inhaler didn't help, either. She coughed so hard she thought she was going to lose her stomach through her mouth. Finally the hacking stopped, and she leaned against the tree under which she'd slept, her eyes closed, just breathing, the way TÃo showed her. In, out, very even, very slow, till all the feeling went away.
She wanted him to fix her tea with lemon and honey, so hot it almost burned her tongue. It would make her throat feel better. It would warm her tummy. It wouldâ
Where
was
he? Where was everybody? These orchards and fields had been full, full for all the days they were here, and now they were completely empty. And the crop had not been brought in. Overhead, she could see the heavy fruit, almost too ripe, most of it. Her stomach growled.
She shimmied up the slender branches and nabbed a peach, so big it nearly didn't fit her hand, and then, not knowing if the dog would want to share with her, got another. He didn't want her fruit when she let him smell it, and so Josefina had two big peaches for breakfast. Later, when it got dark, she would go to town again, buy another hot dog for supper, maybe twoâone for her and one for her dog.
Scratching the ragged mutt's soft ears, she said, “Everything is going to be okay,
pequeña.
You'll see.” Meanwhile, it was nice not to be alone.
Â
Molly drove under the Wiley Farms sign, waving as she passed a woman selling red wooden buckets of peaches, long green Anaheim and tiny, blisteringly hot habañero chiles. The farm offices were located farther in, in a building with a red roof painted with the orchard brand. “Hi, Joe,” she said to the leather-faced foreman as she stepped out of her car. “Where's Wiley this morning?”
“How you doing, Molly?” He winked. “Ready to marry me yet?”
She smiled. “Maybe tomorrow.”
He cocked his head toward the orchard. “He's back there. But bewareâhe's in a foul damned humor.”
“Thanks.” She headed toward the trees and shielded her eyes. “Hello, Wiley!” she called to a wiry man in a plaid shirt, jeans and boots. “You got a minute?”
“Always have time for a pretty lady.” He jumped down from the seat of a tractor. “What can I do for you?”
Molly glanced over her shoulder. Three other men, obviously working on the engine, looked at them curiously. “Let's walk a minute,” she said.
He allowed himself to be led to a spot beneath a plucked-clean tree. “What's up, Moll? Is there a problem?”
“There is, actually,” she said. “I'm looking for a little girl. Her name is Josefina, and she was with one of your migrant workers during the raid. Butâ” she bit her lip, stuck her hands in her back pockets “âshe's missing now.”
He pursed his lips. “I'd like to help you, honey, but there's nobody here. Whoever was left after the raid were gone by morning. I got about twenty guys working the chile fields, but they're all from the valley.”
Molly sighed. “Do you remember her? About eight?” She realized she still had no clear description. “There couldn't have been too many girls her age.”
He frowned. “You know, there was a tyke about that age. Had a bad cough, and I sent her and her uncle over to Health Services to have it looked at. He got nabbed in the raid.”
Her uncle. Bingo.
For a minute, Molly hesitated, unsure whether to trust him with the whole story. This lying business wasn't as easy as it looked on television.
But in the end, she chose to err on the side of caution, and repeated the myth she'd generated for her brother. “I don't know about the uncle, but she used to come see me in the garden.” She pointed in the direction of her land. “I've been worried about her, and asked my brother if they got her, but they didn't.” She closed her eyes, no longer faking it. “It's been a full twenty-four hours. Will you keep an eye out for her? Maybe send someone around to check the fields?”
“It won't hurt anything to look around, I guess. Poor kid.” His blue eyes sharpened. “As I recall, that uncle of hers was a real good-lookinâ fella. Sure it's not him you're worried about?”
Molly bowed her head before she realized it looked like an admission of guilt. On the spur of the moment, she said, “Well, I might have seen him once or twice.” With an abashed smile, she lifted her eyebrows. “Not my type. It's Josefina I'm worried about.”
“I'll keep an eye out, honey.” He frowned, concerned now. “Don't you be mixing with these guys, now. I know it gets real lonely, you being a widow and all, but some of these fellas are downright mean and ain't got a thing to lose.”
She smiled. “Not to worry.” She lifted a hand. “Thanks, Wiley.”
“You might distract that bulldog brother of yours the next day or two.” He made a grimace. “I got a truckload of new guys coming in and I don't need no more trouble. Most of âem got their visas this time, but I need every hand I can get. The chiles got to come in before the first freeze.” He looked at the sky. “Likely to be any day now.”
And the little girl was still out there. Molly nodded. “I'll see what I can do.”
Â
Alejandro slept for a long time. He didn't know exactly how long, but when he stirred, the bright sunlight had gone from the room. It was very quiet in the house, so his saint had not yet returned.
A black-and-white cat sat on the windowsill, his long tail swishing as he eyed something outside. With a fond smile, Alejandro lifted a hand and brushed his fingers over the curve of tail.
“Hola, gato. ”
The cat looked down with round yellow eyes, the alertness showing his youth. Alejandro shifted enough to put his hand under the blanket and wiggled his fingers. The cat's eyes widened and he pounced, a purr roaring out from him as he chased the fingers from one place to another under the blanket.
Lying there, Alejandro grew aware of the extraordinary luxury he found himself in. The bed was comfortable, big enough for his long legs. The room was clean and warm, and he could not remember the last time he'd had the pleasure of awakening to the company of a house cat. But most profound was the silence. In the migrant camps, there was always noise. Noise of other people, noise of machines and radios. It was not something he noticed ordinarily, but with the silence as comparison, he was amazed to discover how much he'd missed it.
This was what Josefina needed. Peace and quiet and a normal life. With a pet to sleep with her and school every morning. It made him ache a little to realize she probably didn't even remember such a life.
The thought of Josefina compelled him to move. While Molly was gone, he had a good chance to see what he could do on his own. Slowly, he got out of bed, and hanging on to walls and chairs, made his way toward the kitchen. The leg hurt, but he could keep his weight more or less on the other one. It was his chest that killed him. Everything made it hurt.
Going very slowly, he made it to the kitchen. It took an age to take a glass from the cupboard, another year to move three feet to the sink and turn on the faucet. Lifting his arm to his mouth with the full glass hurt a lot more than it had this morning.
Sweating, he leaned on the counter, despising the weakness that made his arms tremble, made him faintly dizzy. Just walking. Just drinking. He already wanted to go back to bed.
Instead, he forced himself to move to the long glass doors that led to the garden. The sun drew him and he stood in its light, not daring to step outside where someone might see him. Even blunted by the glass, the warmth of the rays felt good to him. He imagined he could feel the long fingers moving into his ribs, knitting them back together, imagined them putting healing palms against the wound in his thigh.
It helped. For a moment. Then he found himself gritting his teeth to stay standing so straight. Felt the sweat of effort trickling down his back.
With longing, he thought of a bath. He'd managed to wash his face and torso this morning, but his hair stuck to his head and he could feel the remnants of his feverish sleep down his back. He did not mind being honestly dirty, when he was sweaty from a day in the sun, or dusty from horses or the fields. But he did not like this. And without the woman's help, he did not see how he could bathe, but he also disliked being so dependent upon her.
He wiped his face wearily. His mind felt dull, formless. Until his brain cleared, he could not imagine the next steps he would have to take. For a moment, he bowed his head, feeling defeated.
Ah, Josefina!
Hija!
He had let her down, and could not think how to find her, what do to. He was not a man who relied on others. He took pride in his ability to manage his life and his world, whatever that entailed, but this went beyond his experiences. He did not fall to illness or weakness. He'd once worked an entire day with a broken wrist and never minded it.
Gritting his teeth, he raised his head. This would not defeat him, either. His gaze caught on the machine that had made coffee this morning. Coffee might clear his head. Would the woman mind? He thought of her solicitousness and thought she would not. He moved, plodding but sure, to examine it. There was a button to turn it on, but he did not see where to put the water. Or the coffee. He glared at it.
But he could make coffee another way. He remembered seeing her put the can in the cupboard by the stove. He put it on the counter, and then, biting his lip as he reached, moved things around. Brown sugar. Cinnamon. At first he was disappointed, only finding the ground kind, but he moved a box of cornstarch and spied a glass bottle of stick cinnamon.
Excellent.
It had taken him a solid five minutes to do that much, but the act made him feel stronger. From beneath the counter, he took a saucepan and limped to the sink to measure water into it. The next step was more difficultâcarrying the water to the stove without spilling it. He splashed a few drops over the edge of the pan, but managed to get it to the stove and turn it on.
Then he settled on a stool close by the stove and waited for the boiling, for the steps that would make coffee the way he needed it this morning. He gazed out the window and hoped his saint would come back in time to share a little with him. He hoped she would bring news of Josefina.
Staring out at the blue and dun landscape, he imagined he could see her, his bright, smart niece. He chose to imagine her in a sunny place, calm and thoughtful. A little lonely, but not afraid. He willed her to remember all the things they had practiced for just such an emergency, and he suddenly realized what a foolish, foolish chance he had taken.
It had to end. It was becoming too dangerous, and would grow worse as she took on the contours of a woman's bodyâand not only when there were raids. The camps were full of young men, away from their homes and the people who knew them. They were lonely. Josefina would tempt themâand then there would be real trouble.