hair. She was at the far end, by the doors, talking to a couple of Mexican women. In the shadows of the stables it didn’t immediately dawn on him that the Mexican woman in the fancy white dress with the roses embroidered onit was Miriam. Before he thought about it he pointed her out to Mamm—a big mistake. Mamm turned her face to the wall, fetching a handkerchief from her pocket as her shoulders began to shake, weeping.
Caleb leaned close and whispered in her ear, “She is still our daughter, Mamm. I must speak to her. You stay here with the girls.”
Mamm nodded without turning.
When Caleb walked up, the plump Mexican woman between Miriam and Rachel was complaining bitterly about her husband.
“My Paco is up on the walls with Domingo. In his wedding clothes ! Just try to keep a Zapara out of a fight, Miriam. You’ll see. Silly old goat.”
Miriam was listening intently when Caleb walked up. It was a tense moment. He wasn’t sure whether Miriam was ignoring him or just didn’t see him. He studied her embroidered dress for a minute—the white satin shoes in her hand, the lacy mantilla veil over her undone hair.
“Miriam Bender,” he said softly.
Miriam’s mouth flew open in shock, but she collected her wits quickly. “ Me llamo Miriam Zapara,” she said, and there was a hint of respectful sadness in her eyes. “I am Domingo’s wife. This is Maria, his aunt. She is my madrina.”
So it was done. “Are you all right?” he managed to ask.
“Sí, Dat. I am unharmed, but I am afraid for Domingo. He is on the wall with a rifle.”
Caleb gazed in the direction of the gate. “Sí, he would be. I hope he doesn’t get himself killed.”
There was a commotion by the door as a Mexican in fancy clothes stumbled into the stable clutching his shoulder. He dropped to his knees in the dirt, his face ghostly pale.
Maria wailed. “Paco!” She ran to her husband and peeledoff his jacket to reveal a shirtsleeve soaked in blood. Kyra went to her aid, kneeling beside Maria and ripping away her uncle’s shirt before they laid him down on top of his ruined jacket.
Paco smiled weakly up at his wife. “A flesh wound, Maria. The bullet passed through. I have been hurt worse shaving.”
Feigning anger, Maria’s eyes widened and she hissed at him, “Sí, you will live, but you will still be an old fool!” Her hands never stopped working, wiping blood, applying pressure. Kyra ripped Paco’s wedding shirt into long strips to make bandages.
Caleb went over and knelt in the dirt beside the wounded man’s head.
“I am Caleb Bender, Miriam’s father,” he said. “Perhaps you can tell me, Señor . . .”
“Zapara. But Miriam’s father may call me Paco.”
“Paco, if you are able, can you tell me what happened out there? I didn’t think the bandits would attack the hacienda.”
“They didn’t, at first.” Paco winced as Maria jerked a bandage tight. “The bandidos stopped short of the town when they saw all the rifles on the walls. They turned around to go back to your valley, but three wagonloads of federales came down Saltillo Road and blocked their retreat. The bandidos had no choice but to take cover in the village where they were caught between the hacienda walls and the federales, taking fire from both sides.”
As he spoke, the rifle fire from the walls grew sporadic, then stopped entirely.
“The troops have come, then,” Caleb said. “This is good.”
Paco gave him a doubtful look and half shrugged with his good shoulder. “Maybe. We will see.”
A shadow fell across them both, and when Caleb looked up, Domingo was standing in the door, rifle in hand. Miriam ran to him and opened his jacket, searching for wounds.
The echo of a pistol shot came from beyond the walls, and a few seconds later, another. Caleb watched the men on the walls. None of them seemed alarmed by the shots. They didn’t even raise their rifles.
Domingo put an arm around his bride and smiled.
“I have no wounds,
Caleb leaned close and whispered in her ear, “She is still our daughter, Mamm. I must speak to her. You stay here with the girls.”
Mamm nodded without turning.
When Caleb walked up, the plump Mexican woman between Miriam and Rachel was complaining bitterly about her husband.
“My Paco is up on the walls with Domingo. In his wedding clothes ! Just try to keep a Zapara out of a fight, Miriam. You’ll see. Silly old goat.”
Miriam was listening intently when Caleb walked up. It was a tense moment. He wasn’t sure whether Miriam was ignoring him or just didn’t see him. He studied her embroidered dress for a minute—the white satin shoes in her hand, the lacy mantilla veil over her undone hair.
“Miriam Bender,” he said softly.
Miriam’s mouth flew open in shock, but she collected her wits quickly. “ Me llamo Miriam Zapara,” she said, and there was a hint of respectful sadness in her eyes. “I am Domingo’s wife. This is Maria, his aunt. She is my madrina.”
So it was done. “Are you all right?” he managed to ask.
“Sí, Dat. I am unharmed, but I am afraid for Domingo. He is on the wall with a rifle.”
Caleb gazed in the direction of the gate. “Sí, he would be. I hope he doesn’t get himself killed.”
There was a commotion by the door as a Mexican in fancy clothes stumbled into the stable clutching his shoulder. He dropped to his knees in the dirt, his face ghostly pale.
Maria wailed. “Paco!” She ran to her husband and peeledoff his jacket to reveal a shirtsleeve soaked in blood. Kyra went to her aid, kneeling beside Maria and ripping away her uncle’s shirt before they laid him down on top of his ruined jacket.
Paco smiled weakly up at his wife. “A flesh wound, Maria. The bullet passed through. I have been hurt worse shaving.”
Feigning anger, Maria’s eyes widened and she hissed at him, “Sí, you will live, but you will still be an old fool!” Her hands never stopped working, wiping blood, applying pressure. Kyra ripped Paco’s wedding shirt into long strips to make bandages.
Caleb went over and knelt in the dirt beside the wounded man’s head.
“I am Caleb Bender, Miriam’s father,” he said. “Perhaps you can tell me, Señor . . .”
“Zapara. But Miriam’s father may call me Paco.”
“Paco, if you are able, can you tell me what happened out there? I didn’t think the bandits would attack the hacienda.”
“They didn’t, at first.” Paco winced as Maria jerked a bandage tight. “The bandidos stopped short of the town when they saw all the rifles on the walls. They turned around to go back to your valley, but three wagonloads of federales came down Saltillo Road and blocked their retreat. The bandidos had no choice but to take cover in the village where they were caught between the hacienda walls and the federales, taking fire from both sides.”
As he spoke, the rifle fire from the walls grew sporadic, then stopped entirely.
“The troops have come, then,” Caleb said. “This is good.”
Paco gave him a doubtful look and half shrugged with his good shoulder. “Maybe. We will see.”
A shadow fell across them both, and when Caleb looked up, Domingo was standing in the door, rifle in hand. Miriam ran to him and opened his jacket, searching for wounds.
The echo of a pistol shot came from beyond the walls, and a few seconds later, another. Caleb watched the men on the walls. None of them seemed alarmed by the shots. They didn’t even raise their rifles.
Domingo put an arm around his bride and smiled.
“I have no wounds,
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