Sacred Ground (30 page)

Marina averted her eyes. “I will not go,” she said softly.

“But why? Surely you will be miserable if you let Daniel go away.”

Marina faced her squarely, and Angela saw the fear and regret in her eyes. “What is it, child? What aren’t you telling me?”

“I can’t leave you, Mamá.”

Angela gave her a bewildered look.

“Father,” Marina said. “I cannot leave you alone with him.”

Angela’s hands flew to her mouth. “What are you saying, daughter?”

“Mamá, I know. About you and Father. How he treats you.”

“You do not know what you are saying!” Angela felt a pain rip through her, as if her body had been torn in two. Dear God, do not let it be so. Let my secret have been safe all these years!

But she saw in her daughter’s eyes the dreadful truth. Marina knew of Navarro’s abuse. Perhaps the others knew as well. The sudden shame and humiliation of it made Angela clutch her stomach and turn away.

“Mamá,” Marina said, reaching for her.

When Angela turned around it was to present a pale face to her daughter, chin held high, pain masked behind her eyes, as she had learned to do for so many years. “Then this is all the more reason for you to go,” she said as she fought back the tears. “What unhappiness I have known since the day I married your father would only be made a thousand times worse if you were to stay now. It is only by your going away with a man you love that I will be able to live with it.”

Marina fell into her mother’s arms and they both cried softly, even though the walls were three feet thick and no one could hear them. They wept tears onto each other’s shoulders and clung to each other for what they both knew would be the last time. Then Angela drew back, and said, “Can you send Daniel a message for him to meet you somewhere?”

“He is at the house of Francisco Marquez. He said he will be waiting for word from me, but that he must sail at midnight.”

Angela nodded. “Then we must act quickly, we haven’t much time.” She went to the door that led to the outer colonnade and looked out. As she had hoped, Carlotta was waiting outside, pacing nervously. Gesturing for her to come inside, Angela closed the door and explained briefly about the turn of events.

“Santa Maria!” Carlotta whispered, looking at her younger sister with new admiration.

“I need you to find someone to carry a message to the house of Francisco Marquez,” Angela said as she went to Marina’s small writing desk and withdrew notepaper and a pen. “It is important this message is delivered before midnight.” She folded it and sealed it, then handed it to Carlotta. “Who can we trust?”

Swept up by the romance and intrigue of the moment, Carlotta said with a feverish smile, “There is no one better than my own dear husband, Jacques! D’Arcy is the first to volunteer to ride with love letters to a forbidden lover, and the last to tell the secret!”

“Hurry then, and do not let anyone see you. After D’Arcy has left, tell everyone that Marina has a headache and that the ceremony will be delayed.”

After Carlotta left, Angela returned to the writing desk. “I know of a cave where you and Daniel can meet.” She hastily sketched a map on another piece of notepaper. “The cave is in a canyon, where you will find a formation of rocks with these carvings on them.” She handed the piece of paper to Marina.

The girl looked at it in wonder. “How do you know of this place, Mother?”

“I went there years ago when I, too, was afraid. And… I think, before that, although I cannot remember. I’m afraid I have no money to give you but you must take this.” She reached into a pocket in the folds of her gown. “Your grandmother, God rest her soul, gave this to me the night she died. She said it was very special, a good luck piece.” Angela fell silent. The night her mother died, Doña Luisa said strange things. She had seemed remorseful, penitent even about something which Angela could make no sense of. Did it have something to do with the strange dreams Angela had had all her life— of the cave with mysterious paintings and a wild man coming down out of the mountains to be killed by rifle shot? Had these things really happened or were they the fantasies of a child, stories she had heard?

She folded Marina’s fingers over the spirit-stone, and said, “Go now. You will be safe there until Daniel joins you.”

They embraced quickly and wiped tears from their cheeks, but as Marina was fastening her cape and reaching for her gloves, the door flew open to reveal Navarro standing there like a wrathful god. “What is this? I overheard Carlotta tell D’Arcy that there was something wrong with Marina.” Then he saw the cape and traveling bag. “Have you lost your senses?” he boomed.

“She is not going to marry Quiñones,” Angela said.

“Shut up, woman. I will deal with you later.” He turned on Marina. “Get into that wedding dress.”

“I cannot, Papá.”

“
Dios mio
, I raised you better than this!”

“You did not raise her,” Angela said, “
I
raised her. And I say she can leave.”

His arm shot out so fast Angela did not see it coming, and he struck her with such force that he knocked her nearly across the room. Then he reached for Marina.

As Angela struggled to her feet, shaking her head to clear it, her eyes focused on the seamstress’s shears on the dressing table. Angela moved swiftly. The shears were in her hand, rising high in the air, plunging deeply into Navarro’s back.

He roared like a grizzly bear, turned slowly, and blinked at Angela in frank surprise. Then he fell forward, landing on the floor facedown, still and silent.

The two women stared at him for a moment, then Marina dropped to her knees and placed her hand on her father’s neck. She looked up at her mother with big, frightened eyes. “He is dead,” she whispered.

Kneeling at his side, Angela wordlessly went through Navarro’s pockets, finding a handful of coins, which she dropped into Marina’s bag. Then, thrusting it into her daughter’s hands, she said, “Go now. Hurry. Do not let anyone see you. When the Quiñones learn of this, they will ride after you.”

“But Mamá—”

Angela pulled her daughter to the door that led to the inner courtyard, through which Marina could escape unseen. “Go, and you must make sure they do not find you.” With tears in her eyes, she added, “You can never come back here, for once you set foot on this road, you must follow it to its end. Your brothers, and possibly the Quiñones, will say you have dishonored our families. But I say it is worse to dishonor one’s heart. When you are safe, my daughter, send word to Carlotta in Mexico and she will find a way to let me know. But your whereabouts must not be known, not for a very long time. Go now. Go with God and with my love.”

Marina paused to watch her mother draw a chair next to Navarro’s body. “What will you do?”

“I will wait here until I am certain you are safe,” she said. And she sat down, hands folded in her lap, to wait.

* * *

Marina rode like the wind, her way guided by the full moon, her heart galloping in cadence with the horse’s hooves as she prayed frantically that Daniel would receive the message and come for her.

Her father lying dead on the floor! And Mamá, sitting there, grimly awaiting her fate.

As she neared the end of
El Camino Viejo
she followed her mother’s instructions until she found the little canyon and, hidden behind boulders, the cave. Inside, while she waited for Daniel to join her, she sat near the entrance, in a pool of unearthly moonlight, and counted her money in her lap. Coins taken from Father’s pockets— pesos, reales, and an American one-cent piece. Her fingers trembled with fear and her heart leapt at every sound. A cold wind blew through the canyon and rushed into the cave like the icy breath of a ghost.

The hour grew late and Marina’s fear mounted. What time was it? Had D’Arcy made it to Marquez’s house? Or had he been stopped?

Suddenly— hooves picking over the rubble outside.

Marina held her breath.

A rider dismounted.

Hastily putting the coins back in her purse, she stood up, a coin falling to the earth along with the spirit-stone.

“Daniel?” she called out. “Is that you?”

Chapter Thirteen

Darkness.

Erica couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or closed. Where was she? She tried to remember, tried to assess her situation. Her head felt funny and there was a pressure on her chest making it difficult to breathe. Her hands hurt.

She realized after a moment that she was slumped on a dirt floor. Then she remembered: she was in the cave. There had been an explosion, a cave-in. Luke buried in the rubble. And she had started frantically digging her way out. That was why her hands hurt. She had cut and torn her fingers. How long had she been lying there unconscious? The air was dangerously thin. How much was left? And how close were the rescuers who were surely digging on the other side of the cave-in?

She tried to sit up but found herself shockingly weak. So she remained on the floor, the scent of dirt and dust filling her nose. “Help…” she whispered, but there was little breath in her lungs.

Suddenly she saw someone standing over her, purse-lipped and wagging an admonishing finger. Mrs. Manion. Erica’s fourth grade schoolteacher. What was she doing here in the cave?
I must be delirious. Or is my life flashing before my eyes? But doesn’t that only pertain to drowning persons?
Other faces joined the teacher, characters from Erica’s past, people who had been both real and fantasized. They were trying to tell her something.

And then she passed out.

* * *

When Erica regained consciousness again she listened carefully. All around was deathly silence. Was no one trying to dig her out? Had they given up?

More faces materialized, ghostly, beckoning. “No…” she whispered, thinking they had come to escort her to the land of the dead. Or were they taking her someplace else? Back in time…

His name was Chip Masters and he was one of the Bad Boys of Reseda High. When he invited Erica and her girlfriend to go for a ride with him and some other kids in his dad’s new car, how could she resist? At sixteen Erica chafed against the strict rules of the girls’ home she currently lived in. Chip was mystery and adventure.

There was beer in the car. Although she didn’t like the taste, she took a few sips, to fit in with the crowd. They took turns driving— Ventura, White Oak, Sherman Way. Onto the freeway. Off at Studio City. It was during Erica’s turn at the wheel that a police cruiser turned on a siren and ordered her to pull over. Erica was suddenly scared. She didn’t have a driver’s license. And then like lightning, the other kids jumped out and ran while Erica, puzzled, stayed in the car.

At the police station she tried to convince the cops that she hadn’t known the car was stolen. How did she get the keys? they asked. Whose car did she think it was? Who were the companions who ran off when she pulled over? But Erica had learned in group and foster homes the code of teenage ethics that dictated one never ratted on friends.

She was charged with grand theft auto and sent to Juvenile Hall until her hearing. There she encountered tough kids who told her horror stories about California Youth Authority camps. “You’re pretty and you’re white. You’d better watch out for yourself in the showers.”

Being in court was not a new experience for Erica. As a ward of the state, whenever her status changed, she had had to face a judge in Dependency Court. Except that now she was in Delinquency Court, and if they found her guilty and sentenced her to CYA, then her “ass was toast,” as the Juvie kids warned.

It was September, the worst month to be in the San Fernando Valley, when heat and smog were at their peak, and Erica was more frightened and depressed than she could remember. Not only had Chip Masters and the others not come forward in her defense, the woman who ran the group home declared she didn’t tolerate bad girls and refused to offer a good character witness for Erica. She was the most alone she had ever been in her life, and facing a hard sentence behind chain link and razor wire.

Erica was in one of the hallways at Superior Court waiting for her case to be called. The hearing was to determine if she should be tried as a juvenile or as an adult. A kid ran past an elderly lady and knocked her purse off her arm. Others came to the woman’s aid, helping her up, taking her to the elevator. Erica, sitting on a bench, saw the coin purse that had slid under a chair. She picked it up, looked at the money inside, then ran after the lady, catching her just before the elevator doors closed.

The hearing had a disastrous outcome. The judge determined Erica to be streetwise and mature and therefore should be tried as an adult. While her social worker was escorting her out of the courtroom, Erica had suddenly gotten sick. She went into the ladies’ room while the social worker waited out in the hall. And it was in the white-tiled bathroom that smelled of disinfectant, while Erica was sobbing her eyes out and thinking that her life had come to an end— for surely, since no one believed her story, she was going to be sent to prison on a felony charge— that a well-dressed lady carrying a briefcase came in and asked her what was wrong. Erica blurted out her story and to her surprise, the woman said she would help. “I saw you return that woman’s money to her this morning. You could have kept it. No one was watching you. You didn’t see me on the other side of the newsstand. That tells me something about your character. A girl who returns a purse full of money is not going to steal a car.”

The lady, it turned out, was a lawyer who was on good terms with the judge. She took Erica straight back into the courtroom and explained to the man on the bench that this minor had been represented by a panel attorney and therefore had had inadequate representation. She asked to be appointed guardian ad litem and sought an immediate rehearing for the girl. The judge looked at Erica, and said, “This person has taken an interest in you. Are you comfortable with that?”

“Yes.”

“Then I am going to strike my previous order, appoint this woman as your guardian ad litem, and refer you back to juvenile court. You are being given one last chance, young lady. I hope you realize how lucky you are.”

* * *

When Erica regained consciousness again she listened to the unearthly silence. Had the rescuers given up? Did they think she had been buried in the cave-in? She felt something in her hand, hard and stonelike. How had it gotten there and why was she clasping it so tightly?

And then: Sounds! Thumping. Digging. Muffled voices. “Yes…” she whispered with a dry throat. “I’m here… don’t stop…”

* * *

“Come on!” Jared shouted. “Hurry up! She’s running out of air!” Erica had been trapped in the cave for nearly eight hours.

The teams madly dug away at the rubble and earth that had sealed the cave entrance. They used shovels, buckets, hand trowels, and bare hands. Paramedics were standing by.

“Wait!” Jared said suddenly, holding his hands up for silence. “I thought I heard—”

A faint sound from the other side of the cave-in.
“Hello? Can anyone hear me?”

“It’s Erica! She’s alive! Keep digging!”

Finally: a small opening in the dirt. And then Erica calling weakly, “Can you see me? Jared, is that you?”

He attacked the earth until he had an opening large enough to reach in and haul her out and help her to her feet. She was badly shaken and covered with dirt. “Luke! Is Luke hurt?”

“He’s all right. He managed to jump free before the cave-in caught him. But what about you? Are you okay, Erica?”

“Yes, yes,” she said weakly. She unclasped her fingers and looked in surprise at the small pink statue she had been holding. “I was digging my way out… I don’t know what level it was at— is it Aztec? How did an Aztec god get so far north—”

Suddenly Jared’s mouth was on hers in a hard, breathless kiss.

Erica held on to him for a moment, then she went limp.

“Are you okay?”
he repeated.

“Oh yes. I’m fine,” she said.

And she fainted dead away.