smile came the first streaks of light across the sky. A new day, filled with new possibilities. With Catherine Logan? Probably not. Probably he’d never see her again. A garage would send a tow truck or a man with the parts. He would never go to the Rodriguez Market again. He would buy his groceries at the supermarket in town. She didn’t want to see him. He didn’t want to see her. But there was that smile, and the eyes and that look she had that was half farmer’s daughter and half exotic gypsy.
“What are they talking about?” he asked.
There was a glint in her eyes. “You and me. They want to know what happened last night. They’re very curious, you know.”
“Did you tell them?”
“There’s nothing to tell. We had dinner, went to bed, got up and that’s it.” She twisted the fringe on her shawl and avoided his gaze.
“You forgot the astronomy lecture.” He slanted her a look, hoping for some reaction, anything. She didn’t disappoint him.
Her eyes flashed. “Don’t you even hint that we slept together in the hammock. That’s the kind of thing that’s cause for a shotgun wedding. They don’t understand casual... informal...” She faltered. “They wouldn’t understand. Trust me.”
He reached for her hand and shook it firmly. “I’ll trust you if you’ll trust me. Now just let me explain the whole thing.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand. “Give me a chance,” he said, and she pressed her lips together.
He turned to Doña Jacinda. “My car,” he began in halting Spanish, “has a problem.”
Jacinda threw back her head and laughed loudly. Unperturbed, he continued. “Catalina was kind enough to offer me shelter for the night.” At this the whole truckload of women shouted their approval. Catherine’s face turned red, and she pulled the brim of her bowler hat down over her eyes.
“What happened?” Josh asked. “I know my Spanish isn’t very good, but what did I say?”
She shook her head helplessly. “It doesn’t matter what you said. They think they know what happened. Anyway, you’ve made their day.”
He looked around at their smiling faces, listened to their chatter without understanding one word, then leaned against a sack of peppers. “How often do you do this?”
She tilted her head back, feeling the heat recede from her cheeks at last, grateful for the change of subject. “Twice a week during harvest. We’re better off than most of the women you see in the market. We grow our own crops so we keep our own profits. Or we would if...” She paused and looked at the driver.
“If you didn’t have to pay the driver. If you had your own truck,” he finished for her.
“You said it, I didn’t.” She gave him a long look. “For every head of lettuce, every mango, every bunch of parsley we sell, he gets half the profits.” She tied her shawl in a knot under her chin, choking back her resentment.
“How much does he charge?” Josh asked with a troubled frown.
“It’s not what he charges. It’s the interest. We don’t have the cash to pay him in the morning, and by evening the interest has risen by fifty percent.”
His dark eyebrows drew together. “That sounds like usury.”
“Of course, but we have no choice. We just hope to break even. They think that’s the way it has to be, but I know better. I know you go to the bank in the spring for seed money and in the fall you pay it back.” The picture of stern old Mr. Grant floated before her eyes and she paused. “Theoretically,” she added.
“You do know what happens if you can’t make the payments,” he said soberly.
“Of course I know. I’ve seen farms sold and I’ve seen divorces and suicides. But we’re not talking about mortgaging the farm here. We’re talking about a truck, one truck, even one used truck in good shape.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I promised I wouldn’t talk about it anymore.”
The wooden slats that
“What are they talking about?” he asked.
There was a glint in her eyes. “You and me. They want to know what happened last night. They’re very curious, you know.”
“Did you tell them?”
“There’s nothing to tell. We had dinner, went to bed, got up and that’s it.” She twisted the fringe on her shawl and avoided his gaze.
“You forgot the astronomy lecture.” He slanted her a look, hoping for some reaction, anything. She didn’t disappoint him.
Her eyes flashed. “Don’t you even hint that we slept together in the hammock. That’s the kind of thing that’s cause for a shotgun wedding. They don’t understand casual... informal...” She faltered. “They wouldn’t understand. Trust me.”
He reached for her hand and shook it firmly. “I’ll trust you if you’ll trust me. Now just let me explain the whole thing.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand. “Give me a chance,” he said, and she pressed her lips together.
He turned to Doña Jacinda. “My car,” he began in halting Spanish, “has a problem.”
Jacinda threw back her head and laughed loudly. Unperturbed, he continued. “Catalina was kind enough to offer me shelter for the night.” At this the whole truckload of women shouted their approval. Catherine’s face turned red, and she pulled the brim of her bowler hat down over her eyes.
“What happened?” Josh asked. “I know my Spanish isn’t very good, but what did I say?”
She shook her head helplessly. “It doesn’t matter what you said. They think they know what happened. Anyway, you’ve made their day.”
He looked around at their smiling faces, listened to their chatter without understanding one word, then leaned against a sack of peppers. “How often do you do this?”
She tilted her head back, feeling the heat recede from her cheeks at last, grateful for the change of subject. “Twice a week during harvest. We’re better off than most of the women you see in the market. We grow our own crops so we keep our own profits. Or we would if...” She paused and looked at the driver.
“If you didn’t have to pay the driver. If you had your own truck,” he finished for her.
“You said it, I didn’t.” She gave him a long look. “For every head of lettuce, every mango, every bunch of parsley we sell, he gets half the profits.” She tied her shawl in a knot under her chin, choking back her resentment.
“How much does he charge?” Josh asked with a troubled frown.
“It’s not what he charges. It’s the interest. We don’t have the cash to pay him in the morning, and by evening the interest has risen by fifty percent.”
His dark eyebrows drew together. “That sounds like usury.”
“Of course, but we have no choice. We just hope to break even. They think that’s the way it has to be, but I know better. I know you go to the bank in the spring for seed money and in the fall you pay it back.” The picture of stern old Mr. Grant floated before her eyes and she paused. “Theoretically,” she added.
“You do know what happens if you can’t make the payments,” he said soberly.
“Of course I know. I’ve seen farms sold and I’ve seen divorces and suicides. But we’re not talking about mortgaging the farm here. We’re talking about a truck, one truck, even one used truck in good shape.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I promised I wouldn’t talk about it anymore.”
The wooden slats that
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