Chapter 5
Awake
The husband and their three children hadn't left her side. She was coming around for the first time in weeks.
"I would like… some cake, please" was the first thing she groggily said, to everyone's laughter mixed with tears. Then, it was all hugs, hand holdings and promises of mountains of cakes once she'd completed her treatment.
"I cannot thank you enough" don Fernandez approached Lucía, who'd been witnessing it all from her spot at the corner chair.
There were many things she could have said: I wasn't even sure it'd work and you'd be hating me now if it didn't, I don't want to say it was luck because how can we make someone's life depend on it?, but anyway…
"You're welcome." Guess that would be enough for the time being. "Excuse me, señor, I need to go back home now."
"But won't you stay longer? I'd like you to oversee her, to give her the medicine yourself, you said she'll need to take it for a while."
"Yes, but I need to go now." Some excuse. Any excuse: "I have a… wounded… goat at home that I'm taking care of."
Goat, fox, zorro, whatever.
She worried this could come off as rude from her, but in all honesty, she didn't care. But maybe they were all so happy about the lady feeling better, that no one questioned the oddness of having to go attend to a goat instead of a person. There was some resistance, a lot of begging her to stay.
However, she managed to wriggle out of it.
The possibility of finding him awake when she arrived, was real and tangible. She'd wanted to be there when it happened, to answer to his what's, how's, where's and when's, just as she had rehearsed, just as she had imagined in those conversations with him in which she'd make up his replies inside her head. Bumps on the road, she had to hold on to steady herself inside the coach, but soon enough, it was all smooth again, at least as smooth as it gets in this kind of trips. Anyway, he was most likely still asleep. She'd change his bandages and tell him all about the Fernandez's and how doña Cristina sat up all of a sudden and asked for cake.
Lucía dozed off more than once, jolting every time she woke up, her last half asleep and first half awake thoughts being for Diego.
There was still a bit of blueish sunlight in the sky when the silhouette of the cabin appeared through the gap of the curtains.
She jumped out and thanked the coachman.
"Don't mention it. I'll wait for you right here."
"You'll wait?"
"I was told to take you back to Santa Rita once you finished tending some business here."
"I don't think that's going to happen, I have to-"
"I can wait as long as you need. Until tomorrow, even."
"Well, get comfortable."
He did, placing his hat over his eyes and leaning back, ready to take a nap.
Weren't those people persistent. But in order to make sure a loved one would be fine… or survive, even, who wouldn't be?
One more glance at the old man over her shoulder and it was safe to open the door and sneak in, her heart racing at the idea of seeing him again. Wasn't it silly? It was, but it was also exciting: what if she found him sitting at the table sipping tea, making himself at home?
Her lungs skipped a breath. As it turns out, the unexpected always finds pleasure in hitting us in the face: there was no one either at the mattress or in the room at all.
Both baskets of supplies fell to the ground, the worst case scenario immediately making its entrance to her imagination: what if someone had found out El Zorro was hiding in there? (How? That's not important for the machinations the brain conceives out of fear) What if he was taken to the authorities for the reward? Five thousand pesos, if she remembered correctly. Had she locked the door before leaving? She had, the lock wasn't broken.
Outside, the coachman saw her walk around the house once, twice, then go back inside.
He shrugged and went back to sleep.
So Tornado was nowhere to be seen, it didn't come when she whistled either, that means…
An object she hadn't noticed before caught her eye. She fell on her knees and took it like she'd discovered the missing secret of a long lost civilization. Instead, it was a piece of paper, the type she used to wrap the berries she sold at the market. Four words were written on it with charcoal. She had to read them several times:
"Thank you, Green Eyes.
D."
More precisely, yes, four words and one letter: D for Diego, not Z for Zorro. He knew she knew who he was, of course, and he'd decided to be Diego for her, not the masked elusive stranger everyone could see sneaking over the roofs, but no one really knew.
"Diego…" she pronounced, feeling silly at the same time and smiling all the way.
He was all right, that was for sure.
And Green Eyes. Like that, with capital letters. No one had ever called her that way or even made mention of that feature of hers. A mestiza with those eyes that publicized her less than honorable family background, was a stigma, a taboo for the indios, the Spaniards and just about everyone. Not for him. Did he remember the face they were attached to? Her voice?
Lucía stared at the note for another long while and for the first time, forced herself to face the reality of what had occurred: her medicine worked, good; he survived, great; he was strong enough to get up, take his horse and go, even better; but her? She was… it's… he was out of her life now. Not that she'd wanted to keep him in there forever, she was more than glad that he had recovered. It's just that now he was gone. For good. They were two parallel lines that took an unexpected turn and met at one point, only to then keep stretching far and away. And she was, for Christ sake, she was… she missed him, alright. Did she have the right to? She didn't know him, not really. She liked him, fine, that, she could admit. But liking is not the same as being in love with. She wasn't.
The baskets' provisions were restocked with some extra stuff. She wasn't hungry, they'd given her more than enough food during the day. She then noticed the bowls in which she'd left him bread and water were empty. Maybe she should bring just an apple for the road. And the note, of course, safe in her dress's pocket. (Not like she was. Because she wasn't, she wasn't in love.)
"I'm ready" she startled the coachman.
"Good to hear" he replied, straightening up: "Shall we?"
It was dark already when they took off, back to Santa Rita.
(…)
Note: I'm sorry if the way I write this sometimes sounds too modern and not 1820s enough. I just try to write as I feel it, and this is how I felt it. Thanks for reading!
