Chapter 6

After Victoria had made sure don Diego had left the tavern, she rushed herself upstairs to read what was in the envelope. She did not want to read it in the kitchen or main room. Closing the door behind her, Victoria opened the envelope. Her eyes, flying over the neatly written words.

A miracle does not need an explanation.
Only by her mere existence, she made my life into perfection.
My heart beats faster by her smile
In her eyes, I hope to life
In my ears, she hears and sees everything I do.
Sometimes, her voice starts singing in my head.
When the day gets too dark, she brightens my heart.
If I must live forever, I hope it will be sheltered, in her arms.
While I am drowning in her lovely charms
A miracle is the only word to describe.
How much I need her, now and forever at my side.

Of the last two poems the mystery writer had written, she had not published any. And still, the man had not given up and kept writing. What was she to do? Clearly, the man was still searching for help, or he wouldn't write to dona Corazón. What clues did she have to discover his identity?
Out of a wooden box, Victoria took the other poems to read them over again. Not much to go on. Besides knowing the man, was in love with a woman, he could not tell straight in her face. And a distance of him and his love be 4684 steps apart.
Maybe that was the clue on which she could work. If she knew the distance, she might get an idea of where the man lived. How many steps did go in like a quarter of a mile? The only name popping in her head might know the answer lived about two and a half-mile south of the pueblo and visited her tavern almost daily, and indeed he did late afternoon the next day.
After she had served him something to drink and a plate of tamales, she took a seat on the bench by the table.

"Don Diego, can I ask you something?"

"But of course, señorita. Ask away?"

"How many footsteps, you think, go in, let us say a quarter of a mile."

Diego gave it some time to think of an answer to her unexpected question. Having a slight idea why she was asking. "That depends, I suppose."

"On what?"

"For one thing on the size of your steps. For instance, I am almost a foot taller than you are. That means the steps I make are bigger than yours. For my legs are longer. So to walk a mile, I need to take fewer steps than you. Why do you ask?"

"Non-specific reason. What will you say is the average?"

"I couldn't tell. I hardly ever count my steps. I guess, to have a reasonable, trusted answer, you need to ask people of different heights to walk the distance and then count their steps and take the average. When you know what the average of a quarter of a mile is, you can multiply by the distance you want to know."

The following morning Victoria spend an hour walking a quarter of miles while counting. She had to start somewhere. First, she walked as she usually would twice.
After Victoria walked, taking slightly bigger steps. And final, she took steps as large as she could.
Using maths, she calculated that the 4684 steps the man was talking about should be approximately two miles.
Taking a map of the area, she looked at it in the hope to get some inspiration where the mystery writer could live. While she looked at the tiny dots indicating the location of a farm, questions came bubbling in her head. Two miles was it over the road or through the lands? Was it a straight line? Was she to draw a circle around the pueblo and search for it in the circle? Or was it two farms standing two miles apart? She had not thought it over the idea got her nowhere.

Next, Victoria went to the matchmaker. Even she did not like the woman Victoria explained what she wanted to help the man and the woman he had such strong feelings. The matchmaker read the poems.
"The writing is done by a self-confident man. He has some knowledge of the language and hopes by writing anonymously poems helps."
The matchmaker told Victoria as she read the poems and sounding very professional and sure of herself.

"But who do you think it is from, or for who it is supposed to be? Have you had questions of a man who wanted to get matched to a certain woman?"

"That is professional confidentiality, señorita Escalante. This man can be many men. My guess is he is a caballero."

Victoria could have come with that herself. She knew very few farmers having the slightest interest in poetry.

"As for who it is supposed to be. Dona Corazón has received four poems, you say. And in the Guardian, two of which got printed?" the matchmaker glared at the tavern owner. Her suspicion got confirmed this day. Victoria Escalante was dona Corazón. The column writer in the local newspaper stealing most of her business lately by having men express their feelings for women without her guidance.
The matchmaker read the Guardian and the idea of personal ads for the entire territory. If those ads were too successful, she was out of business.
"My guess, señorita, the man who writes these poems write them for dona Corazón."

"That is impossible. The identity of dona Corazón is secret. She is a friend of mine, and she asked me for her help." Victoria uttered quickly, not want to reveal her secret identity.

"This friend of yours whose name I shall not ask, is she single?"

"Eh, si." The secret of her engagement to Zorro was even bigger than the secret who dona Corazón was.

"My best guess is the man knows who she is and writes poems for her." Why else would he keep on writing if they were not published? Would it not be easier to hand her the poems in secret, making sure she is able to read them?" The matchmaker folded the poems back in the envelope.

"Or maybe the man has already revealed himself to dona Corazón. She, too, must have some professional confidentiality, I suppose. Therefore, why should the man keep it a secret unless he found out the identity of the column writer, and he has fallen in love with her."

"You really think that?"

"Señorita Escalante, I have walked the earth for many years. Most men are simple beings and not take so much effort unless getting a quick result. Why write poems only to get read by the wrong woman?"

Victoria had a hard time falling asleep that night. The poems of the mystery writer are for her? Who would write to her? The matchmaker had to be wrong. Both attempts she tried to get closer to the answer had led to nowhere.
The idea that someone was writing poems to her, was ridiculous. Problem was she liked the poems very much and a small part somewhere deep inside her wished they were written for her.

.

There were whispers in the pueblo. It was Friday, and the vaqueros all had got their payments today. As a result, many of them had found the comfort of the tavern to have a meal.
The vaqueros of the de la Vega rancho were sitting together at the biggest table, and all they could talk about was the pretty señorita that had arrived at the hacienda yesterday and don Alejandro had already speculated the woman would make a perfect fiancé for his son.
If only half of what they told was true, this woman was more beautiful than anyone ever had stepped foot on earth. Victoria stopped listening to rumours like this a long time ago. Knowing all too well, the men loved to exaggerate, and the more they drank, the more unbelievable their stories became, and the beauty of the woman got exaggerated.
Diego had not mentioned it but come to think it could be señorita Palez had finally arrived in the pueblo, two days too would suspect that the woman had come to greet her colleague, but apparently, the woman had not felt up to it to leave the hacienda.
Only that moment, Victoria remembered not having seen don Diego the past two days. Her mood, changing from cheerful to cantankerous in seconds.

Victoria was busy in the kitchen when noises made her come out to see what was going on in the main room.
In the main room was a table surrounded by men. It was the table don Diego always choose to sit on. And Victoria recognized the light blue colour suit. Next to him was sitting a woman, Victoria, her blood froze. The vaqueros had not been exaggerating. The woman indeed was beautiful, Victoria had to admit. Long golden blond curly hair reaching almost to her waist, and the woman wore a vivid green dress. Victoria, making her way over to introduce herself.
"Buenos Días, don Diego. I see you have company?"

"Señorita Victoria, let me introduce Maria Annabella Palez. She and her brother run the local newspaper in Santa Inés, and she has come to see how other pueblo's edit and are to run their newspaper."

Victoria tried to smile politely at the woman. "I am Victoria Escalante, owner of this tavern." Victoria now had a better view of the woman who did not take the decency to get up. The woman looked very pretty and elegant and was dressed in the latest fashion. The dress made to match the colour of her eyes.

"Your tavern looks charming, señorita, and please call me Annabella."

Victoria felt upset when Annabella put a fake friendly smile on her face. A little later, the tavern owner sees how señorita Annabella strokes her lace-gloved hands over the table, then examined her fingers to see if there were any debris on her fingers.
She tried to do it inconspicuously, but Victoria had seen it anyway and felt offended at this insinuation that her tavern was not spotlessly clean.

.

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