Rio Grande Wedding by Ruth Wind Page A

grimace. “I got a truckload of new guys coming in and I don’t need no more trouble. Most of ‘em got their visas this time, but I need every hand I can get. The chiles got to come in before the first freeze.” He looked at the sky. “Likely to be any day now.”
    And the little girl was still out there. Molly nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    Â 
    Alejandro slept for a long time. He didn’t know exactly how long, but when he stirred, the bright sunlight had gone from the room. It was very quiet in the house, so his saint had not yet returned.
    A black-and-white cat sat on the windowsill, his long tail swishing as he eyed something outside. With a fond smile, Alejandro lifted a hand and brushed his fingers over the curve of tail. “Hola, gato. ”
    The cat looked down with round yellow eyes, the alertness showing his youth. Alejandro shifted enough to put his hand under the blanket and wiggled his fingers. The cat’s eyes widened and he pounced, a purr roaring out from him as he chased the fingers from one place to another under the blanket.
    Lying there, Alejandro grew aware of the extraordinary luxury he found himself in. The bed was comfortable, big enough for his long legs. The room was clean and warm, and he could not remember the last time he’d had the pleasure of awakening to the company of a house cat. But most profound was the silence. In the migrant camps, there was always noise. Noise of other people, noise of machines and radios. It was not something he noticed ordinarily, but with the silence as comparison, he was amazed to discover how much he’d missed it.
    This was what Josefina needed. Peace and quiet and a normal life. With a pet to sleep with her and school every morning. It made him ache a little to realize she probably didn’t even remember such a life.
    The thought of Josefina compelled him to move. While Molly was gone, he had a good chance to see what he could do on his own. Slowly, he got out of bed, and hanging on to walls and chairs, made his way toward the kitchen. The leg hurt, but he could keep his weight more or less on the other one. It was his chest that killed him. Everything made it hurt.
    Going very slowly, he made it to the kitchen. It took an age to take a glass from the cupboard, another year to move three feet to the sink and turn on the faucet. Lifting his arm to his mouth with the full glass hurt a lot more than it had this morning.
    Sweating, he leaned on the counter, despising the weakness that made his arms tremble, made him faintly dizzy. Just walking. Just drinking. He already wanted to go back to bed.
    Instead, he forced himself to move to the long glass doors that led to the garden. The sun drew him and he stood in its light, not daring to step outside where someone might see him. Even blunted by the glass, the warmth of the rays felt good to him. He imagined he could feel the long fingers moving into his ribs, knitting them back together, imagined them putting healing palms against the wound in his thigh.
    It helped. For a moment. Then he found himself gritting his teeth to stay standing so straight. Felt the sweat of effort trickling down his back.
    With longing, he thought of a bath. He’d managed to wash his face and torso this morning, but his hair stuck to his head and he could feel the remnants of his feverish sleep down his back. He did not mind being honestly dirty, when he was sweaty from a day in the sun, or dusty from horses or the fields. But he did not like this. And without the woman’s help, he did not see how he could bathe, but he also disliked being so dependent upon her.
    He wiped his face wearily. His mind felt dull, formless. Until his brain cleared, he could not imagine the next steps he would have to take. For a moment, he bowed his head, feeling defeated.
    Ah, Josefina! Hija!
    He had let her down, and could not think how to find her, what do to. He was not a man who relied on