A Ballad of Love and Glory(48)
As they passed by the apothecary, they spotted Ximena and Maloney emerging from the shop. When she arrived a few weeks earlier, the old man had asked to be removed from the artillery crew and detailed with the hospital corps to work with her serving the infirm. He and the widow had now become inseparable.
“Dia dhuit!” Maloney said, waving hello.
“Hop in,” the men said as they pulled the wagons to a stop. “Ready for some grub?”
Riley dismounted from his horse and took off his shako. “Buenas tardes, se?ora Ximena. May I carry that for you?” he said, pointing to the large basket she carried in her arms.
“Oh, is very kind, but is not heavy,” she replied, lifting the lid. “The botánica not have big quantities of what I need.”
“That’s unfortunate. And you, ould fella? You seem in fine spirits,” Riley said, happy to see Maloney back to his old self.
“Faith, I’m as happy as the day is long, no doubt of it! The lovely air of this city and the company of this darlin’ creature have rejuvenated my spirits!”
“Will ye join us for dinner?” Riley asked them both.
Ximena looked at Maloney and said, “You go. I will take care of this.”
“You can’t go gatherin’ plants on your own,” Maloney said. “?’Tis not safe, jewel. Not with the Yankees making an appearance any day now.”
“Let me accompany you, my lady,” Riley said. “If you don’t mind.”
She nodded. “Gracias, teniente.”
They retrieved her horse and her tools and rode out of the city, beyond the corn and sugarcane fields and into the shrublands.
“Is not like Irlanda here?” she asked as they trotted along on their horses. The country stretched out before them, miles and miles of semiarid land covered in plants he had never known existed until he found himself in this part of the world, so far from the misty rolling vales and hazel glens of Ireland. There was but little timber, mostly stunted shrubs, yucca and palmetto, and all manner of cacti—from impenetrable hedges up to twenty feet tall to tiny ones that scarcely peeked above the soil. Almost everything that grew in the sun-drenched northern frontier of Mexico was armed with vicious thorns and spikes. Even their lizards had horns!
“Aye. ’Tis nothin’ like the Green Isle, to be sure,” he said with a smile. “It couldn’t be more different.”
“I imagine my country is not beautiful like Irlanda is to you,” she said as she halted her horse. “Too many things that prick or sting you.”
He laughed and said, “Well, ’tis true, lass. We have no snakes in Ireland, if you can believe it.”
“?Cómo es posible?”
“We have Saint Patrick to thank. He drove the venomous reptiles into the sea with nothin’ but his faith.” He dismounted his horse and extended his arms to help her down. Although she was an excellent horsewoman and didn’t need his help, Riley was glad she didn’t reject him. Instead, she reached out for him. The few seconds when he held her aloft in the air, when their arms were intertwined and their faces came so close to touching, stirred something deep within him. He wished he could hold her, feel her body against his. Ever since she arrived in Monterrey, he’d been enjoying her company more and more, but it led to such guilt afterward, to sleepless nights where he reprimanded himself for the pleasure he’d felt.
She grabbed her walking stick and handed one to him. “I bring one for you too. Fe… faith… will not save us from a bite.” She looked at him from under her straw hat and grinned.
He followed behind her, noticing how her colorful skirt and petticoats swayed gently as she scouted for plants. When she found one she needed, she knelt down and began to dig with the knife she always carried.
“This plant is good to stop blood,” she said as she tried to yank it out.
“I hope we won’t need too much of it.” He pulled on the plant until it came out. She chopped off the roots and the leaves and put them in her basket.
“Ampudia only cares of his victory,” she said. “Does not think of the soldiers to be killed. He will sacrifice many.”
“Your country’s freedom is worth the sacrifice, is it not?”
“Sí, for freedom. But not for vanidad or hunger for glory. Joaquín, he gave his life to protect our home. Ampudia, he—”
“Is not like your husband and never will be. But we have the numbers. And Monterrey has been well fortified. Let us give our commander the benefit of the doubt. We all have our failings to be sure.”
“I pray you are right, John Riley.”
To his embarrassment, his stomach growled, and he hoped she hadn’t heard it. She seemed not to have and started making her way to a thicket of spiny cacti with small red balls sticking out of them.
“You have tunas?” she said.
He shook his head. He’d seen this cactus—nopal as the Mexicans called it—everywhere since he marched down to the Río Grande with Taylor’s army. Growing up to fifteen feet high, it had been blooming with splendid yellow, red, or white flowers—and some of his hungry comrades had tried to eat the pads and gotten spines stuck in their tongues. He had seen this cactus on the coat of arms on the Mexican flag and wondered if it was, symbolically, what the shamrock was for the Irish. Since he switched sides, he’d eaten a lot of it and learned that only the young succulent pads were good for eating, but he’d yet to taste the queer-looking fruit. Ximena put on her gloves and began to twist the tunas off the pads and put them in her basket. “You be careful with the espinas,” she said. “Come, we will build a small fire and you try the tunas, ?está bien?”