Dressing for Disaster

Marbella tightened her grip on the ornate silver handled brush as she drew its boar bristles through the silky golden hair.  In the big round mirror over the dressing table, Oreana smiled at her with a smile that conveyed, she thought, more approval than she had probably ever gotten from anyone in all of her sixteen years of life.  "Would you like me to braid it for you, Señorita?" she asked shyly, returning the smile.

"I will show you how to do it," said Oreana, getting up, then nodding for the startled girl to sit down in her place.  "You never want to bind it too tightly.  You bind up all of your power that way.  Here— "

She took the brush from Marbella’s hand and paused to clean it, pulling out a handful of long golden hair.  Then she gathered up the hair and carefully wrapped it in a handkerchief.  "You must also be very careful not to leave any of your hair lying around," she said.

"Why not, Señorita?"

"Because it is . . . untidy."

"Sí, Señorita."  Marbella would have nodded but for the brush stroke that dug into her long dark hair at the forehead and swept her whole head back.  Oreana gathered up each stray tress and pulled them all back into a shiny rope.  Then, somehow, she twisted the rope into a loose knot and anchored it atop Marbella’s head with the teeth of an ornate silver comb.

"You see?" she said.  "That is enough.  Now, with these"—she added, picking up a matching pair of earrings set with stones of amber and jet and fastening them gently to the girl’s ears—"see, there, you look just like a princess."

Marbella studied the reflection in the mirror, almost surprised that it moved when she did.  Except for the long and slightly aquiline nose she had inherited from her Spanish father, it was a very beautiful face, large, dark glistening eyes, high cheekbones, full lips that parted over teeth that were only a little bit crooked.

She hadn’t known either her father or her Indian mother, except for the occasional glimpses she got of their features in the mirror.  Her mother had simply left her at the mission a few days after giving birth, hoping to be accepted among her own people again after the humiliation she had suffered at the hands of the soldiers.

The padres and the Indian women of the mission had cared for the child and had given her a minimal education.  She found the books Oreana gave her to read were interesting but hard.  She wouldn’t understand them at all, she thought, if Oreana didn’t explain them to her.  The priests had rarely had time to explain anything, and they didn’t like you asking too many questions anyway.

"Now for a gown," said Oreana, beaming at her handiwork.  In a moment she had gone to the wardrobe and pulled out one of her own gowns, a dark blue silk trimmed with embroidery and lace.  She hadn’t worn any of these fanciest of dresses since that day they had almost left to go to San Diego.  Marbella just assumed she was saving them, though she wasn’t sure why.  She had so many of them.  But now she held out this one, which had always been Marbella’s own favorite, as if she really expected Marbella to try it on.

"Oh, Señorita."  Marbella shook her head.

Oreana raised an eyebrow, but there was no mistaking the hint of mischief in her eyes.  "Are you refusing to obey me?" she said.  "You know that this is part of your education.  You must be able to imagine yourself in a gown such as this, even if you do not always wear one."

The girl’s smile broke, and she quickly began to unfasten the laces of her blouse.  Another moment and Oreana was tucking her into the closely fitted low cut bodice.  Then, taking hold of Marbella’s hands, she held her at arm’s length.  "Quite stunning," she said, turning the girl around to face the full length mirror standing in the corner.

Marbella couldn’t help but gasp.  Even though the skirt was just a little too long, it hid her plain old shoes.  Perhaps her arms were just a bit too thin, but otherwise the dress fit perfectly.  "It suits you," said Oreana.  "And now you must wear it until you can still see yourself in it when you close your eyes.  This you will do while we are gone.  Agreed?"

The girl nodded, but her smile faded quickly when she recalled that Oreana would soon be leaving to go to the dance.  And for some reason she couldn’t even begin to explain, she knew Oreana did not want to go.  Something was wrong, and Marbella was frightened.

She wouldn’t have thought it possible a mere ten days ago to feel this way about a Spanish lady, especially one who looked like this.  Up until then she had only felt this way—albeit secretly—about Diego de la Vega.  She still remembered his return from college in Spain, just the year after the mission padres had agreed to let her come to work in Don Alejandro’s household.  She had known Don Diego was way too old for her, she being only thirteen at the time, and a mere servant at that.  But he had been so kind to her, and funny, full of jokes and teasing, that she had let herself dream of him anyway, for what harm would it do?

And she had been fully prepared to despise Oreana, especially once she saw that Diego did not, but that had gotten increasingly hard to do.  Over the time since she had taken the job as Oreana’s personal servant, Oreana had become for her something like a mother, or at least an older sister.  And she was almost glad Don Diego was attracted to her, since Marbella sensed a kind of kinship with Oreana that seemed even stronger, or at least just as strong, as her fondness for him.  With Oreana around, even impossible things seemed possible.

"Oh, Señorita, must you go?"

"Sí, I believe so."  Still smiling, Oreana cocked her head and studied the girl.  "Why would you not want me to go to a party?" she said.

Marbella looked down and shrugged.

"What is troubling you?"  Oreana sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to her, indicating that Marbella should sit there.  "Tell me what you see," she said.

"What I see, Señorita?"

"Sí.  When you close your eyes and imagine what this party will be like, what do you see?"

"Lots of people."

"Y que mas?"

"People dancing."

"And what do they look like?"

"I do not know, Señorita."  Marbella was starting to feel a bit agitated.  She didn’t like these kinds of guessing games, since she never knew quite what she was supposed to say, but Oreana didn’t seem to mind.

"It’s all right," she said, giving Marbella’s shoulders a little squeeze.  Then she stood up, but as she did, something very peculiar happened.  Suddenly, the fleeting image of a man just seemed to pop into Marbella’s mind unbidden.  Then it flickered out.

"Wait— "  She spoke as much to the image as to her mistress.  Oreana sat back down.

"What is it?" she said.

"I—I imagined I saw a man," she said.  "A handsome young man."

Oreana laughed.  "Thinking of handsome young men again, eh?"  Then she caught the girl’s eyes.  "What did he look like?  Digame."

"Rubio.  Fair-skinned, like you.  Dressed in black.  And red.  I thought maybe he would ask you to dance."

"And should I accept?"

"No."  Marbella shook her head.  "I do not like him, Señorita."

Oreana gave the girl another affectionate squeeze.  "We will dispel your worries," she said.  "You will stay here in my room tonight and we will light a candle."  She stood up and walked across the room to the fireplace, where she found several white candles lying in a basket.  Grabbing one, she cradled it in her hands for a moment and then, with a quick gesture, placed it in a brass holder and bent to light it with a piece of straw from the kindling bin on the hearth.

Finally, she set it on the dressing table and turned to the girl.  "Now give me your hands," she said, holding out her own as if in an invitation to dance, then swinging her around merrily in a few tight little circles until the two of them stopped in the middle of the room, facing each other.

"Now look at me," she instructed, gazing intently at the girl.  "Look hard, as if you would draw my picture while I’m gone.  Remember the way my hands feel, and imagine that we will do this again—soon."

Marbella quickly felt better.  The little candle seemed to have filled the whole room with its bright cheery glow.  But she still felt something she could only describe as painful about letting go of the warm strong hands that enfolded her fingers.

"Our circle is open," said Oreana, taking her gently by the shoulders. "But it will never be broken.  I will always come back to you."  Marbella let her arms slip around the older girl’s slender waist as she felt Oreana’s arms gathering her into a hug.  "Now, help me get dressed," said Oreana at last.  "Everything will be all right."

Marbella sighed.  Then she went to the wardrobe to gather up the magnificent Tyrian purple gown that Don Alejandro had offered to let Oreana wear, saying it had once belonged to la señora de la Vega.  By the time Marbella had inspected and unhooked all the intricate fastenings, she saw that Oreana had already gathered up her hair in a soft pile of curls atop her head and secured it with a comb set with amethyst.  She leaned backwards to catch her reflection in the mirror as she gathered up a few stray wisps and secured them with fine golden hairpins that seemed to match the color of her hair.  Then she went to stand beside the bed and took the bedpost, waiting to have the laces of her corset tied.

"Not too tight," she sighed as Marbella wrapped the cords in her fingers.  "I like to breathe."

Marbella nodded, yanked and tied.  Then she helped her mistress slip into the dress, with its elaborate gold and green needlework ivy clinging to the bodice and the hemline.  Oreana put on a pair of amethyst earrings set in gold, and around her neck she hung a matching necklace.  As she picked up the lacy fan and the gloves and headed for the door, she nodded at the candle.

"Let it burn," she smiled.  "And remember what I have told you.  I will come back for you."

In the flickering glow of a torch that lit the walls of Zorro’s cave, Bernardo stood carefully folding a black silk shirt inside Zorro’s black cape, then tucking them both into the big saddlebags now secured behind Tornado’s saddle.  He knew his own nerves were making the stallion more jittery than usual.  Oddly enough, it was when he was caring for this horse that he missed most the ability to speak, for he wished now that he might soothe him the way Diego did with his voice.

After all, Bernardo usually got more attention from the horse than he did from any human being other than Diego himself.  But communication between these two silent partners of el Zorro was based more on touch than anything else.  And Bernardo knew his hands were shaking.  A lot might easily depend on the two of them this evening.

Even though he would not be wearing Zorro’s costume, he would still have to try to avoid or outrun any soldiers who might be out patrolling the hills in search of the masked outlaw, for they would surely recognize Tornado, especially in the dazzling light of the full moon.

Bernardo would also have to keep watch outside the alcalde’s house all evening and be ready to start tracking the kidnapers the instant they struck—if they struck at all—and stay on their trail for as many as five or six days, from what Diego had told him.  Nor would there be any time to waste returning to the hacienda for supplies.  Everything they needed would have to be packed right now.

He reflected that Descanso wasn’t as far away as it might have been, but the trail down the Baja peninsula wouldn’t be smooth.  He still wasn’t sure how Diego knew this was their destination, since the young man had been surprisingly reticent to talk about how he and Oreana had identified it.  Maybe they had simply reasoned that it was the closest Dominican mission there was.  But whatever the case, Bernardo had been trusting Diego and following his orders too long to start questioning them now.  As he fastened Zorro’s whip securely to the saddle and belted the sword to his own waist, he just hoped this whole ordeal would soon be over.

He could only shake his head as he thought of the exchange he had overheard earlier that afternoon between Diego and his father.  If Don Alejandro only knew the half of it, he thought.  In some ways, Bernardo envied him his ignorance, for while it might be comforting to know about Diego’s abilities, it was often less comforting knowing the uses to which he put them.

But that was also why Bernardo felt a bit impatient with the old man.  He didn’t like thinking he was taking Alejandro’s place with the boy—and neither, he knew, did Diego.  But he also knew that if he was, it was Alejandro’s own fault.  It was largely his fear of losing his only son that kept Diego from telling him the truth.  Perhaps the old man didn’t really want to know anyway.

Suddenly Tornado nickered softly, shifting his weight as he turned his head to look behind him, pricking both his ears forward, his full nostrils flaring.  Then Diego appeared, dressed in a stunning dark blue suit, so dark it was nearly black, the sleeves, lapels and the back, as well as the side seams of the trousers embroidered with a delicate gold filigree that framed intricately stitched red roses with lush green leaves.

Bernardo looked up, too, and smiled thinking how remarkable it was that someone so handsome and talented should also be so kind and good natured.  As a parent, Alejandro clearly had done some things right.  But you will lose him even if you don’t let him go, Bernardo thought, as if he were talking to the old man.  You have to trust him to do what he does best, even if it means risking his life, for this is what he was born to do.  Not that Bernardo wasn’t trying to convince himself as well.

"Well, it looks as though the two of you are as ready as I am," Diego smiled, lightly patting the horse’s rump.  "Oh, do not look so worried, Bernardo," he said as he stepped past the servant to Tornado’s head and casually began to examine every bit of tack the horse was wearing.  "Now that we know where this mission is, I will not need to let these men take me prisoner.  I will simply put in an appearance.  Then we can just slip away, and tomorrow, while they are still trying to figure out what went wrong, you and I can set out for Descanso and get this whole thing over with.  With luck, Marigál will not even know we have left the hacienda.  I believe Oreana can find some excuse to keep my father surrounded by the vaqueros until we return.  And we should have at least a few witnesses to Marigál’s treachery.  This"—he nodded at the saddle bags as his inspection finally ended with them—"this is just a precaution."

Bernardo nodded, but he still had a question.

"Well, if they try to drag us from a crowded dance floor," Diego said, reading his mind, "then we may not even have to go to el Descanso for witnesses."

Bernardo nodded and tried to smile cheerfully.

"Oh, come on," Diego grinned.  "Everyone from the town will be there—all the dons, people who have known me my whole life.  I would think even a few of the soldiers will be there.  Capitan Acevedo, anyway.  They are not all out chasing Zorro."

Bernardo shook his head.

"Marigál is counting on our ignorance," Diego went on.  "He is counting on our not knowing who he is and what his plans are.  How could he kidnap someone who simply avoids his trap?"

Bernardo grasped his throat and made a face, then shut his eyes and let his head fall to one side.  Finally, he raised his eyebrows and offered Diego the question with his hands.

"Poison?  Some sort of drugs?  Well, possibly.  Then I will simply avoid eating or drinking anything.  Oh, do not worry; I already ate a late lunch," he added, seeing that that remark hadn’t lessened Bernardo’s concern.  "And besides, what would they tell my father if I were to vanish right from under his nose?"

Bernardo shrugged again.  He didn’t know.

Diego patted his friend on the shoulder.  "I will try to get my father to agree to leave early," he said.  "Or I will have Oreana do it, since it seems he can refuse her nothing."

Bernardo rolled his eyes, then pinned Diego with a sidelong look.  Diego smiled, looking a little sheepish.  Then he brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck.

"Yes, I know.  Tonight I must keep my own mind on the business at hand; I must be Zorro, not some lovesick caballero.  But you know, Bernardo," he said, folding his arms, then rubbing his chin, "it is not as big a distraction as one might have thought—this feeling.  At least, not with her.  It seems to sharpen one’s senses and focus one’s intent.  Oh, perhaps if I were uncertain of her affections, then I would not be able to think of anything else.  But she does not play those absurd courtly games.  She has not left me in the slightest doubt about her feelings.  She is like . . . a solid place to stand, a place from where, like Archimedes, I feel I could move the earth."

As he saw how Bernardo was looking at him, he broke off, knowing he had been trying to explain it as much to himself as anyone else.  Bernardo nodded, pressed his lips into a gentle smile and patted the young man’s arm.

Diego replied with one of his usual grins, dazzling, mischievous, yet utterly self-effacing.  "Tonight," he went on as he bent to retrieve the small hurricane lantern he had brought with him—"tonight Señor Marigál will have, not just my full attention.  She and I will both be watching his every move.  And you yourself have seen that she is not just a helpless victim to be rescued and protected.  Besides, with the two of you watching over me as well"—he gestured toward Bernardo and the horse—"who could ask for a more formidable band of allies, eh?"

As he bounded off into the narrow gloom of the passageway, Bernardo watched after him.  True, he did seem even a little more relaxed and self-assured than he usually did, as if he really were standing on firmer ground somehow.  His poise had even calmed Tornado, who now stood patiently waiting, but for the occasional flick of his tail and the swiveling of his ears.  But as Bernardo rose into the saddle and headed out into the dusk, he only wished he felt as sure of his own abilities.