“It’s done, Mother,” Cissy said implacably, trying not to watch Gil Valenzuela as he patiently worked the filly in the reconstructed corral. She had seen him only at a distance since Sunday, and he had either not noticed her on each of those occasions or he was ignoring her.
That was probably for the best. And yet, here she stood by the corral instead of going into the house. “I sent my formal acceptance of the job today.”
Sally Locke shook her head. “You should have children of your own,” she insisted vehemently, “not go haring off to a foreign country to take care of other people’s kids!”
“I trust that someday I will have my own children,” Cissy replied calmly. “I’m sure God will bring the right man to me when the time is right.”
“In Mexico?” Sally scoffed. “In the middle of nowhere? The nearest town is so tiny there are no stores. You have to have your food trucked in from Texas!”
“So? Are you saying that God is limited by space and distance?”
“You know I’m not,” Sally snapped. Shaking a hand, she added, “I just wish you’d look at what’s right in front of you.”
I am looking, Cissy thought, dragging her gaze once again away from Gil. She couldn’t seem to stop her eyes from wandering to him. He reminded her in some ways of her late father—a capable, careful man with a quick hand and ready smile.
But Gil wasn’t for her. How could he be when he so clearly wanted to stay here in Grasslands and she was destined for Mexico? Her attraction to him was nothing more than a test of her commitment to God’s calling.
Gil walked to the corral fence with a long, smooth gait. As he drew near, he said, “I think she’s ready for riding, ma’am.”
“Already?” Sally barked, obviously displeased. “It’s only been a week.”
“She’s ready.”
Sally huffed, but then she nodded. “All right. Thank you, Gil.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. She’s a sweet-natured little filly and will serve well.”
Sally slid a look at Cissy, muttering, “Pity the other females around here aren’t so promising.”
Sighing, Cissy let her mother walk away without comment.
Gil folded his forearms atop the corral fence. “Still giving you a hard time?”
Cissy grimaced. “She wants grandchildren, and she thinks that if I go to Mexico I’ll never get married and have babies.”
Gil resettled his hat. “According to my abuelo,” he began.
“Grandfather,” Cissy said.
Gil nodded, going on, “When he and my abuela left Colombia, my great-grandma wept buckets because she feared she’d never see her grandchildren in the flesh.”
“Did she?” Cissy asked.
Gil shook his head. “She disappeared, and we never knew what became of her. Colombia could be a very dangerous place in those days.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Nodding, Gil said, “She wanted her son and grandchildren to have a chance for something better, and they got that.”
“Thank God!”
“Yes. Grandpa Oscar often said the same thing.”
“He was a believer, then.”
Chuckling, Gil said, “He was a preacher. That’s how the family wound up in South Dakota. He answered a call to a church there.”
“Then he would understand why I have to go to Mexico,” Cissy declared.
“I’m sure he would,” Gil agreed. “He loved Colombia, and he loved Texas, but he felt God prodding him to move to South Dakota. Through his example and his words, he taught us the importance of following God’s plan for each of us. Eventually your mama will understand that you’ve been called to Mexico.”
“I hope so,” Cissy said fervently.
He bowed his head, saying, “I might not be seeing you again, so I’ll wish you well now. Vaya con Dios, as Grandpa would say.”
“Go with God,” Cissy repeated in English.
Valenzuela pulled away from the fence and walked back toward the horse. Her eyes flooding with unexpected tears, Cissy turned and quickly left him there.