The Snow Gypsy(49)
It was a pretty little town, with flower-filled balconies and a bustling market in the main square. But there was no time to linger. Rose set about negotiating a price with the muleteers lined up outside the church. The only way to reach the villages higher up the mountains was on muleback. After a few minutes of bartering, Rose agreed to a fee of two pesetas and fifty cents for a guide and a pair of mules to carry Nieve, herself, and their baggage to Pampaneira.
The sun was high in the sky when they set off. Swarms of flies followed the mules, making them twitch their heads and swish their tails. Rose tried to bat the insects away with her straw hat, but it didn’t have much effect and almost made her lose her balance.
The flies became less of a problem when they left the road and started up a track that followed the river through a shady, steep-sided gorge. As they climbed above the town, the orange and lemon groves gave way to woodlands of chestnut and pine trees. Gunesh went chasing off after a squirrel, and when he finally came back, Rose had to clip his lead on and tie it to the mule’s saddle to keep him from doing it again.
Rounding a bend in the river, they saw a great waterfall tumbling over boulders, sending a rainbow of spray across the track.
“?Cuídate!” Take care! The mule man tightened his grip on the lead reins of both animals. Rose heard the squelch of the animals’ hooves in the mud. Her mule almost lost its footing, tipping her sideways, before it righted itself. She got a dizzying glimpse over the precipice, of the waterfall crashing into the river.
“I’m frightened!” Nieve grabbed Rose’s arm, fresh tears welling in her swollen eyes.
“It’s all right—we’ll be there soon. Look! You can see the village—up there!” She pointed to a chimney just visible above the trees, seeping blue woodsmoke into the still air. It was probably just a forester’s cottage, but it did the trick—Nieve’s face brightened.
“What will we have to eat there? Can we have migas? Mama said she used to have migas every day—even for breakfast!”
“Well, that’s what we’ll have, then.” Rose smiled. Migas was a dish she’d never heard of before coming to Spain. Breadcrumbs fried in pork fat and garlic, served with whatever else you might have in the larder. She hadn’t known it was Nieve’s favorite. No doubt there was much else she didn’t know about the child. She was going to have to learn fast if she wanted to convince people that Nieve was her daughter.
“Is it where I was born—up there?” Nieve fixed her eyes on the plume of smoke as her mule plodded along the muddy track. “Mama said bad people live there. That’s why she had to take me away. Are the bad people still there?”
Rose glanced at the mule man. He was a few feet in front of them, puffing away on a cigarette. She hoped he couldn’t hear them above the roar of the waterfall. “That was a long time ago,” she said. “I’ll tell you what: tonight, when we’re tucked up in bed, I’ll tell you a story about a little girl who lived in a house in a forest—just like that one up there. Would you like that?”
Nieve nodded. “Is it ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears’?”
“No.”
“‘Hansel and Gretel’?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
“I’ll give you a clue: it begins with L. Can you guess the next letter?”
The game distracted Nieve for nearly half an hour, by which time they were riding past a mill on the river’s edge, with the rooftops of Pampaneira clearly visible on the opposite bank. The houses looked like a series of boxes piled on top of each other on the slopes. The chimneys were shaped like witches’ hats, and the roofs were not tiled but covered with grayish-brown clay.
Rose’s throat tightened as they crossed the stone bridge that straddled the gorge. Had Nathan seen this same view? Had he walked among these houses? Was this really the place where he had met a girl and fallen in love?
The mules clattered up a cobbled street with a translucent stream running along the edge of it. Each street they turned into had its own miniature man-made river, with the murmur of water a constant background sound. And there were flowers everywhere—terracotta pots bursting with scarlet geraniums in every nook and cranny of the whitewashed walls of the houses.
Rose glanced up an alleyway, captivated by ancient-looking roof terraces jutting out over the street so far that neighbors living opposite each other could almost reach out and shake hands. Hibiscus, vines, and bougainvillea tumbled from trellises. Cobs of maize and strings of red peppers hung under the eaves. Down below, a ginger cat crouched on the cobbles, lapping water from the channel cut into the stones. The mule veered sideways as Gunesh tried to chase the cat, but Rose pulled him back before he could get any farther.
The mule man set them down outside the village post office, which had a closed sign hanging in the window.
“Gracias.” Rose handed over the fare and heaved her rucksack onto her back. The first thing she wanted to do was to look for the fountain Nathan had described in his letter. After traveling such a long way, she had to have tangible evidence that this really was the right place.
They came across several springs as they walked through the village. Some were just holes in the wall, dribbling water into troughs that were probably intended for animals to drink from. The most elaborate one was in an arched niche in front of the church in Pampaneira’s main square. It had three ornamental spouts surrounded by painted ceramic tiles.