CIRCLE OF GRACE

Chapter Two

“Joe’s looking for Susana—she’s lost…” Mother said when Señor Abel opened the door. “They’re out in the storm!” With that, her eyes closed and she slumped forward, collapsing into his arms.

“Mother!” I screamed and reached for her as she fell.

Looking on, I imagined the horror of burying all my family members and finding myself alone. If Mother died, with Father and Suzanna out in the storm, all of their deaths would be my fault. I couldn’t stop my thoughts. My tears flowed unrestrained like the rain outside. When I was young, I’d crawl into my mother’s lap, and her arms would comfort me. But now, I was a grown girl and too big for that, so I scooted as close as I could to feel her warmth. Thankfully, she seemed somewhat recovered.

Gently, La Señora Teresa, Señor Abel’s wife, pried me away from my mother. “Esta bien, Ruth, she need breathe. She be okay,” she said, embracing me in a hug.

Mother’s tears glistened. She took a deep breath, then she opened her eyes, and I recognized a familiar steely control creep back into her eyes. “Abel— Joe, and Suzanna are still out there,” Mother said. She choked on her tears, “Please,” she pleaded. “I’m desperate, Abel, you’ve got to help them. I know, I’m asking a lot, but they are all I have! They went down to the treehouse in the Old Oak by the diner to find Suzanna’s doll. We found Ruth near there.” She looked at me and frowned. “Please, help them!”

Señor Abel was a scholarly man. He wore small wire-rimmed glasses and a soup-strainer mustache, and he always winked at me when I was playing at the diner.

Six years ago, he moved his family to town from a country ranch in Laredo, Texas, and bought the small house next door to Mother and Father. After purchasing a printing press, he opened an office across the road from The Cattle Horn Diner.  He was in the business of documenting the news in the hometown weekly. Indeed, I knew we would read his stories about the storm when he printed the paper. I imagined he would share our story, but how would it end?

Señor Abel and his wife moved into the kitchen with their near-grown sons, Mateo and Juan. They were just out of earshot, but I could see them through the open door. I heard snippets of their sing-song language, trying to follow along. In an apparent dispute with Mateo at one point, Señor Abel threw his arms in the air. La Señora clasped her hands as if in prayer. Eventually, they all bowed their heads, and La Señora made the sign of the cross on the foreheads of the three. “God be with you.”

I was overjoyed to think they would help find my family, but then I thought they could be lost as well, and it would be because I led Suzanna out into the storm in the first place. I put my hands together and prayed that they would find my family and come home safe.

The boys nodded as they crossed the room, removed the slickers from the coat rack, and waited by the door for their father to join them.

“Joe has always been a good neighbor,” Señor Abel said, coming over, his hand outstretched. “We will do what we can.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Mother said, taking his hands in both of hers. Her voice shook, “God will pay you back for your trouble.” She quickly wiped away her tears from her face. Señor Abel placed his palm on her shoulder as she attempted to stand.

“Rest, Bess! We don’t want you to faint again.” Abel said.

“We’ll do what we can.” He repeated. “No promises.”

“They should be near the oak in front of the diner,” she said.

“I warn you, we’ll have to return if it is too dangerous. I can’t risk my boy’s lives.”

I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and dragged in a ragged breath, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Mother rubbed my back. “Calm down, Ruth. What’s done is done.”

Señor Abel kissed Señora Teresa’s cheek while pulling on the slicker’s sleeve; he winked at me.

La Señora stood at the open door, watching her family leave. Her loose hair blowing behind her, she clutched her rebozo, the bright embroidered shawl around her shoulders.

“Mujer, CLOSE the door!” Señor Abel yelled.

Señora Teresa moved to the window, where we gathered to peer out and watch them leave. Mateo pulled down a long rope coiled on the sidewall, the end of which whipped in the wind. Most afternoons, I often watched the boys twirling the lariat, aiming for the fence post, from the window in our front room. They would practice for hours.

Señor Abel held the banister with one hand, and the boys helped him step into the slip noose. Mateo and Juan tightened it around his waist, then tied themselves to the line. The three marched away from the house, tied together. Their shadows disappeared down Main Street into the storm. 

The Vazquez children and I put our noses on the glass, cupping our eyes with our hands to peer through the darkness.