Sophie yawned. The long days and sleepless nights were catching up with her. She'd made many friends, if that's what one would call them, who were more than interested in her art. When the men and women took their daily siesta, she found it was the perfect time to wander through the castle "reclaiming" maps and bits of information for the cause.
Since she was American, no one wondered why she didn't rest. And as an artist, no one thought it peculiar to find her in remote rooms, copying the mosaics or reliefs onto her canvas.
Then, during the nights, she moved through tunnels to the place she met with the guerilla fighters. Tomas had shown her the path, and she'd become an expert at knowing which turns to take. She traveled alone, with a single candle as her light.
Today she'd joined her "uncle" on his weekly trip to town. He'd planned another elegant dinner party for that evening and invited Sophie to help choose fresh flowers for the event. She made an excuse to wander around the town, with hopes of seeing someone from the mountains. The men often came down to spy within the crowds. Something within her longed for a friendly face. She felt so very alone and playing the part of a self-involved artist was harder than she'd expected.
But there had been no one familiar, and she spotted the flower store ahead. Tomas saw her and waved.
"Eleanor!" he called.
Sophie waved back, recognizing one of the town's high officials standing beside Tomas.
She quickened her steps, and as she was about to pass a small crowd on the sidewalk, an older woman stumbled in front of her, falling hard to the ground. Sophie gasped and looked to Tomas. His gaze widened as if wondering how Sophie would respond. She didn't slow, but instead tilted her chin and continued on.
She knew Eleanor—the selfish person she'd created—would never stop. But as she continued on, Sophie wondered if she would stop even if she had the chance.
It's just one woman. Helping her won't make any difference. I could bend over and pick her up, but then what? I'd become involved in her life. I'd feed her and listen to her. And I'm tired.
Her shoulders sank in weariness. I'm tired of giving and getting nothing in return. Where has reaching out gotten me? I'm alone. I don't know whom to trust. I'm living a lie. I don't even have my own name.
The woman's hand reached out as Sophie passed, and Sophie scooted over so not even the woman's fingertips would touch her skirt. She kept walking.
"Please," the woman called behind her. "Please help me."
Sophie continued on with quickened steps.
She met Tomas, and they walked back to the automobile in silence. Shadows lengthened through the streets, and Sophie's eyes darted to others who mulled around in the crowd. Two children, dressed in rags, begged for pesetas with a tin cup. A man with a curved back and slow limp hobbled by. A young woman carried a crying baby, the infant clutched to her chest.
Among them strolled soldiers in uniform, priests, finely dressed women, men in business suits. It was the weak and feeble who drew her attention.
But with each one she passed, a cool indifference settled in her chest. And after she'd walked halfway to the parking area, she didn't notice them anymore.
They arrived back at the castle as people headed to the dining room for lunch. A net of safety settled over her as she laughed with the wealthy of Granada, and they talked about nothing of importance. Tonight she'd allow herself to be twirled around the dance floor. And she'd enjoy herself as if she lived only for this moment with no cares for tomorrow.
Or so she'd like to think.
* * *
The food, the music, the beautiful people—with so much to enjoy, Sophie dismissed the fact that she hadn't sent word that she wouldn't deliver any information tonight.
A guitar player sat in the corner, strumming lively Spanish music. She swayed from side to side, enjoying the silky feeling of the light blue dress swishing across her legs.
Her eyes moved around the room, and she had a strange feeling that someone was watching her. Sophie turned and paused. Then everything in her told her to run. Her charade was up. Across the room she stared into the eyes of Maria Donita. The woman who had carried, and apparently borne, Michael's child.
An older Spanish man approached and struck up a conversation. Sophie did her best to focus on his words and laugh at the right times. After thirty minutes ticked by, she could wait no longer. She saw Maria Donita head to the balcony, and she followed.
The night air was warm. Maria Donita stood by a balcony overlooking the lion fountain, with the city of Granada beyond that. She turned slightly when Sophie came out.
Sophie shut the glass door behind her. She breathed in deeply as she strolled onto the patio, smelling approaching rain.
"I was wondering if you saw me come out here. I hoped so. I want to talk to you . . . Eleanor. Isn't that what they call you?" Maria's tone was cautious.
Sophie stopped. "I don't understand. If you recognized me, why didn't you turn me in—or point me out?" Sophie cleared her throat.
"I can't do that. You are working for someone. And I need your help. I need you to help me get out."
Maria stepped closer, and desperation marred her face. "I have a son. He is all I live for now. My husband is dead. Killed, most likely, by someone who was angry at him for leaking information to the wrong people. We traveled south with a promise to leave the country; and now I am stuck here, living amongst people whose beliefs I can't adopt. They will win. And I can't . . . imagine what it would be like to live my whole life like this."
"Your son. Tell me about him." More than anything Sophie wanted to ask if the child was Michael's, but as she looked at Maria's face pity washed over Sophie. The pain was clear in Maria's gaze.
"We both fell in love with the same man. I will not deny the fact that I wanted Michael to be mine. And perhaps that could have happened, with more time. If you hadn't arrived."
"Your son . . . is it Michael's child?"
Maria shook her head. "No." She dropped her gaze. "No matter how I wish it was so." She turned again to the view of the moon and the sparkling lights of the city. "I gave everything for love. I would have given my body, too. But he didn't ask that of me. Michael wanted information. He wanted me to get close to a banker. I did what I had to. I did it to gain Michael's approval. In the end, I bore the child of a man I don't love. Michael had the information he needed, and then he was dead. I had no choice but to marry Emilio. I had no one to care for me. To be a single woman in that condition—it just isn't done."
"But I heard your sister at the funeral. She said the child belonged to Michael."
"I told her that because I was ashamed that I gave myself to Emilio. I wished it had been Michael's. I wanted it to be. For a time I thought he shared my affection, but now I know it was only part of his game. And in the end he was faithful to you. It was you he loved."
"I don't know about that. He lied to me, and then left me in the hands of soldiers with full expectations I would be imprisoned and killed. Then he flew off . . . . If a man loves you he doesn't leave you for dead."
"What are you talking about? He had no choice. He was shot."
"You don't know, do you?" Sophie rubbed her forehead. "Of course, you would have no reason to know. You were at the funeral. . . ."
Sophie looked at Maria Donita with a new perspective. Not as someone who had betrayed her, but someone who had also been betrayed.
"What are you saying?" Maria moved to a long stone bench and sat as if she knew the words to come would deeply affect her.
"Michael didn't die that day on the streets of Madrid. It was a setup—to make us believe he had. In order to follow . . ." Sophie paused, deciding to save Maria the burden of the whole story. "In order for him to follow another path."
"The gold . . . that's it. He succeeded. He got what he was after! And I helped him. He lives . . ." Maria broke down and began to cry.
Sophie understood too well the pain the young girl experienced. She approached and placed a hand on Maria's shoulder. "He lives, and he no doubt seeks me. I'm not sure if you want any connection with me—it could bring you even more trouble than you are in now. But I promise you this—when I do find a way out of this country, I'll make sure that you come along. I promise I'll help you and your son find a way to safety. You are as much a victim in this . . . this hunt for treasure as anyone."
The door opened, and a man walked out on the patio with a woman on his arm. Maria Donita quickly wiped her face. "It was so nice to meet you, Señorita Eleanor. I hope we meet again." She spoke loudly for the benefit of the couple. Then she reached down to give Sophie an embrace.
"Meet me tomorrow, at the lion fountain," Maria whispered in Sophie's ear. "We can talk more then." With that, she hurried away.
Sophie sat there a few minutes longer gazing over the mountains and the beautiful shimmer of moonlight upon tree limbs that danced in the breeze.
It was hard to believe that an unseen force could cause so much movement. What from a distance looked like ripples were actually gusts that could push a person any direction the wind desired.
She continued to ponder this as she returned to the fine party, attended by key people who hoped to someday conquer Spain. Though they were beautiful to gaze upon, an invisible death stirred within their souls. She prayed she and Maria could get out before they became the next victims.