married and settled.”
“But I’m never going to marry. I want to do something more with my life.”
“Darlin’, darlin’, never say never,” her father advised. “Some nice young man may well come along and change your mind. And it’s not impossible you might meet him in New York,” he’d added, surprising her. “I came ashore there, fresh off the boat from Ireland some thirty-five years ago, and it wasn’t so bad a place. If you must go, I’ll have Robert escort you there.”
Not if, Papa—when. And when she went, she was going alone. She loved her elder brother, but he was just as overprotective as Mama and sure he knew the only right way to do anything. Besides, he had a family to look out for. It would have been fun to have another girl her age along, but once they had become young ladies, all of Tess’s school friends had become obsessed with beaux and clothing, and affected to swoon at the idea of leaving all that for some musty old photography studio up north.
One minute Tess’s wagon was rolling alone along the shadowy, mesquite-and cactus-lined road; the next, figures like ghosts had emerged from the scrub and formed themselves in lines in front of her wagon and behind it. All of them, dressed in the simple, light-colored clothing of Mexican peasants, were pointing rifles or pistols at her.
Chapter Three
“Hola, señorita,” a mustachioed fellow in the center of the road called out, smiling broadly. “Buenas noches.”
Tess began to shake—not out of fear—or at least, it wasn’t mostly fear, but rage. Less than a mile from home, she was now about to forfeit the fifty dollars for which she had labored all day to a handful of banditos. She would have given anything she had for a Winchester carbine in her lap right now.
“I don’t have anything you want,” she said, hoping she could bluff it out. “Just a camera and a wagon full of chemicals for developing photographs.”
The mustachioed man translated her words to the others. Laughter rang out as Tess fumed. She hadn’t been put here to amuse them! One evil-eyed man, standing on Mustachio’s left, sniggered.
“You don’t have anything we want? Ah, señorita, I am not so sure about that,” he countered with an insolent grin that flashed white teeth against his brown skin.
Tess tried to stare him down with her haughtiest look, but failed. Rage was fast transforming itself into pure, unalloyed fear as she realized they could do anything they wanted with her—anything.
With a pang, she made the decision to surrender the fifty dollars and hope they would be content with that. The idea hurt her, but not as much as it would have to give them the camera and supplies. She switched to Spanish. She’d learned it early in a household run by Mexican servants. “All right, I will give you my money, if you’re so desperate, but you must leave me my camera and the wagon. It’s how I make my living.”
The man smiled at her fluent Spanish, but his reply was not conciliatory. “Señorita, do you take me for a fool?”
“I—I don’t know what you mean,” she said, setting her jaw so her teeth wouldn’t betray her by chattering. “You’re not…are you saying you want the mule, too?” Ben had been at Hennessy Hall since Uncle James had died, and she hated the thought of handing him over to these outlaws. God, please send someone along this road. Anyone. These men would flee if I wasn’t alone.
You’re not alone. I am with you.
The bandito just smiled at her. “Señorita, it is good news that you have money—it is added luck for us. But it is not your camera, Señorita Hennessy, that we came for.”
“How do you know my name?” Startled by that, the rest of what he said didn’t register at first.
“The lady photographer? Señorita, you are famous along the Rio Grande.”
She was getting very tired of his grin. “But I told you, I make my living with that camera. You can’t take it!”
“Oh, but we can, señorita,” he said, almost apologetically. “We are, after all, ladrones—thieves. It’s how we make our living.”
Now, because he was toying with her, she was angry again. “Are you thinking to sell it? Don’t bother—I very much doubt anyone between here and Mexico City would know how to use it!”
Señor Mustachio tsk-tsked at her. “Señorita, it is clear you have no high opinion of Mexicans.” He shrugged. “What you say is true—we would not know how to use it. But el jefe has a fancy to have his picture made, as well as a picture history of his exploits, you see.”
Nothing he was saying made sense, but she was willing to engage him in conversation as long as she could on the chance that someone might happen along to rescue her. “El jefe?” she echoed. “Who’s that?”
“Our leader, señorita. Perhaps you have heard of him? His name is Delgado.”
Delgado, the notorious outlaw her parents and others at the party had been talking about only this afternoon.
“But if none of you knows how to operate a camera,” she said desperately, “or even if you did, how to develop the pictures…”
He beamed as if she had suddenly grasped the secret of their plan. “Then, obviously, you will have to come with us to take the pictures, Señorita Hennessy.”
“C-come with you? Me? You’re loco! I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Mustachio laughed and said something in rapid-fire Spanish to his fellows. Despite the fury that sent the pulse throbbing in her ears, Tess thought she heard the word pelirroja, the same word she’d heard one of the Hennessy housemaids call her. Redhead.
As one man, they aimed their weapons at her again.
“You see, you have no choice, señorita,” he said. “But do not worry. If you come with us, you will not be harmed. When Delgado has his pictures, you will be free to return to your home.”
Tess had had enough of his carefree banter. “Well, that’s just dandy!” she cried. “If you think for one cotton-picking moment I’m going to tamely disappear and frighten my mother to death, you’d better think again.”
They were beginning to advance, guns still trained on her. Frantically she looked backward, then ahead, but there was no one on the road but herself and the bandits. With nothing else to do, she opened her mouth and screamed. Please, God, let someone hear me!
She had not guessed any of the bandits could move so fast, but in what seemed like the blink of an eye Tess had been yanked off the seat of her wagon by the evil-eyed man who had laughed at her. He stank of stale onions, garlic and sweat.
Tess went wild, screaming and kicking. She knew that one of her kicks must have connected with something tender when she heard the man grunt and loose his hold on her.
“Bruja!”
In that instant she broke free and, crazy with hope, began to run.
Tess had only covered a few yards when she was tackled by one of the bandits, knocking the wind out of her. Her cheek stung from sliding against a rough rock and her mouth was gritty with dust,
