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Authors: Kristen Heitzmann
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much already.
“If you’d rather, I can help you up to your room. But you’re welcome to stay here.”
Something in the way Mae said it tugged Carina’s heart. Was the woman lonely? She thought of the evenings on the porch with Mamma, TíaMarta, Lucia Fiorina, and old TíaGelsomina, who was not a true aunt but Divina’s godmother. And Divina, of course, unless she had better things to do, like sneaking away with other women’s sweethearts.
Mae heaved herself up. “I have a few chores, but I’ll be in calling range. In a while we’ll chat, but for now you rest.”
“Mae …” Carina sank back into the pillows. “My books …”
“And your silver. There by the couch.” She pointed. “I figured they were important if you nearly killed yourself hauling them in.”
“Thank you. I hope the bed sheet …”
Mae waved her hand. “None the worse for the wear.” She headed out of the room.
Carina bent and ran a hand over the clothbound copy of Don Quixote . Lifting it to her chest, she closed her eyes, too tired to read but not releasing it. Her mind floated to a sun-kissed land with sloping vineyards ripening beneath benevolent rains. And a dreamer knight, neither old nor confused, but her own darkly handsome Flavio sang her name … Dulcinea . And she rose up on the song, became the song, and for a time … forgot.
Carina woke when Mae slid the book from her chest. The lamps were lit, and the window was dark. She sat up. “Have I slept the whole day?”
Mae chuckled. “You have. And I’ve brought food. Nothing fancy yet, just good solid bread and broth.”
“You’re too kind.”
Mae handed her the bowl. “Kindness has a way of coming around again.”
Carina sipped the broth. “It’s good. I’m hungry.”
“And you have color in your cheeks. Tomorrow you’ll feel like your old self again. Just takes a while to build up the blood. After that the climate’s right healthful. At least that’s what they tell the tuberculars.” Mae reached for the chair to settle in but stopped at the knock on the door. She heaved a sigh and went out.
Carina heard her outside the door. “No, Berkley Beck, you can’t see her.”
“Now, Mae …”
Carina could just picture his expansive teeth and “butter won’t melt” expression. He wouldn’t get past Mae, though. Carina would bet on it.
“You can see her tomorrow.”
“I only have a small thing or two to say—”
“Save your small things for the mornin’.”
“You’re cruel, Mae Dixon. Can’t you see I’m sick with worry?”
“Worry? Hah. It’s lovesick you are, and that’ll keep. Good night, Berkley Beck.”
Carina cringed. She must put an end to that talk immediately. The door opened, and Carina caught just a glimpse of Mr. Beck’s face before Mae closed the door behind her.
“There now. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, he’ll be right fond in the mornin’.”
“It’s not fondness between us. It’s business. Maybe legal business. Maybe my house next door—”
Mae waved her hand. “Honey, you aren’t gettin’ that house back. You may as well put it out of your mind.”
Carina sat up. “It belongs to me. I paid for it. I have the deed.”
“You have a deed.”
“What do you mean?”
Mae laughed. “Half the deeds in town are forgeries. Claim jumping is a sport up here. The only way to have your property is to keep possession. And that ain’t easy.”
“You have yours.”
“I’m a landmark. Anyone comes in here raisin’ Cain, I pull the pistol. Besides, the men won’t give me trouble. They like too well the way I run things, leavin’ the door open all night and fillin’ their bellies at my table.”
Mae cracked the knuckles of both hands, tapered hands that seemed too small for her. “Still, if I don’t stay on my toes … Why, there have been people who built all day, went to sleep, and woke to find their work pulled down and someone else’s building in its place.”
“But how can
“If you’d rather, I can help you up to your room. But you’re welcome to stay here.”
Something in the way Mae said it tugged Carina’s heart. Was the woman lonely? She thought of the evenings on the porch with Mamma, TíaMarta, Lucia Fiorina, and old TíaGelsomina, who was not a true aunt but Divina’s godmother. And Divina, of course, unless she had better things to do, like sneaking away with other women’s sweethearts.
Mae heaved herself up. “I have a few chores, but I’ll be in calling range. In a while we’ll chat, but for now you rest.”
“Mae …” Carina sank back into the pillows. “My books …”
“And your silver. There by the couch.” She pointed. “I figured they were important if you nearly killed yourself hauling them in.”
“Thank you. I hope the bed sheet …”
Mae waved her hand. “None the worse for the wear.” She headed out of the room.
Carina bent and ran a hand over the clothbound copy of Don Quixote . Lifting it to her chest, she closed her eyes, too tired to read but not releasing it. Her mind floated to a sun-kissed land with sloping vineyards ripening beneath benevolent rains. And a dreamer knight, neither old nor confused, but her own darkly handsome Flavio sang her name … Dulcinea . And she rose up on the song, became the song, and for a time … forgot.
Carina woke when Mae slid the book from her chest. The lamps were lit, and the window was dark. She sat up. “Have I slept the whole day?”
Mae chuckled. “You have. And I’ve brought food. Nothing fancy yet, just good solid bread and broth.”
“You’re too kind.”
Mae handed her the bowl. “Kindness has a way of coming around again.”
Carina sipped the broth. “It’s good. I’m hungry.”
“And you have color in your cheeks. Tomorrow you’ll feel like your old self again. Just takes a while to build up the blood. After that the climate’s right healthful. At least that’s what they tell the tuberculars.” Mae reached for the chair to settle in but stopped at the knock on the door. She heaved a sigh and went out.
Carina heard her outside the door. “No, Berkley Beck, you can’t see her.”
“Now, Mae …”
Carina could just picture his expansive teeth and “butter won’t melt” expression. He wouldn’t get past Mae, though. Carina would bet on it.
“You can see her tomorrow.”
“I only have a small thing or two to say—”
“Save your small things for the mornin’.”
“You’re cruel, Mae Dixon. Can’t you see I’m sick with worry?”
“Worry? Hah. It’s lovesick you are, and that’ll keep. Good night, Berkley Beck.”
Carina cringed. She must put an end to that talk immediately. The door opened, and Carina caught just a glimpse of Mr. Beck’s face before Mae closed the door behind her.
“There now. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, he’ll be right fond in the mornin’.”
“It’s not fondness between us. It’s business. Maybe legal business. Maybe my house next door—”
Mae waved her hand. “Honey, you aren’t gettin’ that house back. You may as well put it out of your mind.”
Carina sat up. “It belongs to me. I paid for it. I have the deed.”
“You have a deed.”
“What do you mean?”
Mae laughed. “Half the deeds in town are forgeries. Claim jumping is a sport up here. The only way to have your property is to keep possession. And that ain’t easy.”
“You have yours.”
“I’m a landmark. Anyone comes in here raisin’ Cain, I pull the pistol. Besides, the men won’t give me trouble. They like too well the way I run things, leavin’ the door open all night and fillin’ their bellies at my table.”
Mae cracked the knuckles of both hands, tapered hands that seemed too small for her. “Still, if I don’t stay on my toes … Why, there have been people who built all day, went to sleep, and woke to find their work pulled down and someone else’s building in its place.”
“But how can
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