Three Wishes (16 page)

My mouth watered, and my stomach rumbled, but we were still a ways away from the noon meal. I went over to the stove, took a hot tortilla from the stack, and lifted an eyebrow to silently ask the cook if I might have one. She looked at me as if I were an idiot—clearly I had access to anything I wanted in the kitchen, as a “lady guest,” as Maria called me.

I hurriedly bit into the soft tortilla and appreciated it anew. It was familiar enough—from dough to finished product—but clearly the effort of drying and grinding their own corn, adding a bit of lime, a bit of lard, a bit of water, all so freshly garnered from the land on which we stood…well, I didn’t think that it was my imagination telling me that these were simply better. It made up for a bit of my longing for Abuela’s rice and beans because
it rocked
. Totally.

Having heard I was in the kitchen, Maria came and fetched me an hour later, insisting I come upstairs and freshen up. Upstairs I found Maria had drawn a bath for me, and she’d laid out a riding habit for me to try on, in a startling ruby red, with fresh underthings. It all made me want to cry, I was so happy. “Oh,” I mused, the lamest thing I could manage in the moment. They were presumably trying to get me ready for the journey the next day and wanted to see if they had something suitable to fit. But the bath—the
bath
. Sweaty from the kitchen, with greasy hair after days of no shower, and definitely sporting a killer case of BO, I was suddenly desperate to get into the water.

Maria unbuttoned the back of my dress, batting away my hands as I tried to help her. In another minute, she had it totally undone, and I pulled it over my head as she set out a bar of soap and a towel on the edge. “I’ll be back in an hour to help you with your hair,” she said, nodding, and then she slipped out the door.

I probed the water with a toe and found it the perfect temperature. I clambered into the hammered copper tub, which angled back behind me. It wasn’t long enough for me to submerge my legs too, but blessedly, most of my body was covered, with just my knees bobbing up. I held my breath and dunked below, urging water to reach my oily scalp. Then I emerged and peered at the soap through dripping eyelashes. With no shampoo or conditioner, it appeared the soap was my only option, from head to toe. I did my best to lather up, but it wasn’t anything like modern-day suds with big, beautiful bubbles. Still, it smelled clean—with lavender mixed in—and felt smooth. I didn’t want to think about what kind of fat they might use to make it so. No, I didn’t want to think about that at all. I only wanted to relish the warm water and the sensation of being clean, really clean, for the first time in days.

I remained in the tub until the water grew cool and I’d washed every part of my body from ears to nails to toes. Then I reluctantly stood up, shivering as I wrapped my towel around me. In the distance, through the window, I could see tiny figures on the ridge, vaqueros driving a hundred head of cattle up and over the hills toward us. It was a peaceful, otherworldly scene, so distant that I couldn’t hear the crack of a whip or the lowing of the cows, but the air was so clear and the sun so tangelo-bright—casting them in silhouette—it was as if I were watching them through a director’s camera lens.

Remembering that it would soon be time for the noon meal, I turned toward the bed and slipped on the bloomers and split petticoat that went beneath the split skirt for riding. I was just eying the corset, blouse, and high-necked jacket when Maria knocked softly at my door. I lifted the towel to cover myself and went to the door to let her in, hiding behind it.

She looked from me to the bed. “I can assist you, Señorita, with the corset. I know you don’t favor them, but you must if you are to fit into Doña Elena’s old riding habit. You’re a bit …curvier than the mistress.”

“That’s fine,” I said hurriedly, feeling the burn of a blush. Getting help with such intimacies seemed awkward, but it was clear that I wouldn’t be able to manage the contraption alone. It was true—I’d stashed away the corset in my trunk and Maria had fished it out again today.

In the other dresses, it was possible to go without. But one glance at the tight-fitting jacket, and I knew I’d need every inch-squeezing Spanx-like power I had at my disposal.
The last thing you need is to be popping those buttons on the trail
, I thought. And since I couldn’t just bop on down to Target for something else for the trip, I really had no options. I lifted the corset, set it across my chest and turned obediently for Maria to do her work. I’d seen enough movies to know the basics of how to proceed.

I was just thinking, as she circled the last hooks, that it wasn’t all that bad, when she went back to the bottom of the stays, obviously intent on
tightening
the laces, pressing the breath right out of my lungs. I swallowed hard, trying not to squeak out my protest. I was supposed to ride a horse in this thing? But in a minute she was done and reaching for the blouse, crisply ironed with lace at the neck that plunged low over my cleavage. The jacket made it less scandalous, covering more of my chest, but not much. She urged me to my small dressing table stool and set to combing my hair out, then pulled it into a thick braid down my back. At the end, she tied it with twine, knotted it securely, and then produced a beautiful ribbon that matched the habit, tying it over the twine to conceal it.  

“The mistress has a hat to match,” she said. “We will put that on you tomorrow. For today, we just wanted to make certain you could wear this. It is good?”

Well,
good
was a debatable term. Good would’ve been sweatpants or my old jeans or PJ pants. A sweatshirt and no bra. This was pretty much the exact opposite. An old
SpongeBob
episode leapt into my mind, “Opposite Day.”
It’s Opposite Day,
I told myself. “It is good, Maria,” I said, trying to assure her.

“Very good, Señorita,” she said, her face melting with relief. “You are ready. Don Ventura wishes to ride with you after your meal. He has a new gelding for you to try.”

Riding?
How did women ride horses in such a thing? The split skirt was wide, ample in fabric to allow for me to ride sidesaddle without exposing any skin, presumably. But that assumed that one didn’t need to breathe while she rode.

I paused at the door, and Maria looked at me. “I don’t know, Maria. Perhaps the corset is too tight.”

“No,” she said firmly. “You are simply unused to it. You did not wear one where you came from. You have none of the markings the other women do that I have seen as I dress them.”

Clearly the girls in this household bore some sort of bruises or scars from years in such contraptions. Only thoughts about foot-bindings in the Far East comforted me. At least my boots were big enough… “No,” I said. “Not often.”

Maria handed me a pair of black gloves and then gestured toward the hall and stairs. “They’re likely already at table,” she said, urging me forward. “Go on, Señorita.”

I nodded and hurried along the hall and down the stairs, admitting to myself that I did have better posture in the corset. Stomach in, back straight, my shoulders naturally pulled back too, and my chin high. I felt like a doll in a new outfit and wondered just how many times Doña Elena had worn this “old habit,” since it appeared none the worse for wear.

When I entered the dining room, Javier looked my way. His eyes widened, and he stood, as did his little brothers. “Zara, you look…quite…
prepared
for a ride,” he finished awkwardly, moving to help me take my seat. But I could easily imagine the word he’d almost spoken before hesitating, as he lingered behind me a moment as if he wanted to say more.
Beautiful
had been the word in his wonder-filled eyes. I imagined that I at last looked the part of a fine Latina settled in this frontier villa, rather than an interloper. Scrubbed clean and in the impeccable riding habit, I
felt
more like I fit the part.

I accepted a bowl of soup from Francesca, who was serving from a big bowl at the center, and caught Doña Elena’s gaze from the end of the table. She looked dotingly at me. “The habit fits you well,” she said approvingly. “It never was quite right for me. Perhaps it was always meant for you.”

“Oh,” I said, not quite sure how to respond to that. “Yes. Thank you so much.” I had the crazy thought that maybe she hadn’t ever worn the habit—had had it made for me—but they would have had to begin
that
process the day I arrived. I was just lucky they had something for me, tight as it felt. Hopefully it would hold together over a couple of days of riding to Santa Barbara and a couple more when we returned.

I took hold of my goblet and swallowed some water. Water was about all I was going to ingest. Eating and drinking in the cursed corset were going to make it all the more miserable, I thought. But I was hungry, both breakfast and the stolen tortilla from the kitchen long since burned away. It had been a busy morning. So I ate, at least half my normal portions, and felt better for it. Also, the corset seemed to be easing a bit; perhaps it was why they laced them up so tightly from the start.

A manservant appeared in the doorway as we finished, hat in hand, waiting for Javier to notice him. Javier waved him forward, and the man bent to whisper something in his ear and then hurried out. Wiping his face with his napkin, Javier looked again to me. “I would ask you the favor of your company, Señorita,” he said, rising and coming around my chair to help me up.

“Oh…yes, of course,” I said, glancing at the others. They all looked our way expectantly. Estrella was grinning as widely as the kitchen maids had after he’d left me there, eyes practically big, pulsing heart-shapes like a cartoon character.

Javier offered me his arm. “I fear I’m not quite dressed to match your finery today, Señorita.”

I glanced at him as I wrapped my fingers around his forearm, noting the fine muscles beneath his own crisp shirt. “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “I think you look quite fine.”

He grinned at this as he opened the door for me, grandly gesturing me forward, and my heart skipped a beat. He was handsome, so handsome. But when he smiled…
Santos y ángeles
…every girl I knew would practically die to see a smile like that from him. He was…glorious. Almost too gorgeous. I thought I deserved an award or something for just being able to put two or three words together in his presence, let alone hold my own the way I had. But I had to keep a firm lid on things.
No more flirting, Zara.
He did not need me to lead him on. That wouldn’t be cool, what with me thinking about getting home every time I had a chance to consider it.

Outside the villa, Javier offered me his arm again and led me around to the hitching posts that stood just beyond the library windows. It was here that I saw the horse, a gorgeous chestnut gelding with a white star-shape on his forehead. I hadn’t seen him before. “Well, where did you come from, boy?” I asked, extending a hand to let him sniff me and then running my fingers up and down his nose.

Maria was there, then, beside me, quietly handing me my gloves with wide eyes. “Oh, yes,” I said, catching her hint that it wasn’t cool to go for a ride without them. “Thank you.”

She bobbed a curtsey and left me, scurrying into the house as if holding her breath. I had the odd sensation that every window was filled with servants or family members watching us, and I glanced to them but saw nothing.

“This gelding is one of Rancho Castillo’s finest,” Javier said, running his hand along the horse’s jaw and neck and watching me as I awkwardly pulled on my gloves. “When I saw him among a brood that Rafael is taking to Santa Barbara tomorrow, I…negotiated a deal with him.”

“You mean you won him?” I guessed.

Javier’s melty-chocolate-beautiful-eyes widened. Was that a bit of a blush at his jaw and neck?

I smiled. “I don’t think that Rafael would willingly let a horse like this go without exacting a pretty penny from you. Unless you beat him at cards last night?”

Javier huffed through his nose, lips curling upward, and he inclined his head. “You gather much in only a little time, Señorita.”

“I’d like to think so,” I said, taking the reins from him.

“But I’ll have you know I paid my friend. I didn’t win the horse outright. I just won him at a very good price.”

I smiled. That felt better. I didn’t want to be riding a horse stolen out from under Rafael’s fingertips.

Doña Elena and Mateo strode out then to admire Javier’s new purchase,
ooh
ing and
ahh
ing. “Oh, he’s the perfect size for Señorita Ruiz,” Doña Elena said. “You did very well, my son.”

I gaped at her. “Wait,” I said, looking to Javier. “You bought him for
me
?”

“And the saddle,” she said, with knowing, doting eyes. “He had the saddle remade for you too.”

My eyes widened as I took in the fine leather, the tooling, the flashes of silver. It was far more modest than his own, but it was beautiful. “You did this for me?” I asked, embarrassed at the squeak in my voice.

“Well, you needed a mount of your own for the trip tomorrow,” he said, one brow arching saucily. “And I didn’t want you to think again of taking
mine
. Come, let’s ride, and you can decide for yourself whether you wish to keep him.” With a swift, agile move, he was up and astride his mare, waiting on me. Flustered, I looked to my mount, wondering how I was supposed to get up on top of him without aid.

Thankfully a stable boy had brought a box made into stairs, which he gestured toward. I handed my reins to Mateo, who had come closer to stroke the horse’s nose, and climbed the stairs, taking hold of the horn, studying the oddly shaped saddle, with a bump in front and a partial
U
above it.
For my front leg,
I figured, breathing a sigh of relief. It would make it much more stable, this whole riding-sidesaddle business, with that
U
helping to hold me in place.

I sat down on the central part, then lifted my left leg into the groove in front, grimacing a bit at how much that leather piece came over my leg. I supposed I’d appreciate it if I was going fast, but it was so tight, I wondered if my leg would be asleep before we reached the sea. Apparently girls in 1840 had skinnier thighs than the saddler thought I might. The stable boy hurriedly flicked my skirt down when it lifted to calf-height, as if embarrassed that I hadn’t seen it myself. Mateo handed the reins up to me, and I took them in hand. I shifted, trying to find just the right placement for my rear, and then adjusted the reins as the gelding tugged downward to munch on some grass.