come back?” he asked even as he leaned past Nana to touch the girl’s forehead. Cool skin calmed his racing heartbeat.
“No Wakin!” Maria called out again, attempting to push someone or something away from her. He caught her left arm gently in his hand and smoothed her hair with the other hand.
“Maria, you are safe. It’s just a dream. You’re safe.” He grimaced even as the words left his mouth. Who was he to promise safety? His history was filled with failures to protect the people who depended on him.
She quieted. Her arm went lax in his, and then her eyes fluttered.
He set her arm on the blankets covering her and then waited. After a few more minutes, she settled into a peaceful sleep. When she woke, he had a cup of water ready by her side before she could even ask for it.
Chris watched as Maria tried to down a second cup of water as quickly as she had the first. He studied the emotions that raced across her face as she drank. Confusion when she first woke was quickly replaced with greed for the water and then frustration when he gave her only a little at a time. For a small young lady, she had a fire in her eye. If she weren’t stuck in bed with broken ribs, having fought a fever for a few days and not taken anything solid, he’d bet that she would have demanded that he hurry up with the water.
“Maria?” She was slow to respond to her name. Odd. Had she also hit her head on the stones that broke her ribs? He hadn’t noticed what lay beneath her at the time because he was so focused on getting away from the cougar in case it gave chase. He tapped her shoulder to draw her attention back to his face instead of the now empty cup.
“Why say me Maria?” she asked, her brows scrunching together, creating lines in her otherwise perfectly smooth skin.
Had he misinterpreted their most basic communication? “You said your name was Maria.” Not that he could have pronounced all the words that had come after that.
“Maria name for baby when father at—” She stopped, puzzling out the English words. “When baby new, mamá take to padre for to—” Frustrated, she placed her hands together and bowed her head, closing her eyes as if praying.
“Where was your father when you were a baby?”
“No! No mi father,” she shook her head and then stopped as if the movement pained her. She pointed to her chest and then to the sky. “Father from Dios, you call God. Father come to hacienda to say to God, ‘be good baby.’”
Unsure what she was trying to say, Chris set the cup back on the table and pondered what to do next. Her English was much better than he had expected, but even so, he wasn’t even sure what her name was now. How would they ever get her back to her people if he didn’t even know her name?
“Master Chris, I heard tell that some people call their minister ‘Father,’” Nana Ruth suggested.
“She’s talking about a minister?”
“Ain’t most babies christened by a minister?” Nana’s question made sense, but then it still left the girl without a name.
Turning back to their patient, he slowly asked, “What is your name?”
“Mi Vic-kee-ta.” She pointed to herself. “Maria Victoria Ruiz Torres. Vic-kee-ta.”
“They call you Vicky?” Her beaming smile completely transformed her face, and for the first time, she looked like a woman, not a young girl. That smile made him want to say the word again just to make her happy.
“So where do you live?”
“Hacienda Ruiz.” Her eyes flashed pride and fear at the same time.
At least he knew where that was. He’d be able to take her back to her people without too much problem, once she was ready to travel—assuming she wanted to return. Something in her eyes made him wonder why she had left the hacienda to begin with.
“How did you end up in the forest all by yourself?” The questions wanted to pour out all at once, but the confusion on her face told him that she hadn’t understood.
“Master Chris, why don’t I get the girl some of that soup you got on the fire. I dare say she’s plum worn out, and a little warm soup might just loosen up her tongue.”
Nana Ruth made to get up off the chair. “Sit back, Nana. I’ll see to this.” He laid a hand on the older woman’s shoulder until he felt her relax into the chair.
“Now, this just ain’t right, Master Chris.”
“Nana, you’ve had your years of serving, and you’ve done a good job. Now it’s my turn.”
“It ain’t fittin’ for you to be servin’ me, Master Chris.”
“We’re not in South Carolina anymore, Nana, and last I checked, God’s word said to care for our family. You just about raised me from the time I could roll over in my crib.”
Taking two bowls down from the shelves, he partially filled both, set a spoon in each one and then pulled the tea off the hook over the fire, poured it into two tin cups and then added some fresh milk.
“Now, don’t let your mother hear you say such a thing, Master Chris! Why, she’d be mighty upset.”
He set the first bowl and cup on the table next to Nana’s elbow and then returned to the stove. “Good thing she’s not here to find out, isn’t it?” He chuckled as he returned to his guest’s side.
Setting the cup and soup bowl on the chest next to the bed, he sat in the chair facing Vicky.
“You eat and no give me?” Vicky’s astonished expression and the disapproval in her eyes made him chuckle. Did she really think he’d be so rude as to eat in front of her without offering? Little did she know about good old Southern hospitality.
“Of course not, Vicky.” Nana had left some toweling next to the bed, and he draped it over Vicky from shoulder to shoulder. Picking up the bowl, he dipped the spoon into the steaming broth, ladled out some and blew on it like Nana Ruth had done for him as a child. Somehow, this situation felt very different. He raised the spoon and blew a little more. “Now, let’s see how you like my cooking.”
“I no baby.” Indignation darkened her already jet-black eyes so much that he couldn’t distinguish the iris from the pupil. Her jaw tightened, and he actually feared for her teeth.
“I know you are not a baby, but you can’t move your right arm. Nana tied it to your side, and the soup is too hot for you to manage one-handed.” The furrows in her forehead didn’t relax, but she opened her mouth when he lifted the spoon. Sitting back, he waited for her verdict. It wasn’t long in coming.
“No tiene sabor.” She wrinkled her nose at the food but opened her mouth again for more.
“Is there something wrong with my soup?” Chris asked. He had never bothered to learn to cook until this last year when Nana’s arthritis started to act up so bad that some mornings she couldn’t even get out of bed. To Chris, making soup consisted of chopping up meat, a few carrots and maybe some potatoes and letting it all boil throughout the day while he saw to his chores. It might not have been as appetizing as something Nana would have made, but it kept spirit and body together for another
