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22
Diego waited outside the privy while Isabella relieved herself. He looked at the scenery, wishing he could enjoy it. In another place and time, he might have come here with Isabella as his wife. She was really the most beautiful of women, and she would inherit a fortune when her father passed on, which was imminent. With Isabella he could have it all. Why hadn’t he seen that sooner? He should have proposed long ago. She was naïve enough that she would never have suspected him of wrongdoing. Now, people had changed her mind about him—poisoned her thoughts. If only he could turn back time.
Isabella came out of the outhouse and made her way to the small mountain stream without asking permission. She washed her hands and face and then scooped up the icy waters to drink. Diego had done something similar only an hour or so before she’d awoken.
“It’s very cold, isn’t it?” he said.
“It is.” She straightened and returned to where he stood.
Together they made their way back to the cabin. Isabella looked around when they entered.
“I don’t suppose you brought food for us, did you?” she asked.
“We didn’t figure for this to last much past noon. I have a few tortillas with beans that Ru—one of my men brought, and some apples.”
Isabella continued to poke through the room’s nooks and crannies. It was almost as if she was searching for something specific.
“What are you looking for?”
“Memories,” she replied, walking back to where he stood. “We used to come here all the time when I was a little girl. Papi and some of the men from town built this cabin. Did you know that? Maybe your friends told you?”
“It’s not important.”
“Well, it is to me. I have many happy memories here, despite the sorrow of leaving California behind. I don’t know why I enjoyed being here so much. Maybe because Papi wasn’t caught up with work.” Isabella ran her hand along the table where they had taken their meals. “Funny, I thought this table was much bigger.”
Diego was uncertain what to say or do. He took a seat at the table, hoping she would sit as well. “Please sit and talk to me. Let’s make plans for our future.”
Isabella looked at him for a moment, then took a seat opposite him. “What kind of future can we have, considering this will probably kill my father?”
“He’s dying anyway.” Diego shook his head. “You hated him for so many years. Why do you care now?”
“I guess because I realized I was the one at fault. Papi and Mama moved here because of Papi’s health. I learned that the doctors told Papi the arid desert would help his lungs. Someone told him about this territory and how there was plenty of land for the taking. He came to visit it and was shown where the silver would be easy to mine.”
“Nobody just gives up a silver mine,” Diego countered.
“Nobody did. This old man just told Papi that he had a feeling there was silver—maybe even gold in this area of the mountains. And there was. Papi never saw the man again and sometimes suggested he was an angel. Wouldn’t that be something if an angel actually showed Papi where the silver was?”
“Since when do you believe in angels?”
She looked at him for a moment. “I know I didn’t have much to do with God when I was younger. I blamed Him as much as I did Papi for making my life miserable, but that’s changed now. I understand better why things were done the way they were, and I’m no longer the ungrateful daughter.”
“You were never ungrateful. You deserved to have all the wonderful things the world could give. You deserved the beautiful clothes and furnishings. I do too. We are just that kind of people, Isabella.”
“No, we don’t deserve anything of the kind. We are fortunate—blessed to be born into wealth, Diego. So many of our people are hated and abused because of our darker skin. You know it full well.”
“That doesn’t mean we don’t deserve riches. Some people just do. My ancestors and yours worked the land and worked hard. They left us the results of their labor. That money should be ours, and we should be able to enjoy it.”
“But we did nothing to earn it, Diego.” She was smiling, and for some reason it irritated him.
He slammed his hand on the table. “I am the son of Esteban Federico Morales, who was the son of Miguel Federico Morales. I am entitled to share in their bounty.”
Isabella cocked her head to one side. “Why does that entitle you to anything? You didn’t work for it.”
“I have done much for my father, you know that.”
“Yes, I suppose you have. But I haven’t done much for minebut give him a hard time and withhold my love. I certainly don’t deserve any inheritance.”
“But you have money already from your grandparents, and you will soon have money from your aunt. They adored you. You must have brought them joy or they wouldn’t have given it to you. We can marry and live on that money, and when your father dies, you will inherit his money as well.”
