The Witch Narratives: Reincarnation (24 page)

D
ue to her curse, Salia could not travel to the theatres in Albuquerque, nor Santa Fe, nor San Francisco, nor New York City, nor Europe, but the theatre had come to her. Here. In Madrid.

She spied through the window of the opera house. Inside was glorious with such soft carpet, her moccasins squished. The stage had purple velvet curtains with gold tassels. The seats were red velvet, fit for a queen.

On stage, the actors rehearsed for a play in two days, which was to be followed by the Christmas dance at the Impatient Amusement Hall where a small band from Santa Fe was to perform.

She closed her eyes, dancing in a circle until she grew warm.

She put both fists on her hips, glaring at the window. She earlier tried both front and back doors, but they were locked against her. All she wanted to do was crouch in the alley around the front of the stage where the lights were controlled. From there, up close, she could observe the actors and director, and smell the drama enfolding.

She knew every nook and cranny of the theatre, as well as she knew her house. She haunted this site since last winter when she heard they were building a live theatre, and even slept on the wooden floor when the theatre was just a shell. She stared at the stars from that floor and dared to dream.

She now pounded the doors and screamed at the manager, “Pierre, let me in!” but he ignored her.

She marched to the back of the building and found a boulder that was not too heavy. She stood back from the window, hefting the boulder to her chest. She was about to hurl the boulder at the window…

“Miss Esperanza?”

She dropped the boulder, nearly hitting her foot. “Patrón Stuwart?” she gulped.

“Have I interrupted something?” he said, bowing mockingly.

She stood with one moccasin on top of the other, tongue-tied for what seemed forever. Finally, she squeaked out, “What are you doing in the back of the theatre, Patrón?”

“I own this theatre, Miss Esperanza,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. He stuck a polished boot out in which she could see her vague reflection. Her face appeared misshaped. She stepped back, fearful of a boot reflecting how she looked to others, an odd-looking young woman, who never fit in. She was still clothed in the same skirt she wore at her trial, but her skirt was washed and the rip poorly mended. Her shiny hair was neatly combed and pulled back from her scrubbed face with a blue ribbon.

“I must say you’re looking better, Miss Esperanza than when I last laid eyes on you.” He smiled foolishly at her with glowing admiration in his blue eyes. “How are you this fine morning?”

“I am doing very well. Today, the birds sing for me.”

He frowned at the leafless trees and the vultures cawing from their branches. “When you smile, Miss Esperanza, your dimples light up the coal-black winter of Madrid.”

She blushed. “And why are you still in Madrid? You were in such a hurry to catch the train back to Albuquerque yesterday that I did not even have time to thank you.” She mentioned Albuquerque wistfully.

He said rather stiffly, “I have pressing business here. I’ll be staying a few more days. And your thanks are not necessary. I merely did my duty. Justice was served in my courtroom yesterday.”

“Yes, I am innocent of all charges. I am a good girl.”

He looked at the boulder on the ground, over to the window, and frowned.

“But,” she said hurriedly, “If you stay, you’ll see the opening of the grand play. Afterwards is the Christmas ball with an orchestra.” She closed her eyes, swinging her hips as if she heard music. “The walls of the ballroom will be made of mirrors and the floor, sparkling with gold. The Christmas tree will sweep the ceiling. After the dance, 50,000 Christmas lights will be turned on all over Madrid. The 18th will officially be the start of Christmas. They are building a miniature Jerusalem, Toyland and even a miniature train will run.”

He rolled his eyes from her head to her toes and back up again. A strangling noise came from his throat. He shrugged. “If all goes as planned, I shall make it back to Albuquerque tomorrow. I’m sure the ball here will be fine.”

“Oh, but nothing like the big city has.”

“And what do you know of the big city, Miss Esperanza?” he asked, smiling. “A simple village girl like yourself.”

“I have dreamt of Albuquerque many times,” she said, raising her nose in the air. “I have seen pictures in magazines.”

“Ah, a dreamer. So you’re like the rest of your race, after all.”

“By race, Patrón, do you mean the simple-minded Indian or the simple-minded Spanish?” she spat. “Which of us are dreamers—the Spanish, because we dare to still dream of a future in this country since New Mexico was made a state seventeen years ago—or the Indian, because we dare dream of a past when we lived with dignity?”

He held up his hands. “Whoa. Don’t sound so offended, Missy. I was talking about the female race.”

“Oh,” she said, bringing her eyebrows together in confusion. “I did not know the sexes came from two different races. We both have arms and legs, a head, a body, a brain.”

“Yes,” he said, chuckling. “But there are differences to our bodies that are quite visible.” He glued his eyes to her breasts.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, blushing and looking down at the ground.

Samuel pulled at his ear, perplexed by her reaction.

“Are you staying for another trial then?” she said.

“Perhaps,” he said, pulling at his ear. “I hear that Mrs. Gelford died.”

“Really?” she said, breathlessly, twisting her hands behind her back.

“She was found dead in her bed with a look of such fright on her face that, well…” He coughed. “It’s not a suitable topic to be discussing with you. The paper did say she died of a heart attack, that something must have scared the wits out of her.”

“Perhaps, her dead husband paid her a visit,” she said with iciness to her voice.

“Or perhaps a mouse?” he said, laughing.

She dusted a speck of white from her coat. “Perhaps, Mrs. Gelford mourned her husband and wanted him back, so committed suicide. It seemed she could not live without him, or with him.”

“You may be right. There was a wedding picture found in her bedroom, which had been cut in half. The bride was missing. The picture contained only the groom.”

“Suicide happens. My mother killed herself.”

“Why? Who was she grieving for?”

“Her cat had gone blind,” she said in a flat voice. “She drank poison over a cat.”

“I am sorry.”

She did not thank him for his condolences.

“Did Mrs. Gelford ever pay you that money she owed you?”

“No. I’ve written her off as a bad debt.”

“It would seem so, since she’s dead. When did you write her off?”

“Right after the trial,” she snapped, thinking that he was suspicious.

“You can file against her estate, a claim for reading her chili seeds.”

He was making fun of her. She bristled, the hair on her head rising like a cat. “I must swallow my loss since I have lost my copy of the I.O.U. she signed.”

He maneuvered so that his shoulder brushed her cheek. He rubbed his leg against her thigh, leaning in. He shoved his hip up against her and leaned even further into her. “Swallowing your loss won’t fill your stomach. Why don’t you read my chili seeds? I’ll be a better customer than Mrs. Gelford. I can pay, you know. Cash up front,” he said in a husky voice running his finger down her arm.

“Yes, I know you can pay, Patrón. The stench of your money pollutes Madrid, but I am not for sell. You may think to ruin my reputation by making me your mistress. Your noble speech in the court room, what was it you said? If anybody bothers her, they’ll have to answer to you. I’m under your protection then? Well, I don’t need your protection, Cabrone! I can take care of myself!”

He frowned at the Spanish cuss word, cabrone, of which he’d been called many times. “Temper, temper, my little spitfire.”

“I’m not your little anything!”

“Not yet, but you will be.”

“Never!”

“You need a protector, Missy. Come now. Admit it. Yesterday’s display, when you were pushed into the courtroom and led in with your hands tied, is proof enough.” He grabbed her wrists, both bound with tape. “Do they still hurt, Sugar?”

“I will never be sweet to you, so do not call me sugar,” she hissed, yanking her wrists and gritting her teeth at the pain.

He smiled lazily down at her. “Before the drama in the courtroom, your reputation was as pure as the mud at the bottom of the Rio Grande, Miss Esperanza. My protecting you, as you call it, could lift you up from that mud and give you some respect. Perhaps, that would sweeten you up.”

“Do you really think I give a damn what the villagers think of me? Do you think it matters to me if they think me every man’s puta, or exclusively the patrón’s puta? Go to hell!”

“I have already been there. Hell’s what brought me to New Mexico, but I never knew, until yesterday, that an angel exists in hell,” he said, placing his mouth against her ear. His lips felt hot against her skin. “I’ll take you with me to Albuquerque. You can see the big city with your own eyes, instead of looking at pictures.” He lowered his lips to her neck, kissing her.

His lips felt hot, heat traveling downward, from her neck to the center of her body.

He placed a hand against her hip and squeezed. “Quit playing hard to get,” he rasped.

She shoved him away, her eyes glittering. “I don’t want to go to Albuquerque, ever,” she spat with such viciousness, he widened his eyes.

She rubbed her neck with a trembling hand, disturbed by her feelings. She felt weak at the knees, when his rough, masculine cheek rubbed against her skin. She hated weakness. Mother had always punished her whenever she displayed weakness of any kind. She stiffened so Samuel was unaware of her reaction to him.

He licked his lips. “You taste of peaches,” he muttered. He stared at her, perplexed. “I could have sworn from the sound of your voice earlier, the big city is what you want yet, there was such hatred in your eyes when I spoke of Albuquerque.”

He moved quickly, placing a hand on the sides of her head, trapping her against the theatre wall. “Come on, Salia, tell me my fortune,” he said, laughing.

“I’m sure, Patrón Stuwart, you know what your fortune is, down to the very last penny, but your fortune is not great enough to buy you permission to use my first name. Please, go, and leave me alone.”

He pounded his hands against the wall, barely missing her head.

She simply stared back at him, unafraid.

“Very well, but stay away from my theatre, Miss Esperanza, or I’ll have you arrested. Your hanging around my theatre is giving it a reputation as a whore house,” he hollered.

“I…” She was all choked up and hung her head, wrapping her arms across her stomach. He wounded her in the only way possible. The only light in her life, the only dream she had left was this live theatre, miraculously built in Madrid. It was all Salia had to live for. How was Samuel to know that, if he was to bar her from the theatre, he may as well have just hung her yesterday and been done with it? Instead of cuss words or a slap in his face, she stared at him with big liquid eyes, swirling with abandonment. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek.

He rounded his shoulders. “I’m…My…You…” He was tongue tied. He reached out a finger to touch her tears, but let his hand drop to his side, clenching his fist.

They both stood there for what seemed like an eternity, Samuel with a pale face, and her, sobbing softly.

Finally, he tilted his top hat to her, bowed stiffly, and walked away.

28

S
amuel had spent most of the day pacing at the Big House, arguing with himself, demanding he go back to Albuquerque where there were plenty of women waiting for him with open arms, women beautifully gowned, unlike the ragamuffin who had the audacity to turn him down. For Christ sakes, he was used to women falling at his feet! For the first time in his life, he felt like hitting a woman because of her icy demeanor towards him.

Yet, here he stood at Salia’s doorstep, a bouquet of roses in one hand, a box of bonbons in the other hand, clenching his fist so tightly, his hand was numb. The emotion of regret was foreign to him. For the first time in his life, he felt sickened by his behavior towards her.

He lifted his fist to knock and was arrested by images of goats and snakes carved into the front door. He shrugged his shoulders. As long as he lived in New Mexico he could not account for the atrocious taste of the Spanish and Indian natives.

He waited rather nervously.

He took a deep breath and knocked again.

He was beginning to feel foolish that after working up the nerve to come all this way, she wasn’t home.

He scowled.
Where was she?
Dark thoughts clouded his mind so, he was surprised when the door finally opened, and Salia stood there frowning at him.

The look of shock was even greater on her face to see him standing at her door. She folded her arms, glaring at him. “What do you want?”