ABANDONED PROLOGUE Maria balanced three-month old Juanito on her hip while she put a match to the crumpled newspapers and kindling in the old wood-burning stove. Her hand shook as she poured milk into a small aluminum pan and lowered it directly into the flames to heat it. She glanced out the window into the midnight darkness knowing no one was out there to see her. She was alone with her baby son. She shivered and stretched her crocheted, wool shawl tighter around her shoulders to keep the baby warm. She dreaded the nights when he awoke for a feeding. She didn’t want to be in the kitchen any longer than necessary. Her trembling hands spilled milk on the hot stove making a loud sizzling sound. She wiped it quickly and rushed to her small bedroom off the kitchen. She sat in her rocker in the corner as far away as she could get from the dark, frightening, bare windows. Her rocking kept time with the creaking and groaning of the old ranch house somewhere at the foot of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. All of a sudden the familiar waves of cold fear swept through her body beginning at the soles of her bare feet. It was August and she had been alone for two weeks, when she’d heard the same sounds of thundering horses and wagons come into the yard, shaking the old house on its crumbling foundation. Then stopped between the kitchen and the stable. That night she had been terrified until she heard women laughing and men coaxing the horses into the stable She hurried to the kitchen window with the baby over shoulder, and glanced at the kitchen clock on the top shelf of the cupboard, two o’clock. Who are they and why are they here at this hour, she had wondered. She pressed her face to the cool glass window but the yard was dark and empty as usual. One minute she was shaking, scared to death, the next she was filled with anger until she wanted to scream. She wanted to yell terrible things at Johnny for leaving her and Juanito in this God-forsaken place. Why? Why did he bring us here? We were fine with Carlota and Manuel. They love Juanito, their first grandchild. They love me, too. Now the baby awoke whimpering, she soothed him, “Sh - sh, mijo, don’t cry.” She leaned her forehead against the cool windowpane. Ghosts, lost souls. This cheerful group must have suffered a terrible tragedy, maybe a hundred years ago. And here they are, still searching for their final resting place. She prayed the ghosts wouldn’t come back, at least while she was still living in this broken down ranch. She made the sign of the cross on her forehead and on the baby’s and crawled into her cot. Hot tears soaked her pillow. She cradled the baby, “where’s your papa, mijo, why did Johnny abandon us?” Maria is only eighteen, alone with her baby in this haunted ranch house. If Johnny loves her, why is he doing this to her? She shuddered, remembering how it all began. |
