The Scarlet Thread (52 page)

incoherent words of Spanish as he touched and caressed her the

way he was touching and caressing her now? Was she just a substitute? Available. Easy. A quick fix now that Elizabeth was

gone.

So convenient, too. Only three doors away.

“Don’t cry, Sierra,” Alex said raggedly.
“Por favor,
don’t cry.”

But she couldn’t help it. Her body pulsated with need for him

while her mind tore her heart to shreds. She drew back as far as

she could, her hands clenched. She felt him loosening his hold on

her and wept harder. When he stepped back, she covered her

face and turned away in complete humiliation.

If he hadn’t known how much she still loved him, he could

have little doubt now. It must give him a lot of satisfaction to

know how easy it was to break down her walls and storm the citadel.

God, I’m such a fool!

“Sierra, I’m sorry . . . ,” he said bleakly. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

When he put his hands on her shoulders and tried to draw her

back against him, she jerked away from his touch. “Just
go,

Alex,” she said, hiccuping. “Get out of my life.”

The door opened quietly and closed again.

She went upstairs, crying, and removed the dress. She hung it

up carefully, tears running down her cheeks. She removed the

jewelry and put it back in the velvet box. She slipped out of the

red satin shoes and stripped off her underwear, then turned on

the shower and stepped in. She stood beneath the pounding

stream of water and gave in to her grief.

She was still crying when she went to bed. Curling on her side,

she covered her head with her pillow. She’d just dozed off when

the telephone rang. The clock glowed three forty-five. She

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wanted to ignore the intrusive ringing but was afraid it would

awaken the children.

It was Alex, and he sounded strange. Had he been drinking?

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, starting to cry again.

He wasn’t listening. He was talking in Spanish, making no

sense at all. Usually she could understand Spanish well, but he

was speaking so fast and she was so tired, the words were a blur.

She did catch a couple of familiar words. One of which was

esposa.
Wife.

He had a lot of nerve.

“You divorced me, Alex. Remember? Leave me alone.”

She hung up. When the phone rang again, she yanked the

plug. Covering her head, she wept herself to sleep.

Joshua has been to the village six times in the

past month.

Koxoenis makes him welcome. During his

last visit, Joshua saw Koxoenis’s preparations

for another hunt. Koxoenis does not live with

his wife or even look at her, but spends most

of his time in a sweathouse where he rubbed

deer marrow into his bow and arrows. Joshua

said Koxoenis spoke to his weapons. He also

drank a foul smelling concoction that made

him very sick. Perhaps it is some kind of purification rite. After the sickness passed, he

rubbed angelica and other herbs over his body

and his spear.

Joshua followed Koxoenis to watch. He said

Koxoenis mimics the movement of a deer so per3 9 5

grazing in a meadow at dusk. The animals were

not even aware he was among them until he made

his kill. Before dressing the animal, Koxoenis

knelt beside it and stroked it tenderly, speaking to

it. When the meat was prepared for the people, he

did not partake of any of it.

Joshua has learned many valuable things from

Koxoenis and his people. He has taught Hank

how to make a fish trap and Matthew how to

make snares for rabbits. He dammed our creek

and threw a root into the water. It stunned the

fish so that they floated to the surface. We

smoked enough in one of our barrels to last us

several weeks.

Joshua also taught Hank and Matthew how to

make bolas using the side ribs of wild iris leaves

and tying bones to each end. Joshua says the

Indians use these simple weapons to catch quail,

cottontails, and squirrels. The boys have been

practicing diligently. Joshua said the Indians are

not as fussy about what they eat as we are, but

will dine on wood rats, snakes, lizards, and grubs.

He has tried them all and said they taste good.

I am not so adventurous.

Beth pulls up cattails and peels them. The

stalks are good eating. Other edible greens are in

abundance. Come spring, we will have berries.

They grow in profusion near us.

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Lord, You have made this earth as bountiful as

Eden. We do not even have to put a plow to the

soil to have food to sustain us. But we will come

spring.

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23

“ H E ’ S S I C K , M O M , ” C A R O L Y N S A I D .

Hungover, more likely,
Sierra thought, but didn’t say it aloud.

Her own head was aching from lack of sleep.

“He didn’t answer the doorbell, so I let myself in,” Carolyn reported. “He’s still in bed, Mom. Daddy’s never in bed this late.”

Clanton collaborated. “Couldn’t you go check on him?”

“He was up late babysitting last night, remember? He just

needs to sleep in.”

“You’re up,” Clanton said.

“Couldn’t you go see if he’s all right, Mom?” Carolyn pleaded,

worried.

“And do what?”

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She’d like to
something
all right, but after last night, she was

afraid to get within twenty feet of him.

“Please,”
Carolyn said.

She looked between her two children and realized if she didn’t

do something, they’d think she was a coldhearted, uncaring hypocrite of a Christian. Weren’t you supposed to
love
your enemy?

“I’ll take him some chicken soup,” she said and took a

Tupperware container out of the refrigerator. Frances had given

her a batch, swearing it could cure just about anything.

Maybe she should drink some and pray to be cured of

Alejandro Luís Madrid.

Clanton gave her the key to Alex’s condo. Her heart was in her

throat as she unlocked the door and went inside. It was exactly

the same layout as hers, but the decor was vastly different. The

living room had a big black leather couch and glass coffee table.

Modern lamps stood on each side of the room. The wall was solid

with electronic equipment: a big-screen television set, VCR, radio, CD and tape deck, game systems, and a quartet of small, but

undoubtedly powerful, mounted speakers. The kitchen was

spartan, except for the coffeemaker near the sink and the rats in

their cage on the end of the breakfast bar. There wasn’t much in

Alex’s cabinets, and only a few pots and pans in the cupboards

below. The stove and microwave were both so clean, Sierra

knew Alex had never used them. Opening the Tupperware container of soup, she poured a portion of the contents into a big

mug, added a little water, and put it in the microwave. Curious,

she looked under the sink. The garbage bucket below was full of

empty Mexican take-out food containers.

I am
not
going to feel sorry for him!

She went up the stairs to the master bedroom and found Alex

sprawled on his back, only partially covered by the vibrant Aztec-design comforter. All she saw was muscle, bronze skin, and

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dark hair. Heart flip-flopping, she looked away and spotted the

pullover shirt he’d worn the night before. It was inside out on the

floor. Nearby were his Levi’s, also inside out, the belt still in the

loops. His shoes were on the far side of the room, two dents in the

wall above them.

Setting the mug of hot soup down on his side table, she picked

up an empty pint of whiskey. In all the years she’d known Alex,

she’d never seen him have more than one drink of anything intoxicating. He liked to be in control. She went into the bathroom

and tossed the bottle into the trash basket.

When she came back out, she picked up his shirt and pulled it

right side out, folded it, and put it on his chair. She did the same

with his pants, removing the belt and curling it on the top of his

dresser.

Steeling herself, she turned and looked at him. Her stomach

tightened as she came over to the bed and looked down at him.

He was so beautiful, so perfectly made. He was wearing the gold

crucifix his mother had given him. Her heart squeezed tight with

pity and tenderness. Frowning slightly, she noticed he’d added

something to the gold chain, something she’d returned to him

with the divorce papers he’d wanted her to sign.

Why was he wearing her wedding ring around his neck?

“Alex?”

He groaned. Shifting his body, he muttered something in

Spanish and opened his bloodshot eyes. He stared up at her as

though he couldn’t believe she was really there.

“The children think you’re dying,” she said dryly, crushing the

urge to brush the dark hair back from his forehead.

Wincing, he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “I feel like it,”

he said in a raspy voice. He looked at her again.

She avoided the intensity she saw in his eyes. “I brought you

some chicken soup,” she said, nodding toward his side table as

she moved away from his bed.

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“I know. Let’s just forget about it.” He didn’t need to do anything to hurt her. She hurt every time she looked at him. It came

with loving someone, even after they’d betrayed you.

As she headed for the door, Alex shoved the comforter back.

“Don’t go.” He groaned in pain as he sat up. Holding his head in

his hands, he muttered softly in Spanish. “I’ve got to talk to you.

Just give me a few minutes to take a shower.”

“We can talk another time.” She smiled faintly. “When you’re

feeling better.”

Dropping his hands, he looked at her bleakly. “I’m not going

to feel better, not until I talk things out with you.”

She had thought she was finished with crying, but tears

sprang to her eyes. “Maybe I don’t want to hear what you have to

say.”

“Maybe you don’t,” he said, “but I’m asking you to listen anyway.
Por favor.”

When he stood up, her stomach dropped. She’d forgotten he

slept in his briefs. She’d forgotten a lot of things that came back

with a rush. “All right.” She would have agreed to anything at

that moment just to get out of the bedroom and away from him

and the feelings he could still arouse in her without even trying.

“Wait here.”

“I’ll wait downstairs.”

She searched his cupboards until she found coffee. Her hands

were shaking as she made it. She expected to have more time, but

he came down the stairs a few minutes later, wearing sweats and

raking his hand back through his wet hair. He looked handsome

even with a hangover. Looking at him, she felt depressed. She

was never going to get over him. Never.

“Gracias,”
he said when she slid a mug of hot coffee across the

breakfast bar to him. She had to have something between them,

something to fill his hands, something to fill hers. He took a sip.

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