Chapter 13

Too bad the padre was gone and would not return until the following day! He would probably have been able to tell them more about that woman's identity, as well as where she was coming from and even her address, and therefore they could have known who they needed to inform of her current condition! According to the letter, Los Angeles was indeed where she was heading to, and her trip seemed to have something to do with the mission and the school. An extra teacher, the padre had written...

Meanwhile, all this did still not resolve Felipe's situation...

The patient's condition seemed to be stable. Not necessarily very reassuring, but stable. At least her condition wasn't getting worse.

Currently she appeared to be sleeping almost peacefully, despite her glistening flushed face that could let anyone guess she was suffering from fever. Her body was fighting infection or venom, or both. In order to take a look at the state of her wound, Diego lowered the bedsheet down to her knees and folded her nightshirt up, baring the lower half of her right thigh.

The cut was still there of course, reddened, swollen, oozing. But not suppurating, that was at least something.

Diego soaked a cloth with the herbal infusion he was making her drink from time to time, when she could swallow something, that is to say when she was on the verge of waking up or getting into a fit of delirium, and he gently dabbed the wound with it. He then laid the cloth onto it to let the healing herbs work.

Half an hour later, he removed the cloth and dipped another clean towel in the same mixture of salt water and alcohol as the doctor previously used to clean the wound. Again he dabbed repeatedly to disinfect it, but instead of letting the cloth applied to the cut he let the wound exposed to air, without pulling either her nightshirt or the bedsheet back in place. And prudishness be damned! Her recovery was what mattered most to Diego.

Still keeping watch on her condition, he observed her a bit more closely. Indeed, she didn't have the rough hands of a peón, he had already noticed as much. Didn't have the tanned complexion of those who spent their days outdoors, but neither did she sport the refined pallor cultivated in the Madrilenian salons he used to frequent in his youth.

There, as she lay on the bed, seized with fever, her face damp and glistening, her features drawn by the fatigue of her condition, and her hair down, spread on the pillow and stuck together with sweat and dust, it was difficult to guess how old she could be. Except that she was quite certainly younger than he was himself. But other than that... Victoria's age, perhaps? Older than Felipe, anyway. She was an adult. Not that Felipe was not nearly one now, but still… to Diego he would ever be the little boy he took in and fostered… That's the way parents are.

So, older than Felipe and younger than himself, that was about all he could assess.

Not wanting to let anyone believe – or rather guess – that he had been rummaging through her things, Diego began to put all the personal belongings he had taken out back in the saddle bag. He quickly picked up her small intimate garments and stuffed them into the bag, then he folded the spare clothes, laid the book over it, rewrapped the biscuits in the handkerchief and, so that the rosary would not get lost a midst all this, he came up with the idea of putting it in the purse.

Having loosened its strings, he saw that in addition to the coins he had expected to find inside was also a small oblong leather case. Too small to contain a weapon.

Already quite sure of what he would find in there, Diego opened it and saw a pair of eye spectacles with oval lenses and thin wire rims, equipped with straight arms designed to rest on the ears.

So, she was he little bit weak-eyed? Diego tried them on: indeed things actually appeared a bit blurry to him through these and he almost got tears in his eyes, but it was still very bearable: the correction probably wasn't too strong.

Putting her things back in her saddlebag, he took another glance at their owner: she appeared to be still very quiet and showed no signs either of awakening – unfortunately – or of impending fit of delirium, so Diego decided to make the most of it and go visit Felipe in his cell.

After a last glance at the woman he left the room and went downstairs.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

The daily activity had resumed in the tavern and Victoria was dragging her feet from table to table, stifling her yawns and trying not to spill or knock anything over. She still had not recovered from her shortened night, her siesta having been disturbed by the thought of Felipe moping in his cell and her tiff with Don Diego.

Speaking of the devil… The latter was precisely going down the stairs. Avoiding eye contact with him, she turned to the entrance. Well, decidedly, she was surrounded by de la Vegas: Don Alejandro had just entered her tavern.

"I've just seen Felipe," she heard him tell his son. "His spirits are not exactly very high," he added.

Poor Felipe, Victoria sighed inwardly. Still not too proud of herself, she tried to smother her guilty conscience and to redeem herself to her own eye by thinking about sending him some snack to improve the meagre and bland garrison's staple diet.

She slipped inside her kitchen just when Don Diego was answering his father:

"I'm about to go visit him myself. She's still unconscious."

No need to wonder about this 'she', Victoria knew exactly who he was referring to.

Grabbing a wicker basket she laid a clean cloth inside and stuffed some fruits, three slices of cured ham, a boiled egg, two quesadillas and a portion of cuajada custard.

When she went back to the main room Don Alejandro was going upstairs and Don Diego was watching him climb the stairs.

C'mon, chin up, Victoria urged herself, I have to go and talk to him. A fine intention indeed, yet she remained rooted to the spot near the counter, a remnant of little cowardice apparently preventing her from getting her feet into action.

But Don Diego was already turning toward the exit and about to start walking out.

C'mon! This time Victoria found the courage to cross the few steps that were keeping them apart and, doing her best to make it look fortuitous, she nevertheless stood rooted in his way.

Stopping short before bumping into her, he lowered a rather surprised and questioning look on her.

I absolutely must find something to say... Victoria thought, quick!

"I... uh... So, how's your patient?" she finally asked.

Which was a very pointless question of course, not that she was totally indifferent to the señorita's fate, but in fact she had just heard him tell his father there was no change, nothing new. But at least this allowed her to re-engage the conversation without directly broaching the regrets she knew she would have to formulate but had decidedly quite some trouble getting out of her mouth.

"Still the same," he let out, more laconic than ever.

Pfff, Victoria sighed, he has still not warmed up to me.

"I see..." she replied, not finding anything better to reply.

Another awkward silence.

Diego, on his part, wasn't feeling much better-at-ease. A whirl of mingled and warring emotions, each one as unpleasant as the others, was twirling inside him right now. Worry, annoyance, embarrassment, irritation, weariness, frustration, bitterness, and a remnant of resentment too...

And that awkward silence between them was not helping, in this moment when more than ever he needed moral support from his friends. And especially from the woman he loved.

She doubted Felipe. Mistrusted him. All these years long, Diego had been able to accept his own feelings for her, to accept to hide them, to accept the role of the ever loyal friend, to accept that she'd offer him, Diego, nothing else than a friendly affection; to accept the idea that plainly enough she couldn't love the man behind the mask. From her as well as for her, he had accepted almost everything.

Everything, with regard to himself. But with regard to the one he already considered his son... That she was not in love with him was one thing, but that she could think even one second that Felipe...

Did she know them both so little?

Yet she was there, right in front of him, and was speaking to him. At least that was something. And he couldn't come up with anything better to answer her than three simple little words, not even a complete sentence?

In his mind, resentment on the one hand and desire to be conciliatory on the other hand were still warring when he forced himself to break the awkward silence that had settled between them. But what could he tell her, which would sound neither like a reproach nor like an abdication, like the admission of a fault he did not acknowledge?

"I…" he started before stopping, pointing to the exit. "I'll go and see Felipe. He certainly needs..."

He did not say what exactly, but that didn't matter. Victoria got the gist. He needed some company, he needed his spirits to be lifted, he needed his mind to be taken off things.

He needed to see someone who believed in him.

He needed his father.

He needed to know that some people thought he was innocent. Knew he was innocent.

Victoria stared at her shoes, then she looked up and handed Diego the handle of the basket she was holding.

"I prepared... I thought... He... perhaps a little snack..."

He stared at her, a little surprised. And seeing in Diego's eyes this surprise at a goodwill gesture from her almost made her hurt.

"Well..." she went on, "I thought it would perhaps please him? Would cheer him up a bit?"

Diego still stared at her for a moment, almost... doubtful? No, she thought, just surprised.

"A peace offering?"

He had meant to say it in a mellowed tone of voice, acknowledging the step she was taking towards him – or rather towards Felipe? – and had even tried to slip in a small smile, his own peace offering. But then why did it come out in this bitter, almost crusty tone, sounding like irony? Almost like an accusation, a reproach? And why did the benevolent smile he intended to give her turn out to look like… a snide smirk?

Brilliant! he then reflected bitterly. Not only was he annoyed with the world in general since the day before and on rather cool terms with Victoria in particular since the morning, but also he now was quite displeased with himself!

Victoria for her part was visibly affected, and stared down at the basket she had envisioned as an olive branch between Don Diego and herself, without daring raise her eyes.

He could see that he had obviously hurt her, and immediately regretted his slightly too sharp retort.

But soon Victoria's equally feisty temperament resurfaced and burst the bubble of guilty conscience and self-disappointment that had contained it theretofore. How dare he brush aside her token of goodwill like that?

She was about to let out some strongly-worded retort and looked up at Diego to stare at him right in the eyes when she saw in them the usual gentleness she nevertheless wasn't expecting to find there at that moment. A hint of a conciliatory smile was playing under his moustache and he finally laid his hand on the basket handle, next to Victoria's.

The surprise she felt at this sudden change stopped short the rant she was about to serve him.

But soon, Diego's expression changed again. Seeming to change his mind he quickly withdrew his hand from the handle and his features became once more neutral. He looked away to the door, pursed his lips a bit, and cleared his throat as if embarrassed.

He then seemed to make up his mind and suggested:

"What if you come and bring it to him yourself? He will certainly be glad to know that you think of him..."

I take a step, he takes a step... Victoria thought. Appreciating this sort of 'outstretched hand' from him to the full, Victoria accepted it and followed him, relieved that although neither of them had made any apology or admitted their faults, their friendship seemed to be willing to take the (slow) path of mending and reconciliation.