Cinderella in Overalls

chapter Eight



On the next market day Catherine was behind the wheel once more. The men had gone back to the mines and the women were subdued. In the back of the truck they were feeling their own post-wedding blues. Still they did a good business and at the end of the day packed their cash in cloth bags. Catherine took Jacinda aside and told her she was going to wait for them in the truck.

Jacinda’s eyes narrowed. “It is not safe to wait alone at this time of day,” she warned.

“Then I’ll wait in Don Panchito’s coffee shop. Is that safe enough?”

Jacinda folded her arms across her blue apron. “Why do you not come with us? Señor Bentley will be disappointed.”

“No, he won’t,” she said firmly. “Señor Bentley doesn’t care who brings the money. This is business. Besides, I’m tired.”

Jacinda snorted. “What is wrong with you, Catalina? I see sadness, not tiredness in your face. And now you will not come to the bank. What am I to tell Señor Bentley?”

Catherine threw her hands into the air. “Tell him I have a strange disease. I don’t care what you tell him.”

Jacinda’s mouth fell open in surprise at this outburst. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the women had gone ahead, and she lifted her skirts and hurried after them without another word to Catherine. Heaving a sigh, Catherine walked to the coffee shop, relieved to be out from under the scrutiny of Jacinda’s sharp eyes.

She slid onto a stool at the counter, and Don Panchito filled a small cup of hot coffee for her. Gratefully she sipped her coffee, satisfied that she had avoided a meeting with Josh. But her satisfaction didn’t last long. Someone scraped the legs of the stool next to her across the concrete floor.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Josh sit down next to her and order an espresso. He didn’t say anything, so they sat there drinking their coffee, acutely aware of each other, without speaking.

Finally he broke the silence. “I hear you’re suffering from a rare disease,” he remarked.

“Don’t worry. It’s not contagious,” she assured him.

“Good. Let’s have dinner. I need to talk to you.”

“I can’t. This doesn’t make sense, you know.”

He turned to face her. “What?”

“Us seeing each other. We’re far from home. We’re lonely, even homesick. It’s natural that we seek out each other’s company, but...” Funny how she had it all worked out in her mind, and now that he was here, sitting next to her, she couldn’t remember what she was going to say.

“Very natural,” he said smoothly.

“But not very professional. I’d feel better if we had a business relationship.” Yes, that was it, a business relationship. How could he argue with that?

“So would I,” he agreed. “In fact, that’s why I’m here.”

She blinked. “It is?” His agreeing with her so readily disarmed her.

“Yes, I need some help with a loan application.”

“But I thought you didn’t handle loans except...”

“Except on rare occasions. That’s right. But this is a cousin of Duran’s who’s a fisherman on Lake Cordillera. He heard we were making small loans to small businesses. They want a motorboat to improve their catch. Duran would handle it, but that’s a conflict of interest, so I volunteered. It’s his cousin, after all. He shouldn’t be discriminated against just because Duran works in the bank.”

Other customers paid for their coffee and left. Catherine looked at Josh. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Nothing, except I need a translator and somebody to give a frank opinion of the situation.”

“I can tell you right now I’m in favor of their getting the loan.”

He set his cup down. “Without even seeing the operation?”

“Well... I suppose it would help.”

“Then you’ll come with me, as a favor to the bank, as a favor to the fishermen.”

She smiled. “If you put it that way.”

“Have you ever been there before?”

“To the highest lake in the world and the center of the Inca civilization? No, I’ve never been there before.” And she really shouldn’t go now, business or not. Yet those fishermen needed a spokesperson, someone who would understand and sympathize with their situation. She imagined standing on the shore of the lake, watching the sun reenact the Inca legend. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. But was it the thought of the lake or sharing the experience with Josh that made her skin tingle in anticipation?

She dragged her eyes from his and stared into her coffee. “How would we get there?” she asked, knowing she’d already made up her mind.

“Take the train from Castillo.”

Her heart leaped. A train ride through the high Andes. A trip she’d always wanted to take with a man who could make sharing a cup of coffee exciting. She wrapped her hands around her cup. “I suppose I could get away for a few days,” she said slowly.

“Good.” His eyes gleamed as he took her hand and they walked out the door together. They walked through the darkness toward the truck without speaking. When they reached the truck, he trailed his hand along her shoulder in a caress.

“Drive carefully,” he said. “I’ll pick you up next Wednesday morning at your house.”

The days seemed to drag until Wednesday. Josh didn’t come to the market and she didn’t go to the bank. She hadn’t told Josh about Old Pedro changing his mind yet. She was afraid he’d say no again, even though deep down he wanted to go to the mine. Even more important, he needed to go there. But she knew he had to make that decision himself. Even as she paced back and forth on her front porch Wednesday morning while a light rain fell around her, she debated with herself the wisdom of telling him about Old Pedro.

Josh pulled up in front of her house with the rain falling. He couldn’t believe she was there on the porch waiting for him. It was amazing that he’d convinced her to come along on this trip. If only she were going because of him. But he couldn’t let himself believe that. Instead, she was going because she wanted to see the lake and because she wanted to help the fishermen get their loan.

Even so he was afraid she’d change her mind, so he’d avoided her this past week so she wouldn’t have the opportunity to tell him she had to plant potatoes or pick berries or anything else rather than go with him. But with this rain he didn’t see how anyone could do much planting of anything.

Before he could get out of his car she dashed through the light rain in her pink shirt that matched her cheeks and her khaki pants and jacket. Her hair, brushed back behind her ears, made her look about eighteen. When his eyes reached her sandaled feet, he frowned.

“I hope you brought some warm shoes. It’s cold up there.” He didn’t tell her that if she hadn’t he’d take her bare feet in his hands and warm than himself. He tore his eyes from her pink toes and started the car.

She adjusted her seat belt. “I know all about the lake,” she told him, her smile sending excitement simmering through his body. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed seeing her this past week, or how much he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, right here in front of her house before they’d gone even one mile. But he started driving and she started talking about the Indians and their sun god. There was something about her voice that made everything she said sound fascinating.

She turned to face him, her eyes dark pools of mystery. “No one knows where the Incas came from,’’ she said. “Legend has it they first appeared on the island in the middle of the lake sent there by the sun god to start a new civilization.” She gazed off dreamily at the white stone houses that lined the streets of Castillo. “I want to see the sun rise from the Island of the Sun the way they did, from the doorway of the temple.”

Josh wanted to see the sun rise from the island, too, and he wanted to see it set with her. He didn’t know what made him think of that. He’d convinced himself and her, too, that this was just a business trip. Now here he was wondering how she’d look with the early-morning sun on her face. It must be the legend of the Incas, one man and one woman, set down in the middle of a lake to begin civilization, that had set him off.

Lost in his thoughts, he drove past the train station, made a U-turn and doubled back.

“You know they say they submerged their treasure in the middle of the lake to hide it from the Spaniards.” Catherine’s tone was reflective, almost dreamy.

He parked the car next to the station and lifted their over night bags from the back seat. He didn’t speak until they were settled comfortably in the buffet car of the narrow-gauge train.

“You know,” he said, looking out the window, “I’ve heard enough sunken treasure stories to last a lifetime. Usually there’s just enough truth in them to send men off with their last dollar and a gleam in their eye.’’

She leaned forward in her seat. “Like your father?”

“Yes.” The train started with a jolt, and he braced himself against the padded seat. “The last time I saw him he was going to look for sunken treasure off the coast of Mexico. He’d invested his last dollar in a recovery operation. All he had left except for the shares to the mine. And he would have sold those if he could have found someone to buy them. My mother kissed him goodbye as she always did and wished him good luck. But his luck had run out. His plane went down.” His words were flat and emotionless, but underneath there was a current of regret and sadness.

Catherine laced her fingers together. “At least he left you something. A legacy. Something of his own. Something he valued.”

“The shares to the silver mine? He left them to me because he couldn’t sell them. They were worthless.”

“Maybe, but my parents left me nothing. No house, no land... nothing.”

“Nothing? What about the memories? The security of knowing you’d never go hungry, two parents there when you needed them, the barn with the hay and the kittens. All that.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes, all that. Gone. Do you want to see where they live now?” She fished in her purse for her wallet and pulled out a snapshot of a man and a woman standing on a patio, a small postage-stamp lawn in the background.

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, holding the picture by the edges.

“It’s a condominium,” she explained patiently.

“You make it sound like a slum,” he noted.

“You didn’t see the farm,” she said, her dark eyes reproachful.

He looked at the picture again. He could see where Catherine had gotten her dark, expressive eyes and her smile. “They look happy,” he remarked.

“I know what you’re thinking. If they’re happy, why can’t I be happy for them? I don’t know. I feel like an ungrateful child.” She sighed and put the picture back in her wallet.

He studied her face. “Maybe when you get back you’ll feel differently about them.”

She looked up sharply. “I’m not going back.”

“That’s right, too many memories,” he said soothingly.

“Or not enough,” she said, gazing intently out the window at the green-terraced hills and jagged white-capped mountains in the background.

The steward rang a little bell and took orders for lunch. After they ate, they talked about the descendants of the Incas they were going to visit. No further mention was made of buried treasure or lost farmland.

In the last hour they fell into a comfortable silence, watching rain clouds obscure the view, lulled into serenity by the gentle motion of the train. Catherine leaned back on the plush upholstery and closed her eyes. She wondered if there was anyone she’d rather be with than Josh on a train trip. Even though he couldn’t possibly understand how she felt about the farm, there was a warmth in his gaze and sympathy she could wrap around her like a blanket. He cared about her, she realized suddenly. He really cared.

She stole a glance at him from under her lashes. He was looking at her with such longing that it made her heart contract. Why had he really brought her along on this trip? Did he only need a translator? And why had she come? Was it truly to see the Island of the Sun? Or was it that she’d go anywhere he went, just to be with him.

The train chugged to a stop before she could answer her own question. A railway spur ran directly to the lakefront pier where they got out to board the wind-powered ferry across the lake. Gulls swooped and cried in the late-afternoon sky. They looked out across the choppy sea.

“This is a long way to go to make a small loan, isn’t it?” she asked.

He leaned against the railing of the boat. “I could have asked them to come to town to fill out the applications, but I wanted to see how they work and live and hear them tell me how they’d use the money.”

She turned to look at him. “The way you did with us.”

The wind blew his dark hair across his forehead. “I learned a lot by coming to the farm.” He’d learned what caused the sadness in the depths of her eyes, and why she was afraid to fail, afraid even to return to the land where she’d failed.

She turned her collar up against the wind. The other passengers went inside the small cabin, and they were alone on the deck. “You never told me what made you change your mind.”

Flecks of light glinted in his dark blue eyes, and he braced himself against the rise and fall of the boat. He knew what he couldn’t say. He couldn’t mention the hammock, or the night under the stars with her. “Maybe it was the way you talked to the potatoes,” he said finally. “That’s when I knew you were different from everybody else.”

One corner of her mouth curved upward. “I hope you haven’t told anyone about that. It’s my secret method.”

He grinned. A vicious wave slapped the side of the ferry, and he grabbed her arms to catch her as she pitched forward. His arms tightened around her. “Your secret is safe with me,” he murmured in her ear. “And so are you.” He pulled her back against the hull and crushed her to him. Their lips met and he kissed her with breathtaking thoroughness. She felt her knees weaken as the boat whistle announced their arrival.

Josh put his hands over her ears to protect than from the sharp whistle. Then he gently kissed Catherine’s eyelids and the spot where her pulse fluttered at her temples. People were gathering their belongings and coming out on deck, but he ignored them. Instead he cupped her chin in his hands and lost himself in the depths of her dark eyes.

Her arms wound around him, and she reached up to thread her fingers in his short-cropped hair. He wished he knew what she was thinking. He’d given her two good reasons to come on this trip, translating for him and helping the villagers, but the look in her eyes made him hope there was another, more personal reason she’d come.

Over her head he saw that the boat had entered the lagoon. He wished they could sail around the lake all day with the wind in their hair and his lips on hers. Beneath the surface of her warm skin he felt the warmth of her heart, her generosity and her adventurous spirit. It was that he wanted to capture, to make part of himself. But somewhere in the distance was the last call, and she broke away, grabbed her bag and led him to the gangway.

Catherine smoothed her jacket and looked around at the reed boats that lined the shore without seeing them. She wondered if she looked as shaky as she felt. They hadn’t even set foot on the island and already she was wondering how she would keep her feelings in check with Josh around. First she’d been oblivious to the arrival of the boat; now she didn’t know which way to turn. Everyone on shore was yelling and waving to someone debarking.

Finally a short dark-haired man with high cheekbones approached than and introduced himself as Duran’s cousin Miguel. Proudly he led them to the center of the island where twenty or so huts made of dried reeds clustered around a one-room schoolhouse of galvanized iron sheets. Men, women and barefoot children gathered to meet them, smiling shyly.

Miguel apologized for the scarcity of accommodations and asked if they would mind sleeping in the schoolhouse. Catherine shot Josh a nervous glance and said they’d be delighted.

After setting their bags inside the room filled with wooden benches, Miguel left them with instructions to come to his house for dinner. One light bulb swung from the ceiling, illuminating walls covered with students’ pictures, and in the corner two straw mattresses were covered with clean sheets and blankets. The mattresses were placed a few feet apart, as if their hosts weren’t exactly sure what their relationship was. They weren’t the only ones, Catherine thought, directing her gaze to the small sink in the corner and the door that led to the bathroom.

She was trying so hard to keep her distance from Josh. She’d been doing so well until she stumbled against him on the deck. He said she was safe with him. But she knew that wasn’t true. Nobody could keep someone else safe. Your only protection was to rely on yourself, then if you failed you could only blame yourself.

Josh walked around the room restlessly, picking up books and putting them down, then peering out the window into the rapidly falling night. Catherine leaned against the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, trying not to look at the beds in the corner, trying not to think about sleeping next to Josh on a straw mattress.

Finally she ran out of places to look and her gaze caught Josh’s and held. She thought of the intensity of his kisses on the boat deck, and tension filled the air in the schoolhouse. Maybe he was thinking about them, too. How on earth were they going to hang on to the last shred of their self-control while sleeping next to each other?

As if he’d read her thoughts, he leaned against the blackboard and cleared his throat. “What do you think of the sleeping arrangements? I hope you’re not allergic to straw.”

“No,” she said. “What about you?”

He shook his head.

“On the other hand,” she said, “it’s a little stuffy in here. I’ll move my mattress over to the window.”

“Good idea.” Before she could protest he was shoving both mattresses across the floor and wedging them together without a space between than.

Her brain spun with images of the length of her body pressed against his, his breath on her cheek, falling asleep in the warmth of his arms. “This is a business trip, isn’t it?” she asked slowly, her eyes troubled.

“Of course,” he said, as if he didn’t know she was referring to the sleeping arrangements and the growing sexual tension between them. “I just haven’t brought up the subject of the loan yet. I’m waiting for them to say something. But you know more about village etiquette. That’s why you’re so useful. That’s why I brought you.”

His blue eyes were clear and guileless. Useful, he said, like a calculator or an automatic teller machine. She felt foolish. He only put his mattress next to hers to enjoy the fresh air coming in through the window.

“What do you think?” he continued, lowering himself to the edge of the straw mattress. “Am I supposed to bring up the loan or are they?”

“Well, uh...I guess it’s better to just wait,” she concluded.

He rubbed his hands together briskly and stood. “That’s settled. Let’s go to dinner. They’re expecting us.”

Josh watched Catherine bend over the child-size sink to wash her hands. Her dark hair tumbled forward across her cheek. Despite his easy assurance he was having a hard time concentrating on the purpose of this trip. He was stuck on this island, trying to pretend every fiber of his being wasn’t crying out for her.

What had possessed him to bring her here with him, then kiss her on the boat and now move his mattress next to hers?

He might be able to sleep in the same room as her, but how could he sleep next to her where he could see the moonlight shining on her hair, smell the scent of the soap on her skin, and not gather her into his arms? He had told himself not to move both mattresses, but somehow the message had gotten lost between his brain and his hands.

This whole trip was turning into a shambles because he couldn’t stop thinking about Catherine. About how to get closer to her, physically and emotionally. No matter how close he got, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to explore her body, every inch of it, and he wanted to know what was in her mind, every corner of it.

When he looked up, she was standing at the door, watching him and waiting. He gave her a reassuring smile and patted her on the back casually as she walked ahead of him, keeping his hand pressed to the small of her back as they crossed the clearing.

She paused to admire the llama tethered next to Miguel’s house. She stroked its soft fur. “I wish I had one of these. They carry huge loads and have sweet dispositions.”

Josh watched her lay her cheek against the soft fur of the animal’s neck. “I’ll get you one.”

She shook her head. “Where would I keep it?”

His hand met hers on the llama’s back. Her fingers were warm and her touch sent vibrations up his arm. “In the field behind your house.”

“I mean, when I leave. What would we do—ride off into the sunset together, my llama and I?”

His eyes traced the outline of her lips, the shape of her eyebrows. “It would be quite a sight,” he admitted. “But maybe you’d better wait until you get a farm of your own.”

She stiffened and pulled her hand away. “I’m not going to get a farm of my own. If I don’t own anything, I won’t have anything to lose.”

He opened his mouth to protest this philosophy, but just then the door of the hut swung open and Miguel beckoned to them. He seated them around a small table where they ate fresh fish with wheat cakes. After dinner Miguel’s wife got out her knitting. Catherine watched while Miguel’s young son wove a toy boat out of reeds.

A knock on the door signaled the arrival of the neighbors. They filed in, taking places on the floor and finally occupying every inch of space on the straw mats that covered the dirt.

Seated on the floor with the others and pressed tightly against Josh, she was conscious of the muscles in his arms, the fresh smell of the lake that clung to his clothes. While she studied the faces around the fire, wind-burned, weathered and lined with creases, she translated what the villagers said. As it turned out, they went straight to the subject of the loan.

“They say the reed boats are like wild horses. Hard to control. If they have motorboats, they can go smoother and farther and catch more fish.”

“Who will they sell the extra fish to?” Josh asked.

“A big company is opening a cannery on the lake, and they’ll buy all the fish they can catch. Trout were released in the lake some years ago, and they’ve grown beyond all expectations. They say they’re huge.” The men nodded and held out their arms to show how big they were.

“Tomorrow,” they said, “you will see.” Then they trooped out of the hut with promises to meet at dawn the next day to take Josh and Catherine out on the lake. Thanking Miguel and his wife for the dinner, Catherine and Josh strolled to the shore to look at the boats before retiring to the schoolhouse.

The night air was cool and soft on Catherine’s skin. After sitting cross-legged in the small hut, her muscles ached to stretch out. At the edge of the lake she paused. A full moon appeared from behind the clouds and flooded the lake with its brilliance. She gasped. It looked like a pool of silver. From behind her she heard Josh’s sharp intake of breath.

“Silver,” he said, echoing her thoughts. “No wonder it drives men crazy.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back against his chest.

She leaned against him, savoring the warmth of his body, feeling his heart pound. Was he thinking of the mine? Should she tell him Pedro had agreed to take him there? She didn’t want to spoil this moment if he said no. This magic moment when the lake turned to liquid silver and her body felt like liquid fire.

She turned and he saw her face, pale as alabaster in the moonlight, tilted up to his. He struggled with the passion that raced through his body. He wanted to make love to her under the silver moon. If he kissed her now, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Her eyes told him she wanted it too, but how would she feel in the morning in the cold light of day when he went back to being a banker in line for a promotion and she was a farmer without a farm?

Reluctantly he took her hand, and they walked single file back to the schoolhouse. She didn’t speak and he sensed her disappointment, or was that wishful thinking? Maybe she was relieved. She changed into her nightgown in the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of pink fabric like spun sugar, and he remembered the nightgown hanging from the wall in her bedroom. The one she’d worn the night in the hammock.

He lay down with his clothes on and pretended to be asleep when she came out. When he heard the straw rustle on the mattress next to him, he didn’t open his eyes. But he knew how she would look with her curves barely concealed, the sheer material grazing the tips of her breasts, and he turned over and buried his face in the flat pillow.

He heard her whisper good-night to him, but he didn’t answer. His throat was clogged with desire. How much could a man take?

At dawn the fishermen knocked on their door, and Josh leaped off his mattress and waited outside with them to drink strong coffee while Catherine got dressed. He’d slept fitfully, visions of Catherine in her nightgown coming and going, but never staying long enough to take hold of. Just like real life. He saw the men look at him with curious glances. Were they trying to decide what to think of his relationship with Catherine? He couldn’t help them there. Half the time he didn’t know what to think of it, either.

He smiled and talked to the men and drank coffee, but his eyes were on the door of the schoolhouse until she finally came out wearing a red sweatshirt and tan pants. Among the reeds she stood out like an exotic flower. Her cheeks stone as if she’d scrubbed them in the small sink, and her brown eyes sparkled in the early-morning light. The men offered her coffee and a chunk of bread, then they all went down to the shore.

They pushed off in separate canoe-shaped balsas before Josh had a chance to say anything more than good morning to her. Her boat dipped and bobbed while Josh watched nervously. He saw her grab the edge of the balsa as she leaned forward to speak to the fishermen.

“We paddle gently so as not to awaken the sleeping goddess who lives in the reeds,” an old man from the front of her boat said.

Catherine smiled sympathetically, shading her eyes from the rising sun. She could see Josh in the boat ahead of her. With his head and shoulders outlined against the sky, he might have been the sun god himself.

But he wasn’t a god; she knew that. He was a man and he wanted her as much as she wanted him. But he had more restraint than she did. He’d fallen asleep before she’d even finished undressing, while she’d lain awake for hours, thinking about him. She reminded herself of her vow to keep everything on a business basis. It was clear he hadn’t forgotten, and she was grateful for that. Grateful, but also a little disappointed.

In the middle of the lake the men gave her a pole and showed her where to drop her line. In a few minutes she had a trout, and then another and another. By mid-morning they were dragging a bucket of large fish behind the boat. Voices echoed across the lake as the men in her canoe shouted to the men in his canoe. One of the young men in her boat confided that when they got their motorboat they would be able to use gill nets. The cannery would buy all they could catch and they would be rich. She asked what they did with the extra fish they caught now. He told her the women took them to town to barter for salt and flour and supplies.

The boats met for lunch on a small island where the men built a fire and cooked fish. Josh took Catherine aside and they sat on the shore, looking out at the treeless hills that surrounded the lake, eating crisp filets fried over the open fire.

“So far so good,” he said. “The lake seems to be full of trout. I caught six myself. But I didn’t see much else. I hear the trout did away with the smaller fish that were here originally.”

She nodded. There was something about that that disturbed her.

“They really know what they’re doing,” he continued enthusiastically. “And I agree that riding in a balsa boat is like riding a bucking bronco. I thought you were going to fall overboard at first.” He watched the wind blow her hair into a tangle of curls and felt the same stab of fear again as he had when he thought her boat was capsizing.

“I thought so, too. But now I’m kind of used to it.”

“The motorboats will be faster and they’ll have better control,” he said, noticing the way the wind whipped the color into her cheeks.

An uneasy feeling nagged at the corner of her mind. “What about the sleeping goddess?” she asked. “How will she feel when the motorboats come ripping through here?”

He studied her face, counting the freckles the sun had dusted across her nose. “Who?” he asked at last.

“She lives in the reeds at the bottom of the lake. That’s why we paddled gently.”

The full intensity of her liquid dark eyes caught him, and he felt his mind reeling. “Are you making this up?”

“No, you can ask the old man in my boat.” Frowning slightly, she laid her hand on his. “I like these people. I want them to get their boats and their gill nets, but... but...”

“But you think the sleeping goddess or the sun god might object?”

She shook her head. “I’m serious. I’ve heard stories of what happened in Alaska to the salmon. The canneries came in and subsidized the fishermen. They abandoned their trawlers and went for floating factories. When the waters were fished out, the Department of Fish and Game had to shorten the season. One year it was twenty-four hours. Can you imagine how that would affect their lives?”

“Catherine,” he said, leaning forward. “This is Lake Cordillera. Those were salmon. These are fresh-water trout.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “But look how balanced their lives are, these people. They have a surplus of fish, yes, but they trade them for what they need. They live in harmony with nature, like we do in Palomar. They have plenty to eat, like we do in the village. But their men don’t go off for weeks at a time like the men in Palomar do.”

He stood slowly and looked out across the choppy water. “Are you telling me you don’t think they should get the loan?”

“No, of course not. It’s your decision.”

He shook his head. “It’s Duran’s decision. We’re here to gather facts and give him our opinion.’’

She stood and brushed the crumbs off her pants. “Sometimes the price of a loan is too high.”

The men pushed the balsas back into the water for the return trip. Catherine rolled her pants up and waded into the water. In the boat she trailed her hand in the water as the paddles dipped silently in and out. She felt a sinking sensation in her heart. She didn’t envy Duran if he decided to turn them down. Maybe he would or maybe he’d follow his inclination and give it to them.

She looked over her shoulder across the blue-green water at Josh in the boat behind her. Even from that distance she could see his brow was furrowed and he was thinking it over. Maybe the villagers would be able to maintain a balance between efficient fishing and overfishing even with motorboats. But she was worried. Was this what it was like to take an uncomfortable, unpopular stand? Is this what bankers did every day?

Back on the island the children were just leaving the schoolhouse. Miguel’s son waved to them mid shyly invited them to come with him to visit his uncle, who was a boat builder. The boy was clutching the toy boat he had been working on the night before.

Josh smiled and Catherine said they’d be happy to meet the boat builder. “I think I know what your recommendation will be,” Josh said as they followed the boy along the path to his uncle’s.

Feeling a twinge of guilt, she answered, “Don’t listen to me. I don’t know anything about making loans or fishing for that matter. Forget what I said.”

“I can’t. What’s happened to the woman who made up her mind before she even got here?” He took her hand and they walked side by side down the path lined with reeds.

“She’s here. But she’s confused. I want what’s best for the people and what’s best for you...”

“But you’re not sure what that is and neither am I,” he confessed.

She glanced up at him. “If this is what it’s like to be a banker, then I feel sorry for you.”

He pulled her close, his hip hard and solid against hers. “Don’t. Sometimes banking has unexpected rewards. Sometimes someone comes to my office by mistake.”

“Like me?” she asked. “That was no mistake.”

“And asks for something impossible,” he continued.

“Like a loan to buy a truck?”

“And I say no.”

“But you feel bad about it.”

He nodded and smoothed her hair with his hand.

“So you change your mind.” She turned and pressed her palms against his. “Josh, I don’t want to let you down.”

The emotion in her voice surprised him. He motioned the boy to go on ahead and linked his arms loosely around her waist. “You’re not going to let me down. What’s happened to you? I’ll never forget your telling me all you wanted was some small change and you asked me what I had to lose.”

“That was before I knew you, before I realized what you had to lose. Before I realized how much your job means to you.”

“No more than yours means to you.” He slid his hands up her arms until he held her by her shoulders.

Her braid had come undone and the loose tendrils framed her face and softened her earnest expression. “This is just one of my jobs. The farm in Palomar is just one of the many farms I’m going to work and the Mamara are just one tribe of Indians I’m going to help. It’s not the same for you.”

He watched, fascinated, while her cheeks turned pink as she grew more animated.

“You’re moving up and I’m moving sideways,” she explained. The sun shone on her dark hair as the smell of reeds drying in the sun at the boat builder’s house wafted their way. The boy had long ago disappeared down the path, and they were alone, hidden from view by the tall grasses.

“Then how do you think our paths crossed?” he asked, tucking a dark wisp of hair behind her ear.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I’m glad they did.”

He leaned forward and captured her face between his hands. He felt the warmth of her face, watched her take his hand in hers and kiss his broad palm. The touch of her lips made him want to wrap her in his arms and disappear behind the reeds to the soft grass by the shore. The thought of Catherine and him lying in the warm afternoon sun made the heat rise up the back of his neck.

Above the whisper of the wind in the reeds came the sound of a man wielding a machete in the clearing beyond, reminding Josh of his obligations to the fishermen of the village, to Duran and to the bank. This was a business trip. There were decisions to be made and people to see. The uncle, for one. Without speaking Josh took Catherine’s hand and they walked toward the house of the boat builder. The uncle was there, his machete on the ground. His sun-browned face broke into a smile at the sight of the visitors. Proudly he showed them how he formed the sides and then the heart of the boat with the materials at hand.

Then he turned his attention to the small toy boat his nephew had brought and they all walked down to the water to try it out. Catherine knelt on the wooden pier to watch the boat float in the clear, shallow water. It was as carefully made as the ones they had ridden in that morning.

She caught Josh’s eye and she wondered if he feared what she did. That if the village had motorboats, this craft might be lost. Not just this craft, but a whole way of life. Slowly they made their way back to Miguel’s house where his wife was spinning wool from their llama into yarn.

“My mother spun her own yarn,” Catherine said. “I never had a store-bought sweater until I grew up. She taught me to spin, too.” She nodded to Miguel’s wife, and she and Josh wandered down to the shore where the boats were drying in the sun.

“How can you say they left you nothing?” Josh asked, sitting on the beach, looking at her thoughtfully. “Besides your memories, they gave you skills, like weaving and cooking and plowing.”

She squinted at the choppy waves with the sun dancing on than. “Everything but bargaining,” she acknowledged with a half smile. “What are we going to report back to the bank?” She sat next to him and hugged her knees to her chest.

“That the coming of the cannery will bring the motorboats to this lake whether we like it or not.”

“It’s called progress,” she mused, “and I guess it’s inevitable.”

“If this village doesn’t have them, they won’t be able to compete,” he said. “We can’t let that happen.”

She shook her head, relieved that they didn’t have to disappoint these people she had come to admire and respect. He helped her to her feet, and silently they walked back to the schoolhouse.

On the path he imagined how the stillness of the lake would one day be broken by the roar of the boats, and it wasn’t a pleasant thought. So for now he relished the silence and the sight of Catherine just ahead of him, her dark hair caressing her shoulders. Even more than the silence he relished this time alone with her. A time when they reached a decision that satisfied them both. A time of unexpected harmony.

Inside the schoolhouse the desks were closed for the day and the windows shuttered. They changed clothes for the farewell party the villagers were giving for them.

“This has been an experience for me,” Catherine said, smoothing the skirt of her pale blue cotton dress, “standing in a banker’s shoes for a few days. It’s given me a new appreciation of your profession.”

“My profession? What about me?” he asked, crossing the room and laying the back of his hand against her wind burned cheek.

She looked up to catch a flash of desire burning in his eyes. “I’ve always appreciated you,” she said quickly, feeling her heartbeat quicken. Appreciate. It was a good safe word. Now if only he’d leave it at that. But he didn’t. He tilted her chin with his hand, and she closed her eyes and struggled with the feelings she’d tried to suppress. When had appreciation turned to admiration and admiration turned to something else? Something dangerously close to love.

Was it the night he’d slept on her shoulder in the taxi? Or was it the day he told her about the silver mine? Maybe it was the night she’d cooked dinner for him and he’d shared his dreams with her. If only he’d let her help him make them come true. But he was afraid. Afraid to try. Afraid to fail. She knew something about that. The thought of the farm in California, the cold, stern face of a banker, the fields baking in the sun, brought a cold chill of fear to her heart. Yes, she understood that kind of fear. As long as she stayed here, as long as things went well on the land, she could keep it at bay.

She looked up at his face in half shadow under the swinging light bulb above them, unable to read his expression. “It must be time for the party,” she suggested, grateful for the distraction, for any reason not to stay in this room, to prolong the moment when they had to go to bed next to each other on the straw mattresses.

Miguel’s house was filled with music and laughter and food. The women in their bright skirts and their dark braids smiled shyly and greeted them warmly. They pressed cups of tea into their hands and led them to the best seats to watch the entertainment.

There was music and dancing. Catherine found herself clapping and swaying to the music, forgetting everything but the warmth and friendship of these people she scarcely knew and the man next to her who she felt she’d known all her life. Before they left they got directions for the Island of the Sun so they could go on their own at sunrise to experience for themselves the legend of the sun god.

They walked arm in arm to the schoolhouse. Without saying anything Catherine changed into her nightshirt in the small bathroom. When she came out, Josh was standing by the door, still wearing his blue jeans and plaid shirt with the sleeves up above the elbows.

She sat cross-legged on her mattress and looked up inquiringly. He cleared his throat. “I’m going out for a walk,” he said hoarsely.

“A walk, now? Why?” she asked.

“You must know why.” He reached for the doorknob. “I can’t keep my eyes off you and I’m having trouble keeping my hands off you. I can’t sleep next to you and I can’t sleep when I’m not next to you.” He shook his head. “This doesn’t make any sense. So I’m going out for a walk. Maybe it will clear my head.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Anyway, it’s almost time to get up and go to the island.’’

She swallowed hard. “Josh?”

Framed in the doorway, he paused. “Yes?”

“I feel the same way. I want you, but I know I can’t have you.”

“Why not?” he asked in a strangled voice.

“Why not?” she asked. “You know why not. We’re going in different directions, like two shooting stars that happened to collide. And before there’s any damage we’ll dust ourselves off and be gone on our way. I’ll never forget what you did for me and for the village. You took a chance on us and got us the truck.” She took a deep breath. “Now it’s my turn to help you with your goal. Old Pedro has offered to take you to the mine. Isn’t that wonderful?” She paused and watched his face darken as if a storm cloud had passed.

“That’s not my goal. I thought you understood that. It’s a dream, that’s all. My goal is to become a vice president of the bank. To never have to worry about money again. Chasing after silver isn’t part of my plans.”

Shivering, Catherine pulled the hand-woven blanket up around her shoulders. She had spoiled the evening by bringing up the subject of the mine. Maybe she’d spoiled the whole trip. She clamped her mouth shut so as not to say any more. So as not to suggest that dreams are just as important as goals. And that it was important to know the difference between them.

He stared at her for a long moment. “I need some fresh air. I’ll see you in the morning.”

After the door closed behind him, Catherine squeezed her eyes shut. How could he walk out on her now when she felt so close to him? When they shared so much? She told herself it was best that he had. What would she do if he were here on the mattress next to her, warm and vital and tempting her to forget what she’d said about going in different directions? But if it was for the best, why did she feel so awful?