Ricardo said, “Wait here, Sister. I’m going to try to get us a ride.”
He approached the driver of the lead wagon, a burly man in full gypsy regalia, including earrings.
“Buenas tardes, señor. I would consider it a great kindness if you could give my fiancee and me a ride.”
The gypsy looked over to where Graciela was standing. “It is possible. Where are you headed?”
“To the Guadarrama mountains.”
“I can take you as far as Cerezo de Abajo.”
“That would be of great value. Thank you.”
Ricardo shook the gypsy’s hand and put money in it.
“Get in the last wagon.”
“Gracias.”
Ricardo returned to where Graciela was waiting. “The gypsies are going to take us as far as Cerezo de Abajo,” he told her. “We’ll ride in the last wagon.”
For an instant he was sure she was going to refuse. She hesitated, then started toward the wagon.
There were half a dozen gypsies inside and they made room for Ricardo and Graciela. As they climbed aboard, Ricardo started to help the sister up, but the moment he touched her arm, she pushed him away with a fierceness that took him by surprise. All right, to hell with you. He caught a glimpse of Graciela’s bare leg as she lifted herself onto the wagon, and he could not help thinking: She has the most beautiful legs I’ve ever seen.
They made themselves as comfortable as possible on the hard wooden floor of the wagon and the long journey began. Graciela sat in a corner, her eyes closed and her lips moving in prayer. Ricardo could not take his eyes off her.
As the day wore on, the sun became a hot furnace beating down on them, baking the earth, and the sky was a deep, cloudless blue. From time to time as the wagon crossed the plains, huge birds soared overhead. Buitre leonado, Ricardo thought. The lion-colored griffon vultures.
Late in the afternoon the gypsy caravan came to a stop and the leader approached the last wagon.
“This is as far as we can take you,” he told Ricardo. “We’re headed for Vinvelas.”
Wrong direction. “This is fine,” Ricardo assured him. “Thank you.”
He started to reach out a hand for Graciela and quickly thought better of it.
Ricardo turned to the leader of the gypsies. “I would consider it a kindness if you would sell some food to my fiancee and me.”
The chief turned to one of the women and said something in a foreign tongue, and a few moments later two packages of food were handed to Ricardo.
“Muchas gracias.” He pulled out some money.
The gypsy chief studied him for a moment. “You and the sister have already paid for the food.”
You and the sister. So he knew. Yet Ricardo felt no sense of danger. The gypsies were as oppressed by the government as were the Basques and Catalans.
“Vayan con Dios.”
Ricardo stood there watching the caravan move out of sight, then turned to Graciela. She was watching him, silent, impassive.
“You won’t have to put up with my company much longer,” Ricardo assured her. “Soon we will be in Logroño. You’ll meet your friends there and you’ll be on your way to the convent at Mendavia.”
No reaction. He could have been talking to a stone wall. I am talking to a stone wall
They had been dropped off in a peaceful valley rich with orchards of apple, pear, and fig trees. A few feet away from them was the Duratón River, filled with fat trout. In the past, Ricardo had fished there often. It would have been an ideal place to stay and rest, but there was a long road to travel.
He turned to study the Guadarrama mountains, the range that lay ahead of them. Ricardo knew the area well. There were several trails that wound through the length of the mountains. Cabras, wild mountain goats, and wolves roamed the passages, and Ricardo would have chosen the shortest route had he been traveling alone. But with Sister Graciela at his side, he decided on the safest.
“Well, we’d better get started,” Ricardo said. “We have a long climb ahead of us.”