suppose you should address me as Your Grace, but I would prefer that you did not. It sounds so stuffy, and madam, I am not stuffy.”
The next morning, after a consultation with the village’s one physician, Liria assured him that Sophie and Luster were fit to travel. By noon, they were on the road. He wasn’t sure whether it pleased him or not, and he almost didn’t think Liria Valencia was happy about the matter, either. She gave no real outward sign of disappointment that the journey must continue, but there was something in her silence that stirred him to an odd kind of hope that she would miss him. Sitting there in his carriage, watching her when he hoped she wasn’t aware, he realized with a pang that he had gone beyond the disdain of his class for hers. He only cared now what would happen to Liria Valencia and her son Juan. Libby, you would be proud of me, he thought.
He waited for the mere thought of Libby to send him into the doldrums, but it did not. The day was beautiful and he knew as surely as though someone had told him that his melancholy would pass. I will get on with the business of life, he told himself, smiling at the thought.
Or so it seemed to him, until Juan nudged him, a gentle poke in his side that pleased him with its familiarity. He looked down at the drawing Juan held out for his view only, and not to his mother, who sat across from him next to Luster. What talent this child has, he thought, as he admired the profile drawing of the boy’s mother.
Juan leaned toward him. “Mama,” he whispered in Nez’s ear, and the tickling of his breath touched him.
“I know,” he whispered back, admiring the way Juan had caught the pursing of her lips that he knew by now meant deep concentration. Juan had also caught the depth of her brown eyes, and her clear gaze. Something was missing, Nez thought, which made him wonder, in their brief acquaintance, how much time he had already spent admiring her beautiful Spanish face. He touched the drawing. “See there, Juan, you have left out the little mole by her eye.”
Juan frowned, and Nez could tell that he did not understand. Nez smiled and touched the side of his own eye, and the boy nodded, and added a dot to the drawing. “Excellent,” Nez said. He wanted to ask him how he achieved that look of restfulness, which seemed to be Liria’s hallmark. But knew that so much English complexity would be beyond the child.
In his companionable, adaptable way, Juan leaned against him and continued his picture. In another moment Nez found himself fingering the child’s hair, and then gathering him closer, as he had watched Liria do on many a night. He felt a deep sorrow at the thought of sending the two of them to the mills. Perhaps Juan would have a school there, but would a tired teacher of mill brats have the time to look at a drawing, or the wit to recognize lovely talent? He doubted it, and the thought gnawed at him.
They spent the night in Wishart, no more than twenty miles from Knare, but he could tell that Luster and Sophie both were exhausted and in need of beds. The full moon beamed on a beneficent evening good enough for late travel, but even beyond the welfare of his constituents, he had no heart to continue the journey that would part him from the Valencias.
He flattered himself that Liria felt the same way. When Sophie and Luster were both asleep, and Juan slept on a pallet, she did not retire to her own cot in Sophie’s room, but went down the stairs. After a length of time considering the matter, he followed her.
He didn’t see her at once. A coach had come, and the ostlers were hurrying the tired horses away and hitching fresh ones while the coach’s occupants stood stretching, or rushed inside for something to eat. For one irrational moment he feared that she was leaving, but knew the enormity of that idiocy in his next breath; Liria would never abandon her child.
He saw her then by the fence that bordered the highway. She seemed to
The next morning, after a consultation with the village’s one physician, Liria assured him that Sophie and Luster were fit to travel. By noon, they were on the road. He wasn’t sure whether it pleased him or not, and he almost didn’t think Liria Valencia was happy about the matter, either. She gave no real outward sign of disappointment that the journey must continue, but there was something in her silence that stirred him to an odd kind of hope that she would miss him. Sitting there in his carriage, watching her when he hoped she wasn’t aware, he realized with a pang that he had gone beyond the disdain of his class for hers. He only cared now what would happen to Liria Valencia and her son Juan. Libby, you would be proud of me, he thought.
He waited for the mere thought of Libby to send him into the doldrums, but it did not. The day was beautiful and he knew as surely as though someone had told him that his melancholy would pass. I will get on with the business of life, he told himself, smiling at the thought.
Or so it seemed to him, until Juan nudged him, a gentle poke in his side that pleased him with its familiarity. He looked down at the drawing Juan held out for his view only, and not to his mother, who sat across from him next to Luster. What talent this child has, he thought, as he admired the profile drawing of the boy’s mother.
Juan leaned toward him. “Mama,” he whispered in Nez’s ear, and the tickling of his breath touched him.
“I know,” he whispered back, admiring the way Juan had caught the pursing of her lips that he knew by now meant deep concentration. Juan had also caught the depth of her brown eyes, and her clear gaze. Something was missing, Nez thought, which made him wonder, in their brief acquaintance, how much time he had already spent admiring her beautiful Spanish face. He touched the drawing. “See there, Juan, you have left out the little mole by her eye.”
Juan frowned, and Nez could tell that he did not understand. Nez smiled and touched the side of his own eye, and the boy nodded, and added a dot to the drawing. “Excellent,” Nez said. He wanted to ask him how he achieved that look of restfulness, which seemed to be Liria’s hallmark. But knew that so much English complexity would be beyond the child.
In his companionable, adaptable way, Juan leaned against him and continued his picture. In another moment Nez found himself fingering the child’s hair, and then gathering him closer, as he had watched Liria do on many a night. He felt a deep sorrow at the thought of sending the two of them to the mills. Perhaps Juan would have a school there, but would a tired teacher of mill brats have the time to look at a drawing, or the wit to recognize lovely talent? He doubted it, and the thought gnawed at him.
They spent the night in Wishart, no more than twenty miles from Knare, but he could tell that Luster and Sophie both were exhausted and in need of beds. The full moon beamed on a beneficent evening good enough for late travel, but even beyond the welfare of his constituents, he had no heart to continue the journey that would part him from the Valencias.
He flattered himself that Liria felt the same way. When Sophie and Luster were both asleep, and Juan slept on a pallet, she did not retire to her own cot in Sophie’s room, but went down the stairs. After a length of time considering the matter, he followed her.
He didn’t see her at once. A coach had come, and the ostlers were hurrying the tired horses away and hitching fresh ones while the coach’s occupants stood stretching, or rushed inside for something to eat. For one irrational moment he feared that she was leaving, but knew the enormity of that idiocy in his next breath; Liria would never abandon her child.
He saw her then by the fence that bordered the highway. She seemed to
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