The Snow Gypsy(56)
As if to underline the point, the bells of Santa Cruz chimed the hour.
Ring out the bad and the cruel. Ring in something better.
It was as if Jean were sending her a message through the ether.
The next morning Rose was up and dressed by the time the sun rose over the mountains. She wanted bread for Nieve’s breakfast—but she wasn’t going to buy it from Se?ora Carmona. It wasn’t just the business with the baby swifts: Rose suspected the woman had gone through her belongings while she and Nieve had been out for a walk the previous evening. There had been an impression on the bed—as if someone had sat on it—and her passport had been in the wrong pocket of her rucksack.
She made her way across the bridge that spanned the rushing water far below. On the opposite bank of the river, goats were being driven out of the houses. They were being taken out to pasture by men whose voices echoed through the cool morning air. She couldn’t understand what they were shouting. It sounded like “She-bah! She-bah!” Their cries were accompanied by the musical tinkling of the goats’ bells. Rose thought of Lola, doing what these men were doing on that fateful morning eight years ago, embarking on a daily routine with no idea that her life was about to be torn apart. And if it hadn’t been her turn to take the goats out that morning—if her brother had gone instead—she wouldn’t be alive and neither would Nieve.
When Rose reached the bakery, there was already a line of people out the door. She said good morning to the elderly woman standing in front of her—but got no response apart from an almost imperceptible nod of the head. If the woman was not in the mood to pass the time of day with a stranger, she was unlikely to be interested in Rose’s search for Nathan. Perhaps she would have better luck later, when the post office opened. Buying stamps for her letters would be a good opportunity to ask questions.
With a loaf under her arm, Rose hurried back toward the bridge. She needed to get Nieve up and dressed and fed before half past seven if she was going to be in time for school. Although it was only a matter of weeks until classes ended for the summer holidays, Rose thought it would do Nieve good to be with other children.
On the way to Pampaneira, Rose hadn’t been sure if Nieve would want to go to school. She thought the trauma of seeing Lola dragged off by the Guardia Civil would make the child too clingy and timid for such a big step. But making friends with Alonso had made all the difference. Now that Nieve already knew one of her classmates, she couldn’t wait to go there.
As Rose crossed the bridge, she heard singing. The sound was coming from the river. Looking down, she saw women washing clothes in the stretch of water below the mill. They were singing as they beat the wet clothes on the rocks—the sweet, sad, throbbing chant of flamenco.
Cristóbal’s face filled her mind’s eye. She wondered what he was doing at this moment. He had talked about getting Juanita and the children away from Granada, to their relatives in the countryside. But Lola had said he wouldn’t stay away from his beloved Granada for long. And Lola needed him. There was no one else to go and visit her in that dungeonlike police cell. Remembering the disdainful looks she had received, Rose wondered if Cristóbal would get past the front desk. Without the benefit of a British passport and unable to read and write, he was unlikely to be of much help to Lola.
Rose thought of the letters she had written last night. First she had written to Lola herself—a difficult letter to compose because she knew that it was certain to be read by her jailers. She wanted to convey hope for the future and reassurance about Nieve’s well-being but was afraid of saying anything that might give away the fact that Nieve was with her in Pampaneira.
When she had finished that letter, she had written three more: one to the chief of the Guardia Civil, one to the mayor of Granada, and another to the mayor’s wife. The last one had been an afterthought. It had occurred to her that the powerful men she was writing to might regard Lola’s case in the same chauvinistic way as the arresting officers had—that Antonio Lopez had been guilty of no crime because he had repeatedly offered marriage and had the blessing of Lola’s only male relative. But perhaps the mayor’s wife would see things in a different light. Rose had no idea what kind of woman she was—all she knew was her last name—but desperate circumstances called for a leap of faith. The letter might not even get to her—but it was worth a try.
Chapter 20
Granada, Spain: The same day
Lola was beginning to lose track of time. There was a tiny window in the cell, too high to see out of. It must be north facing, she thought, because the sun never seemed to be on it. And the glass was so dirty it was impossible to tell if the sky was blue or gray. Was this her fourth morning or her fifth? She couldn’t remember.
When she had woken up the previous day, the feeling of hopelessness had been overwhelming. Being locked up was terrifying. The rising panic she experienced every time she opened her eyes and realized where she was made it hard to breathe. But worse than that was the loss of Nieve. In eight years Lola had never spent a single night away from her. The ache in her heart was like a physical pain.
She had lain there on the hard, evil-smelling mattress, wanting to die. Images from her life ran through her mind’s eye like a movie reel spinning out of control. She went back in time to the day she had found Nieve, wailing and bloody. She saw herself, moments before, lying down in the snow beside the bodies of her mother and Amador. She had wanted to die then. Would have died if she’d carried on lying there. But Nieve had saved her.