Cibolero by Kermit Lopez

Author:Kermit Lopez [Lopez, Kermit]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780595878932
Publisher: iUniverse
Published: 2007-08-03T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter XIII

On an early October day years earlier, a snowstorm had settled over Taos Valley, blanketing the village and Indian Pueblo in a layer of delicate white. Heavy dark clouds had hovered over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains while Felipe Baca and his wife rested in their small home near her father’s trading post. The one-room house, a simple and inviting adobe structure, had been built to keep Felipe and Petra warm during the coming winter.

Felipe pushed open the bars of a shutter and stared into the dark night. Everything was quiet. A bright moon cast a pale glow over Taos. He shivered and stepped back, letting the shutters fall closed.

“It’s a cold night,” he told Petra. “I expect it will be a bitter winter. The snows are earlier than last year.”

Petra sat on a chair stitching a large cloth in her lap. A small fire crackled in the adobe hearth in the corner, casting an orange glow throughout the room. “You are always busy, my love,” she said.

Enchanted by her loveliness, he could not help but smile. She smiled back, the reflection from the fireplace making her flushing cheeks even rosier.

In recent weeks, Felipe had thrown himself into his job at the trading post, spending long days tending to patrons and stocking supplies. While he worked at the post with Antonio and their father-in-law, Petra had turned to sewing for additional income.

Soon she will have other work to do, Felipe thought. Petra would give birth to their first child in eight months. The thought of having a family pleased Felipe. He looked forward to the new life that awaited both of them.

“I will only sew for another hour, and then we will go to sleep,” she said.

“Very well. But I need to rest. Tomorrow promises to be another long day at your father’s trading post.”

“It will be your business someday,” she said. “My father has grown to see you and your brother Antonio as his sons.”

“Your father is a good man,” he said, and then abruptly paused as he felt a sharp pain in his temple. He staggered to the narrow bed on the opposite side of the room.

Petra stopped working and looked at him anxiously. “The pain in your head again?”

“Yes.” Felipe rubbed his forehead with the palms of his hands and lay down on the bed. The pain was unbearable, like a sharp rock pounding the inside of his skull. Though he had recovered from the physical marks of the americano soldier’s blow, he still suffered periodic headaches. Lately, the pain was becoming increasingly severe.

“Las yerbas?” Petra asked. “Do you have any left?” “No,” he gasped.

“I’ll get some more from la curandera.” Petra slid her needle into the fabric and stood up, placing the sewing on a nearby chest.

“No,” insisted Felipe. “It is too late. I’ll be fine.” He closed his eyes tightly and grimaced against the pain.

“Nonsense!” Petra said firmly, wrapping herself in a heavy shawl. “She doesn’t live that far from here.”

* * * *

She wasn’t even certain Felipe saw her leave.

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