Chapter 7

Night

The dining room at the De la Vega hacienda displayed luxury and elegance as it had ever seen before in the Los Angeles area: there were rich red carpets, fine artworks on the walls, seats made of gold around a crystal table that was plentiful of exquisite meals and liquors. Josefina battled for everything to be perfect, it was her responsibility and even more now that that girl was making her big entrance, that Magdalena, who looked like a queen and was the most charming lady in California, in the kingdom, in the whole wide world. The attendees applauded and made reverences and were so absorbed by her beauty, that they didn't care about the cups of red wine pouring on the rugs or the dinner leftovers staining the velvet curtains. She had to clean it all up and soon, before they noticed, before the faceless priest appeared at the center and pointed a finger at her and with a voice that came not out of him, but out of the ceiling or the sky above, condemned her to eternal fire for her faults against morality.

Diego will help me... he will get me out of here.

Where is he?

It was too late: there was the priest, and everyone turned to look at her and made crosses and sneers of disdain, so she dropped everything and ran away, hid in the kitchen for a while, where Cresencia and Jacinta were plucking chickens the size of grown sheep. The older woman spoke and even if she couldn't hear anything, Josefina knew she was calling her a sinner and soon enough, feathers started to rain, feathers with blood and with pieces of raw meat, so she got away somehow and found herself in the stable, where she called Diego's name ten, maybe twenty times, to no answer. Out of nowhere, there was only hay around, as if she was falling down a spiral hole made out of nothing but it, and countless hands tried to grab her and touch her, they yanked at her clothes and at her hair and she struggled against it, body and mind.

Diego?

Diego, Diego, Diego...

Where are you?

Then, there was a tiny door, maybe only large enough for a four year old child to walk through. And next to it, don Alejandro throwing her out, asking her to stop polluting his house with her presence, so she had to crawl out and on the other side, there was…

A countryside scene. It was clear and green, so sunny and pristine.

"Josefina? I have been looking for you, where have you been?"

There was Diego by her side, wearing that brown ensemble like the night they first kissed, holding her in his arms long enough for her to forget about the previous scenes.

"I've been here… I love you so much…"

"I-"

Before he could say anything else, he was gone and so was the landscape.

"Señorita?"

Josefina gasped for air, Diego's presence still way too real, like a scent that wrapped her all over.

"Señorita?" the voice repeated.

"Sí... sí?"

"We've arrived to San Miguel."

"Ah."

The conductor offered his hand to help her out of the stagecoach. She was the only one still inside, her five travel companions nowhere to be seen.

"When is the next one to Sacramento?"

"One o'clock."

"What time is it now?"

"Six forty in the morning."

Her luggage was already on the ground, which was dustier and dryer than the streets of Los Angeles.

"Gracias."

The coachman didn't hear, he was already busy taking care of his horses.

There was already some light, like when the sun is about to rise and there is an invisible layer that fights against it and makes everything look still covered in blue grey. The station consisted in a kiosk made out of logs with a sign that announced the tickets were sold after eight; two wooden benches and a goat that was chewing and chewing God knows what, since there wasn't a wisp of hay or grass in sight.

Josefina stretched out her legs and took a seat. The rustic houses around and the narrow streets were mostly still vacant, with the exception of a man dragging a small cart and a woman further away feeding some cats. At first, she'd thought it would be a good idea to have a look around the town: hadn't she always wanted to travel? Sure it wasn't the most ideal of situations but… anyway, first things first.

The little bag was in her pocket, right where she'd left it. She poured out the contents on her skirt and did the math again, probably for the hundredth time in the five days the trip had taken: 10 pesos for the passage, that had left her with 32; eight for food, that was 24, her current capital. If the seat for Sacramento cost the same as the one to San Miguel, which it should, that'd still leave her with 14 pesos for the rest of the way. That would be enough, wouldn't it?

There's this strange feeling we have when we are alone in an unknown place. Josefina had never experienced it until now, at least not quite like this. In other occasions there had always been a relative, a neighbor, a friend or the friend of a friend, a familiar face not too far. It was different now. She'd never been so up north in the continent, never so anonymous. And never this lost.

(...)

Her calculations had failed, which seemed to be the norm those days: the passage to Sacramento had cost 15 pesos, which had left her with only 9. At least the other passengers were quieter this time.

The heat, on the other hand, was stronger by the minute, more scorching each day. It didn't matter if the curtains were entirely drawn, or how hard she'd fan herself with one of the book's cover, not that it was too effective; inside the stagecoach, everyone was either drowsy or asleep. Everyone except Josefina; she didn't want to sleep this time, at least not during the day. As long as the coach was moving and she was aware of it, she was living out of time and out of reality.

He already knows I'm not home.

Home?

Well, there, at the hacienda.

What did he do, what did he say?

Is he thinking of me?

He better be.

It's twisted to say that.

You better be, Diego. You better not forget me...

On the fifth day, they pulled over at a village that was, in fact, just six houses and a food stand. Everyone headed there for a meal, Josefina wandered around for a few minutes, then sat on a log.

One more day, just one more day.

Tomorrow morning, we'll be there.

Just few hours.

Maybe this was a bad idea, after all. She should have stayed in Los Angeles, found a job, all of this insanity would be the death of hers, but literal this time, Cresencia was right, she was nothing but a fool.

"Excuse me."

The old lady that would sit diagonally from her at the coach, had approached.

"Yes?"

"I have too many of these and I don't want them to rot on the way, I'm still going to Mendocino after Sacramento. Would you like some?"

At the sight of the bundle of apples the lady was offering, she let go off the tears that she'd been holding back for ten days now.

"I would. Thank you."

"Take another one, come on."

"Thanks..."

She sat by her side and they had apples and water for lunch.

(...)

The moment she first stepped a foot on Sacramento's soil, the midday sun hit her right on the face, the same way the burner's heat did when she approached to stir the soup, back at the hacienda.

The hacienda, the hacienda…

Diego…

Stop.

After saying goodbye to Mrs. López, Josefina began to advance down the town's streets, which were bustling with activity. A couple of people pointed her in the right direction and ten minutes later, she was in front of the place that was her final destination. Almost.

"Good morning. Jimena Iglesias is the cook here, isn't she?"

"Who's asking?"

"Josefina Iglesias, we're relatives."

"Just a minute."

The guard disappeared behind the large gates of the garrison. Josefina was suddenly conscious of all of the fatigue her body was enduring. She'd just put the suitcase on the floor to let her arm rest, when the cousin she had grown up with, the one she hadn't seen in five years and with whom she'd most recently kept frequent correspondence in the refined paper Diego had given her, sprinted out the door to hug her:

"As I live and breathe, Josefina! What are you…?"

"I'm just here! I came to visit."

"Just like that? Why didn't you tell me? I would have prepared something or… it doesn't matter. I finish at 4, can you wait for me?"

"Of course!"

"Great, come on in."

Sergeant García would have been interested in knowing that the food at Sacramento's garrison was considerably better than the one at Los Angeles's.

(...)

"...he's already taking a few steps but I have to follow him around because if I don't, he destroys the entire place and I'm talking earthquake level destruction, isn't that right? Hm?"

Resting on his mom's arm and hip as she opened up the door with the other hand, Horacio simply got two fingers inside his mouth as an answer.

"Don't do that. All right: home, sweet home."

There was the living room that was also the kitchen and dining area, and in the middle, a door that led to the bedroom; that was all.

"Jimena, I haven't thanked you for receiving me here like this, with no previous notice at all. I know I owe you an explanation."

"You listen to me" she laid Horacio on an armchair; he didn't give trouble for a while, busy as he was playing with his feet: "You're not just my cousin. You're my sister and you know it, don't you?"

"I do."

"Then this home is your home as well. Now, you look tired as a dog, so you're going in there and you're going to have a rest."

"But that's your bed and I want to help you with dinner and-"

"I don't want to hear it, Josefina. Please: just rest. You'll help me starting tomorrow."

"..."

"..."

"Fine. I'll take a nap and then I'll…"

Jimena knew there was a lot to tell, she knew it the first moment she saw her:

"Then we'll talk. But sleep first."

It was the first time she touched a bed in ten or eleven days. Not five minutes later she was already asleep, with the vivid sensation that Diego was right there with her, overcoming distances and obstacles of all sorts, just to watch her sleep.

(...)

Note: ok I have to say I was not expecting this chapter to be this long. This was supposed to be like half of the chapter and the second half, what will be chapter 8 now, I guess. I'm not even sure everything I wrote in this one was necessary, I think I kinda let myself go, writing like a maniac the whole afternoon. Sorry :-S

Ahh, another thing! I honestly don't think stagecoaches worked exactly as buses or trains do, with one ready to go to your destination every couple few hours XD I know my stories are not the most historically accurate.

Thanks for reading!