Cinderella in Overalls

chapter Seven



When it was light, Catherine walked over to Doña Blanca’s with a basket of fresh eggs over her arm to get the truck. The men who had stopped by to drink leftover chaca and bang pots and pans under the newlyweds’ window were admiring the engine, the gleaming exterior and the extra-large tires.

Catherine handed over the keys to Manuel, the husband of Doña Blanca. She smiled as the children came running and piled into the long bed. The men took turns driving down the road, turning around and coming back again. One of them would drive to market on Monday, since they had the day off. Catherine would sit in back with the women, and the rest of the men would ride along and help unload. They were chattering excitedly about the trip to town, eager to pull up in front of the market in their own big, beautiful truck.

Catherine, too, was eager to pull up in front of the Rodriguez Market. Not that she expected to see Josh there, of course. But then why did her heart beat faster when they turned the corner of the cobblestone street where the policeman in his green uniform stood directing traffic?

Of course he wasn’t there. He was probably still in bed, in his penthouse apartment overlooking the city. Or if he wasn’t there he was already at work, in his high-rise office far above the smoke and the fumes and the noise. She looked up in the direction of the tall buildings that stood outlined in the early-morning light.

The atmosphere was different in the stall with the men around, lifting, carrying, laughing and joking. Sometime around midday Jacinda gave Catherine a series of sharp, inquisitive looks. Catherine gave her her best serene smile so she couldn’t possibly guess that Catherine was suffering from post-wedding blues. The kind that make you think the whole world was paired off while you longed for someone of your own.

She would be fine tomorrow when the men went back to work and things were back to normal. But her mind wandered back to the wedding. To the feeling of the rain on her skin and Josh’s lips on hers. Her eyes wandered, too, searching among the crowds of shoppers for a tall figure with close-cropped dark hair who towered above the others. But he didn’t come.

After lunch the crowds thinned out. Some of the women leaned back against the sacks of potatoes and closed their eyes. But Jacinda never rested. Her black eyes assessed Catherine, and she took her by the arm. “Let us go have a coffee and discuss business.”

“Business?” Catherine asked. “So soon after the wedding?”

Jacinda nodded solemnly, but said no more until they were seated at the counter of Don Panchito’s coffee shop.

“You know my friend Doña Margarita who made your new sweater and skirt?”

“Of course I do.”

Jacinda lowered her voice. “She went to the bank to ask for a loan.”

“Really? What happened?”

“Señor Bentley treated her very kindly and sent her to the loan counselor, the same one who teaches us. He gave her the forms to fill out and bring back today, but...” Jacinda paused and her eyebrows knit together in a frown. “They did not fill them out because they cannot write very well. I thought perhaps you...”

Catherine looked at her watch. “What time is the appointment?”

“Five o’clock,” Jacinda said. “I didn’t want to bother you, but they have no one else to ask.”

Catherine set her cup down. “Of course I’ll help if I can.”

Jacinda’s face wrinkled into a smile. “You can.”

Making their way up the hill, Jacinda explained that Doña Margarita and her daughter and her son-in-law wanted the loan to buy alpaca sheep. With the softer wool they could make better sweaters and charge more.

While her daughter manned the stall, Margarita and Catherine pored over the papers in the back. When they finished, Margarita asked Catherine to go with them to the bank. They looked so nervous that she couldn’t turn them down. In a few minutes she found herself on the familiar route across town and up the avenue. She was afraid Josh would be there. She was more afraid that he wouldn’t.

Without him it would be all business. With him it could get emotional. What if he turned them down? After talking with Margarita, Catherine was convinced the group would make good use of the money and could earn enough to pay it back. It should be easy to see, but what if Josh didn’t see it that way? What if she wasn’t being objective? If she wasn’t, Josh would let her know. That was what she was afraid of.

She needn’t have worried. The loan officer Josh had assigned to them treated them with all the courtesy reserved for his most valued customers. When she saw they were at ease with him, Catherine slipped out of the office and stood in front of the elevator, watching the arrow above go as high as twelve. Twelfth floor, Josh’s office. Hypnotically the arrow jerked its way downward, and when it stopped, the door opened and Josh got out.

She gulped. A surprised smile lit his face. “What are you doing here?” he asked, clasping her hands in his.

For a moment she was unable to speak. “I’m on my way home,” she said at last, trying to ignore the vibrations set off by the touch of his hands.

He pulled her with him across the lobby. “I’m glad you caught me. I’m on my way home, too. My stove finally arrived with the rest of my stuff.”

“I came with the weavers,” she said, standing at the heavy glass doors with him. “They’re in with Duran, the loan officer, talking about getting a loan so they can buy alpaca sheep.”

“Have they got a support group, a decent profit margin and one year’s experience?” he asked.

She nodded eagerly. “All that and more.”

“Then they’ll probably get it. But that’s Duran’s decision. Sometimes a group has everything on paper, but there’s something that doesn’t sit right. That’s when a loan officer uses his intuition.”

“I guess that’s what you used when you decided to take a chance on us.”

He looked thoughtful, but his thoughts weren’t on their loan. “Would you like to come by and see my stove? It’s brand-new with all the latest attachments.”

“I really can’t. The women are waiting for me.” But she didn’t go; she just stood there and watched him, waiting as if her shoes were made of lead and not canvas.

“Who would drive them home if you didn’t?”

“I guess Miguel would, but...”

“Fine. I’ll get someone to take a message. We’ll go see my stove and then we’ll go out to eat. I’ll get you a taxi later. How’s that?” he asked with a smile so dazzling she couldn’t say no. She couldn’t say anything at all.

Her stomach churned. Her knees knocked. Another evening with Josh Bentley. Another chance to feel his arms around her, his lips on hers. She ought to leave. Right now. But her doubts vanished with the wind as he caught her arm and they hurried down the steps onto the street.

Her feet, which had been leaden only moments ago, suddenly flew along the ground, keeping up with his. Together they negotiated the crowded sidewalks, edging around couples walking arm in arm and window shoppers, their faces pressed against the glass of smart shops. In front of the supermarket she paused.

“Instead of going out to dinner we could buy some groceries and initiate your stove,” she suggested.

“Can you cook?”

“Can I cook?” she repeated incredulously. “Can chickens lay eggs? I can cook for barn raisings and church socials. I can cook for field hands and cornhuskers. I ought to be able to cook for one banker with both hands tied behind me.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “I haven’t had a real meal at home since I got here.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with the food at your favorite restaurant,” she said, pushing the door open. “But it will be interesting to see what they’ve got in here. A little market research on my part. Some comparative shopping.”

He pushed the cart while she walked ahead, picking up cans and putting them back, frowning at prices and raising her eyebrows at the produce. She picked up a head of lettuce. “Shall we have a salad?”

“Sure.” Suddenly self-conscious, he looked around at the other shoppers. “Have you seen any other men in here?” he asked in a loud whisper.

“I don’t think so. In Aruaca only housewives go shopping. Men have better things to do.”

“Like having a siesta on the couch, I’ll bet. I’d rather be with you... in the supermarket. Since I don’t have a couch.”

She snapped some green beans between her fingers. “Day old,” she whispered, and Josh rolled his eyes in dismay. “But we’ll make do,” she assured him, “with a little lemon juice and butter.” Then she found the meat counter and told the butcher to wrap up two thick lamb chops.

Standing in line at the checkout counter, Catherine stood on tiptoe and whispered in Josh’s ear. “The vegetables aren’t as good as ours. And they’re twice as expensive.”

“But there’s no bargaining. That’s what I like.”

She smiled, thinking of him standing in front of her with the mangoes in his hand, placing the money in her palm. Still feeling the touch of his fingers as he closed her hand and held it tightly. Remembering how the sounds of the market had faded around her. There was no shouting in this supermarket, no gleeful cries or arguments over the prices.

Josh paid the clerk and carried the groceries in one hand, using the other to link with Catherine’s as he led her through the streets to his apartment. While they waited to cross the street, he tapped his foot against the pavement impatiently. He wanted to see her reaction to his apartment. He tried to picture her there with her wide skirts and her hat and her braid. Could she fit into his life? Would she want to? Probably not. And whatever he wanted he had no right to draw her into his life. There was no place for her or for dreams. He needed to become more secure before he could forget about his poor, lonely childhood and make plans for his future. He’d have to wait. She’d have to wait. Josh made himself control his growing feelings. Now wasn’t the time for them.

They took the elevator up to the penthouse. He unlocked the door, and she stood in the doorway and stared out across the pale carpet to the breathtaking view of Teregape with the last rays of sun on it.

“It’s beautiful,” she said breathlessly. She slipped out of her shoes, stepped over a cardboard box and went to the window. He opened the sliding glass door, and she walked out to the balcony. Standing behind her, he remembered seeing it for the first time, that incredible view. He lifted her hat from her head and set it on the table. His fingers itched to loosen her braid and see her hair cascade to her shoulders.

Finally she looked around. “You don’t have any furniture. It looks as if no one lives here.”

“I have a stove,” he protested. “And a bed. The essentials. And we could really do without the stove.”

She stifled a smile. Her gaze turned to the boxes stacked in the corner. “What’s in those?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember. I packed so long ago. They must have come by sea with the refrigerator. By the time I get around to unpacking, it will be time to pack up again.”

Startled by the thought of Josh leaving, she smoothed the hair that strayed from the edges of her braid. “You mean you’re not staying... I thought...”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m up for a promotion. I guess I mentioned that. If I get it, I’ll go back to Boston and they’ll send someone to replace me here. I don’t know when it’ll come or if it’ll come. If it does, I’ll have to pack up and go. They told me not to get too attached to anything I couldn’t bring back in my suitcase.” His eyes traveled the length of her body as if he were measuring to see if she’d fit.

She felt the heat course through her body until she would have bet she could have been melted down and packed in an overnight bag. She tore her gaze from his and looked around desperately. “I haven’t seen the... uh...”

“The bed?”

“The stove.”

“Right in here.”

In the compact kitchen she ran her hand over the smooth ceramic surfaces, opened the broiler and examined the grill. She turned on the oven, then washed the lettuce, relieved to have something to do with her hands and something to think about except Josh’s leaving. She shook the lettuce leaves so vigorously that Josh held up his hands in self-defense.

“I was just thinking about taking a shower,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” she said absently, and watched him disappear down the hall. It was like playing house, cooking in this little kitchen with its shiny new appliances. When he came back, he’d showered and changed into his blue jeans and a striped T-shirt. When he shed his suit, he seemed to shed some of the stiffness she always associated with bankers. Although there had been nothing stiff about the way he looked at her on the balcony.

He sniffed appreciatively at the smell of lamb sprinkled with rosemary that wafted through the air. The room was filled with steam from the green beans simmering in a pot. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. The smell of his clean shirt made her want to bury her face against his chest. His voice sunk to a low rumble.

“So this is what I’ve been missing at the restaurant.”

His cheek was next to hers, his hair damp. She lifted her hands to his shoulders.

He pulled her close. She had a glimpse of longing in his eyes, the same longing that threatened to engulf her. Added to the steam and the smoke in the air there was desire. She stood still, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. It was the oven timer that did it with its shrill ring, and they broke apart.

“We’ll eat on the balcony,” he said, taking a bottle of wine from a rack on the counter and two glasses from the cupboard. She followed him with plates of food. Dusk was falling and the lights of the city sparkled below. He saw the sight every night, and yet he felt as if he’d never seen it before. He stole a look at Catherine, her profile so perfect that he felt a lump in his throat.

They ate in silence, watching the sky change from navy to blue-black. He left her there while he made coffee, and when he returned, she had her head tilted back against the wrought-iron chair.

“You’re right,” she said, taking the cup from him. “You can’t make out the constellations from here.”

“No,” he agreed. “Your hammock’s the best place to be.”

She didn’t answer. It was clear neither of them would ever forget that night. “I’ve forgotten where the Southern Cross is.”

He set his cup down. “I should get my telescope.”

“Where is it?” she asked lazily. She felt her bones turn to jelly. She was totally relaxed, totally happy gazing out at the city below with Josh at her side, saying nothing, just knowing he was there. It was odd. Here she was far from home under an unfamiliar sky with a man she scarcely knew, and yet she felt a strange sense of belonging that caught her by surprise.

She, who hated the city, felt uneasy in crowds and detested bankers, had come to a high rise in the middle of a big city with a bona fide banker, kicked off her shoes and cooked dinner for him. And was having the best time she’d had in years. She reminded herself that all it was play. They were both playing a game, knowing that everything here was temporary. They were in a different hemisphere, everything was turned upside down and anything seemed possible. Only it wasn’t, not really. One day he’d go away and she would, too. But not yet. Not quite yet.

Reluctantly she left the dark balcony and followed Josh to the living room where he snapped on the lights and ripped open the top of the first carton. She knelt next to him, looking at the clothes on top and the books on the bottom. Books on economics and books on banking, but no telescope.

Wrapped in felt was a framed diploma from a university outside Boston. Catherine whistled under her breath. “No wonder you’re such a good banker. You have all the right credentials. And you read all the right books.” She leaned back against the wall, sinking into the soft, thick carpet.

“I don’t know why I brought that diploma along. I thought I’d hang it in my office.”

She drew her knees to her chin, her long skirt covering her legs. Undoing her braid, she shook her hair loose. “Where did you get the funds to go to that school if your father blew all his money chasing rainbows?”

“Scholarship.” He opened the next box. More clothes and a can of baked beans and a tin of brown bread. He looked up with a sheepish grin. “Emergency rations.”

At the bottom he found a framed photograph wrapped in cotton batting. As he unwrapped it, she moved to his side and rested her chin on his shoulder. It was an old black-and-white picture taken at the entrance to a cave. A group of Indians leaned on shovels and stared seriously at the camera. In the center was a young man smiling proudly, binoculars around his neck and a pick in one hand.

“My father,” he explained after a long silence. “At the Tochabamba Mine.”

She exhaled softly. “So it really does exist.”

He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. It’s a dream.”

She pointed to the picture. “Then how...?”

“The mine was real. The silver wasn’t. It was low-grade ore from what I can figure. Fool’s silver. And right there is one of the biggest fools who ever spent his last dollar on shares in a silver mine.” He clamped his lips together and shook his head. “So even if there hadn’t been an avalanche, it wasn’t worth the effort.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go there, just to see—”

“Yes. Old Pedro is right. If the God of Thunder closed the mine, he must have had a good reason. We have no right to disturb it”

She thought for a long moment, then ran her finger around the frame of the picture. “You should hang it on the wall, as a reminder...”

“A reminder of what not to do with your life? I don’t think so. Growing up without money is bad enough. Growing up without a father is even worse.”

“Then why did you bring it with you?”

He lay flat on the floor and stared up at the ceiling, his arms folded under his head, the telescope forgotten. “I don’t know.”

She studied the photograph. “There’s a resemblance there, something in the eyes...”

“Between him and me? Uh-uh. We couldn’t be more different.”

Catherine studied Josh’s face. The overhead light emphasized the tight muscles in his neck and the lines in his forehead. Maybe he didn’t know why he’d brought the picture. Maybe he didn’t recognize the dreamer in himself. But she saw it in his eyes and heard it in his voice.

“Catherine.” He didn’t move from his prone position on the floor, but there was a note of urgency in his voice. “What do you want? What are you looking for?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I’m not looking for anything. I’ve found it. My life is helping farmers help themselves. The fates and the weather and the bank took my farm away from me, but they gave me a chance to use what I learned in other ways. It’s taken me a long time to see it that way, but now I think this was my destiny all along.”

“You believe in fate?”

“Yes, but I also believe in making plans. Right now I have a five-year plan.”

He rolled over onto his side and squinted up at her. “Tell me about it.”

“Well, after I finish out my term here, I’m going to re-up. I want to stay in South America, since I’ve spent all this time learning Spanish, and I want to go someplace where they’re having problems, where they need me.”

“You need to be needed, don’t you?”

“Even more than that I need to be successful, to see some tangible results of my work. But there’s nothing new about that. Everyone feels that way.” She stretched her legs out in front of her. It was time to stop talking about herself. It was time to leave. She had to go before it was too late. While she still had the will to break the spell of this evening. “Enough about me. I really have to go.” She said it, but she didn’t move. What was wrong with her?

He propped his chin on his elbow. “You can’t leave yet. You haven’t seen the rest of the apartment.”

“You mean the bedroom.”

“Yes, it’s got a great big bed and a view, too.”

“I’m sure it’s spectacular.”

“It is,” he assured her. “Especially in the morning.”

“Maybe some other time,” she said, ignoring the unspoken invitation. Move, she told herself. Get up off the floor and go, but still she stayed.

“When will that be?”

“I don’t know. We wouldn’t want to make this a habit.” A habit of coming home and cooking dinner and going to bed in the big bed down the hall and waking up to a spectacular view and Josh. She wrapped her arms around her waist to keep from trembling.

“I understand. Too much work. Next time I’ll do the dinner.”

“I didn’t know you could cook. Besides your favorite restaurant would start to miss you.”

“They’ll have to get along without me sooner or later.”

And so would she, she thought. So would she. And just when she finally summoned the courage to stand up, he reached for her and pulled her into his arms. She shouldn’t have let him mold her body to his. She shouldn’t have returned his kisses, but his lips were soft and his kisses so achingly sweet that she couldn’t stop.

He took her face in his hands and brushed her cheeks with his strong, warm fingers. His eyes were full of wonder and his voice was unsteady. “I can’t let you go.”

Her breath caught in her throat. If she didn’t go now, she never would. She stood, her knees threatening to give way.

He got to his feet and put his arms around her. He couldn’t let her go, but he had to. Just one more kiss, he told himself. One more chance to lose himself in the depths of those dark eyes. Eyes that could be so earnest one moment and so dreamy the next She thought he looked like his father. She thought he should go to the mine. She couldn’t be more wrong. Didn’t she know it was ridiculous to spend time and money searching for a worthless hole in the ground hidden God knows where?

Her lips were soft, as red and ripe and irresistible as the berries that grew in her garden. He lowered his mouth to hers. Her hands clung to his shoulders as he held her tightly against his chest. Unable to stop, unable to resist one more taste, one more kiss. He felt his caution dissolve. If he allowed himself a dream, it would be to hold her like this, to bury himself in the warmth of her body, to make her his for one night. But he fought it off, the dream and the desire and the longing.

He dropped his arms, and she looked up in surprise. Hadn’t he said that he couldn’t let her go? Hadn’t he kissed her as though there were no tomorrow? Bewildered, she stepped back and found her shawl draped over the kitchen counter. “I really must be going,” she said, and this time he didn’t protest.

They stood in front of the apartment building waiting for a taxi, and when it came, he closed the door and watched her go.

Catherine closed her eyes in the taxi, but she couldn’t sleep. She’d get over Josh, but it wasn’t going to be easy. She had to start now. She couldn’t wait until he left. It would hurt too much. She liked him. She liked him too much. She saw that under his caution and conservative good judgment there was the soul of a dreamer. He’d never admit it, but it was there. It might surface one day, but she wouldn’t be around to see it.

She told herself theirs was a case of opposites attracting. And how they attracted, she thought, still feeling the aching longing in her body. This was a case of two people who never should have met and never should have given in to their feelings. She was looking to help people and he was looking for a promotion. They both knew it. It was time to taper off gradually until she hardly noticed she wasn’t seeing him anymore.

Maybe it would be best to quit cold turkey. But the thought of never seeing him again made her head pound. She pressed her hand against her head, but the pounding wouldn’t stop. And the dreams of Josh made her sleep restless.

The next morning she leaned out her bedroom window, trying to decide what to do, when she saw Old Pedro looking up at her, his burro tethered to a tree.

Rubbing her eyes, she told him she’d be right down. She dressed quickly in her old jeans and work shirt and hurried to the door. He tipped his hat, declined her invitation to come in for coffee, but sat on the chair on her front porch and slowly looked around. Then he patted the tool belt Josh had given him, which he was wearing around his waist.

She nodded. She sat in the other chair and asked Pedro if he thought it would rain. He shook his head, tilted his sombrero and looked around. It occurred to Catherine that he might be looking for Josh.

“The señor isn’t here,” she said. “The one who wanted to go to the mine. He lives in La Luz.”

“If you see him, tell him I have changed my mind.”

Catherine’s eyes widened. “But why?”

“I had a dream,” he explained. “I dreamed the padrón came to me and asked me to take el señor banker to the mine.”

Catherine leaned forward. “Are you no longer afraid?”

He nodded. “I am afraid. But the padrón said to me the danger is over. The God of Thunder has moved elsewhere, but the treasure remains. He told me to divide the treasure among the children and grandchildren of those who perished in the mine, and the señor, of course. For than I will go one last time.”

Catherine bit her hp. How could she tell him Josh didn’t want to go to the mine? She couldn’t explain that Josh wasn’t interested in taking risks. So she promised Pedro she would give Josh the message and watched him ride away on his burro until he disappeared in the dust. She promised to give him the message, but she didn’t say when.