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13
Isabella hated seeing her father in such a weakened state. His face was ashen, and even his eyes had lost their luster. He was dying. She hadn’t allowed herself to accept it until that moment. And it seemed accepting the truth unleashed an outpouring of guilt and regret that was hard for her to ignore.
For reasons beyond her understanding, Isabella sat awash in memories of the past even as her mother spoke of the future and her love for this dying man. She had always felt safe in the company of her father and mother, especially as a child. Thoughts of the times when Papi had come to her rescue were bittersweet. Worse still were memories of the arguments and problems Isabella had clearly instigated.
Why hadn’t she known he was ill? Why hadn’t they told her? She was ten years old when they forced her to leave California. She was old enough to understand that they were hopeful of a cure or at best a delay of her father’s illness. They could have explained this to her, and Isabella would have understood. She might not have liked it, but she wouldn’t have developed such bitterness and anger toward her parents if she had known their reasoning.
She knew she’d made her teenage years a storm of unpleasantries. She had been difficult and hard-hearted, hoping they would give up and send her away. It seemed, however, that no matter how much she alienated them, they loved her all the more.
Was that how it was with God too? Did He love her even when she rebelled and struck out against Him? Mama had once told Isabella that she understood better than Isabella might imagine. Did she? Did she understand the pain that came from leaving?
It came to Isabella in a flash. Of course Mama understood. She lost her family, her friends, and her childhood home when she married Daniel Garcia. It didn’t matter that he had money. She had shamed her family by marrying a man of Spanish-Mexican heritage. Eventually her friends would rally around her, defying their families. Isabella remembered several times when Mama’s friends had come to the estate to visit. It was done in secret, but it had given her mother such a lift of spirits. Eventually some of her cousins came to apologize for the actions of their parents.
Isabella’sabuelahad always welcomed Mama. As Daniel’s mother, she might have shunned a white woman, but instead, Violante Garcia embraced her daughter-in-law and made her a welcomed part of the family. Isabella could still remember the way they sat and sewed and shared stories. Isabella had loved to be near them at such times. She had learned so much about her heritage that way.
“Abuelita, tell me a story about when my papi was little,” Isabella might ask.
“Your papi was such a mischievous boy. He loved to play tricks on me and sneak cookies from the jar. One day I decided to have Cook make some cookies with extra salt. I thought I would teach him a lesson, but instead he lovedthem. He used to ask for them all the time.” Isabella could still hear the old woman’s chuckles.
Isabella looked down at her father and smiled. She wished she knew how to make salty cookies.
“We’ll be back to check on you later,” Mama told him. “You need to rest for now.”
“My girls,” he said in a whisper. “I love you both so very much.”
“We love you.” Mama placed a kiss on his forehead.
Isabella nodded. “We do,” she murmured, not able to bring herself to say the words.
She followed her mother from the room and wasn’t surprised when Mama headed down the hall.
“I’m going to rest for a bit and pray.”
Isabella said nothing. Even after her mother had gone inside her bedroom and closed the door, it was hard to decide what to do. With a sigh, Isabella finally headed downstairs to the music room. She had learned to play piano as a child and often found comfort in it. Since coming to New Mexico, however, she hadn’t even touched the instrument.
She sat down and ran her fingers over the keys, listening to the melodic tones. The piano was perfectly tuned. Without the need of sheet music, Isabella played a Brahms piece from memory. When she finished, she felt only slightly better.
“That was beautiful.” Aaron stood in the archway, smiling. “I didn’t know you played.”
“Since I was little.” Isabella stood and walked to the fireplace. “It has always comforted me.”
He joined her at the hearth. “How is your father?”
“He’s sleeping now.” She held her hands out to the fire, needing to do something with them. “It’s hard to see him like that.”
“Yes.”
When he said nothing more, Isabella turned to him. “Why are you here?”
“You mean right now or overall?” He met her gaze and gave a slight smile. “Although when I think about it, both situations are wrapped up in the same reason.”
“Then explain.”
Aaron shrugged. “Your father wants me to take over for him. He has asked me to care for you and your mother and Silver Veil.”
Isabella waited a moment, thinking anger would rise up inside her, but it didn’t. Her father was a very practical man. It was completely to be expected that he would arrange for someone to handle his affairs. He had no son or brother, so it fell naturally to the one man he trusted and had done business with for years.
“And how do you feel about that?” she asked.
