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  Miss Viola shook her head. “No, those are in here,” she said tapping the side of her head. “I wouldn’t dare write them down. These are just letters from a good friend back East.” She closed her eyes again. “I’m tired. I should rest.”

  Bill stood over Miss Viola and said a prayer for healing. He didn’t like his friend being in any pain. A stop by the doctor’s office definitely would be the first thing on his way home.

  “Don’t forget to drink your tea,” he said, and he walked out closing the door behind him. He let himself out and pulled the front door tight before proceeding to the doctor’s office.

  Doc Thompson assured Bill that he would stop by that evening to check in on Miss Viola.

  The next morning Bill was in the garden off the side of the church trimming the rose bushes when Doc came by to see him. He had visited Miss Viola immediately after Bill stopped by his office the previous day, promising to come back to see her again in the morning.

  Miss Viola had passed in her sleep. Bill thanked the doctor and went inside the church where he sat in the front pew looking out of the window to the sky that Miss Viola loved so much.

  He said a prayer for a woman who was more a mother to him than his own mother. Then put his head in his hands and cried.

  Chapter 2

  St. Augustine, Florida

  “Me niego a hacerlo,” Espéranza cried, turning to look away from her father. Pressure rose up in her chest and a sob escaped. She pressed her palm against her chest, willing the hurt to go away. How could her parents be so cruel?

  “English, Espé. We only speak English,” her father interrupted.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder, anger boiling inside her. “I refuse to do it.” Her hands were clenched in fists by her side and she could feel her nails leaving marks on her palms. “I absolutely refuse to … to… to marry that man.”

  Espé felt her father's hand on her shoulder and he turned her around to face him. The layers of lace on her bata de cola flared around her ankles. She inhaled deeply. She wouldn’t let her parents see her cry.

  Papá kissed her forehead. “It is done. There will be no more discussion.” He released her and walked over to the wardrobe in the back of the theater. “I know you may not think so now, but it is the best thing for you,” he called to her as he walked towards the wooden cabinet where they stored their costumes.

  Espé watched as her father shrugged out of his gold embroidered gilet and handed it to her mother, before sitting down on the bench and tugging off his black heeled boots. His white linen shirt was soaked with perspiration.

  Espé always thought he looked so handsome, the gold and black costume playing against his darker skin. His hair was starting to turn grey, but the rest of it remained as dark as night.

  Espé had the same jet-black hair as her father. His was slicked back and curled at his shoulders, where hers was a mass of ringlets that seemed to bounce down her back the way a gentle mountain stream would flow over the smooth stones in its path.

  Papá always wore a fragrant pomade in his hair that reminded Espé of a blend of floral and leather scents. All her life she had associated the scent of her father with safety. Now she didn’t feel safe at all.

  A single tear leaked from her eye and rolled down her cheek. “Mamá,” she cried looking to her mother for assistance. Maria Martinez shook her head. Espé knew that it was no use. Her mamá wouldn't dare go against Papá.

  “I don’t understand...” Espé took a deep breath and counted to three. She exhaled and looked at her papá once more. “I don’t know why you want me to marry Visconde Garcia.” She lifted the hem of her dress, clenching the fine silk in her fist. “He’s so… old.”

  “Stop that,” Maria admonished her, “you’ll wrinkle your dress and I don’t have time to steam it before tomorrow’s performance.”

  Her family was part of a troupe of Flamenco dancers, touring the communities of Florida to showcase their Spanish heritage. They had lived in the charming town of Saint Augustine for five years and Espé loved it. Now they wanted to send her home.

  Visconde, or Viscount Garcia was a very important man in their home country of Castile, Spain. The elderly gentleman was captivated with Espé since he first saw her perform the fast-paced dance on stage. In fact, he attended performances every night since then.

  Yes, he was nice enough, even showering Espé with flowers after each performance. But Espé didn’t like the way he stared at her, as if she was a dish to be consumed. She politely accepted the flowers, thanked him and then shared them with the women responsible for sewing new costumes. They, at least, were delighted by the flowers.

  Espé was very careful not to encourage the Visconde. After all… he was at least twice her age if not older. At twenty-six years old, Espé wasn’t sure she would ever get married.

  The men who attempted to court her were pushovers. Very few were Hispanic. Most of them were Americanos with their pale skin and lighter hair.

  Espé pressed them just enough to see how much she could get away with, before getting bored. At that point she would scream at them in Spanish until they ran away promising to never bother her again.

  It was as if they didn’t care for anything at all other than having an exotic woman on their arm. Espé realized her Papá was talking to her and she missed what he said.

  “… powerful man in España,” he said, looking at her. “I wouldn’t be worried about your future. You would be a Viscountess and not a dancer, performing for people’s pleasure.”

  “But he has daughters my age,” Espé gasped. “I don’t even know him.”

  Maria took Espé in her arms. The lace of her shawl tickled Espé’s nose. “You will come to love him,” she said. “I didn’t even like your papá when we got married, but I cherish him more than anything else in the world.” She pulled back, tapping Espé on the nose. “Apart from you, my beautiful Espéranza.”

  Espé looked in her mother’s deep eyes. Her mother was truly stunning. She had deep brown hair that was swept up into an intricate plait with a turquoise comb sticking a few inches off from the top of her head. Deep red fabric roses attached to the comb creating a floral crown that complimented the deep red of Mamá’s dress. She knew her Mamá loved Papá very much. It was evident every time they looked at each other.

  They came from a long line of Flamenco dancers. Her ancestors even performed for King Ferdinand’s court. Five-hundred years of history was in her blood and now her papá wanted her to stop?

  “I love to dance, Papá. This is where I belong. With you and Mamá.”

  A sad look came over her father’s eyes. “He has paid a large sum of money. He needs a son to carry on the family name and he thinks you will do nicely.”

  Espé stared at her parents in horror. Her face and hands felt numb and she thought she might pass out. She shook her hands, willing the feeling in them to return to normal. When she could finally get words together, she looked at her parents with disgust and the words spilled from her lips like poison. “You sold me?” She removed herself from her Madre’s embrace. Mamá had the decency to looked ashamed as she turned away from Espé. “You knew this?” she said, looking at her mother in disbelief.

  “We didn’t sell you, Espé,” her father countered, exasperation in his voice. She could hear the tone in her father’s voice that he had no intention of entertaining anything Espé might say to him. “He offered to finance our passage back to España.”

  “But there is enough money if you want to go.” Espé flounced her skirt and stamped her foot, the nails in the heel making a clacking sound against the wooden floor. “I, however, like it here. I want to stay.”

  “Stay?” her mamá scoffed. “What would you want to stay for? You keep saying how you do not like these young men that come visiting.” Her mamá waved her hand in the air. “This way you do not need to worry about it.”

  “It would be best if we all return to España,” Papá said. “Your Mamá and I will perfo
rm for King Alfonso and the royals. You will not have to worry about life in court. Now you will have an elevated position. Visconde Garcia is a very rich man, Espé.”

  Espé couldn’t stand life in the royal court. That is why she was so happy when her family made the trip to the Americas five years ago. The women in court regarded her as less than nothing.

  She would hear the whispers in court of the mysterious el artista’s daughter and how she was bewitching their husbands. They called her artista callejero, or a simple street performer. Some of the names she wouldn’t even dare to mention and her ears burned each time she heard the words.

  She was more than all of those names. She was Espéranza Gabriella Martinez. Daughter of Filipe and Maria Martinez. Granddaughter of Renaldo Christiano, who was perhaps the greatest Flamenco dancer of all time.

  She was royalty within the circles of the Spanish gypsies. She didn’t need to be married. She certainly didn’t need to be married for money. Now, Espé wouldn’t marry for anything less than love. That was, if she decided to marry.

  “I will not marry this man,” Espé demanded. “If you force me to marry him, I will simply run away.”

  Her father raised his eyebrow. “And where would you go, mi bonita?”

  “I don’t know.” Espé stamped her foot once more for emphasis. “I just know I will.”

  Her father threw his head back and laughed. “You have your Mamá’s temper. Fiery like the sun.” He reached out and grabbed Maria, pulling her down on his lap. Maria blushed as she looked at her husband and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Remember how you used to fight your feelings?” he asked Maria. “Not so much now.” He captured Maria’s lips in a hard kiss. “You were beautiful tonight, mi amada.”

  Espéranza rolled her eyes. It was about to start. When Papá referred to Mamá as ‘my beloved’, Espé knew she needed to leave the room quickly.

  Yes, she knew her parents loved each other passionately. Yes, she knew what went on behind closed doors, but she didn’t want to see it play out in front of her.

  “I’ll just go back to my dressing room,” Espé said heading towards the door, “and leave you to …” she waved her hand in the air. “Well, I’ll just leave you.”

  Maria stood and Filipe reached to unbutton the many buttons down the back of her costume. Espé could hear Papá whisper to Mamá as she picked up her pace to leave, the nails from her shoes clicking against the theater floor.

  She heard Mamá laugh. “Perhaps when you marry you will not find it so distasteful,” Maria said. Espé groaned and pulled the door closed behind her. As much as it disgusted her to think about her parents even kissing, she secretly wished she could have a love like that someday.

  If she could find a man who loved her as much as Papá loved Mamá, she definitely would marry. But did such a man exist? Not in the small circle she inhabited.

  Since Mamá normally unbuttoned Espé’s costume for her, she was going to have to find someone else to do it. Espé sighed. Some things were such a bother.

  The performance was still going on. Espé could hear the music from guitars and horns as the couple marched around the stage in the Paso Doblé. The dance was based on the military march and was performed in a double step pattern.

  Espé watched as the dancers told the story of the mighty bull fights in Spain. The man swirled a cape and the woman swirled her skirt as she danced around the man. They were in perfect unison.

  Suddenly they stilled and the crowd rose to its feet with thunderous applause. The music started up again and both dancers allowed their feet to strike the ground, mimicking the movements a matador would use to get the bull’s attention.

  The crowd clapped in time to the music, which encouraged the dancers even more. Even Espé was caught up in the power and grace displayed on stage.

  The Paso Doblé was a dance she learned but hadn’t mastered. Her parents could do it, but she needed a partner if it was something she would master. Flamenco dancing was just fine for now.

  “Oh Espé,” she heard Coletta say, as the young girl moved along next to her. “Aren’t Pablo and Marie the most graceful dancers?”

  Espé nodded her agreement as she watched the couple finish up the dance. When it was done Espé turned to the young girl. “Coletta, Mamá wasn’t able to assist me out of my costume. Can you undo the buttons on the back of my dress?”

  “Of course,” Coletta said. “Let’s go to your dressing room.” Espé picked up the hem of her bata de cola and followed Coletta back towards the dressing area. They had just arrived in front of Espé’s door when a man stepped from the shadows with a big bouquet of flowers in his hands.

  Visconde Garcia had dark hair with no indications of gray at all. Espé thought he must color it.

  His skin was the color of caramel and he sported a lush mustache that sloped downward above his lip. His beard was dense and cut close to his face.

  He wore a gray suit with a white shirt and a black string bolo tie. “These are for you, Espéranza,” the man said, holding them out to her.

  Espé stepped back. “Visconde,” she said in surprise. “Whatever are you doing back here?”

  “I was waiting to see you.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss against the back of her palm. Espé pulled her hand back and hid it under her arm.

  “I normally see you out front. These are the changing rooms. It would be totally improper for you to be back here if someone was changing costume.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Soon we will be man and wife.”

  Coletta let out a gasp. Espé had forgotten she was there for a minute. “Married?”

  “Would you excuse us, please?” the Visconde said, taking Espé by the elbow. Espé didn’t have a chance to respond before she was dragged to the back of the theater. The Visconde turned her around to face him. “Didn’t your Papá tell you? You are mine now.”

  Espé jerked her arm from his grip. “I belong to no man.”

  “That is where you are wrong, Espé. Your family is destitute. The theater is going under. The only way to save it is for you to become my wife.” Espé looked at the Visconde in horror. She didn’t think things were that bad. “I will be dining at your family’s table in three nights. I expect an answer by then.”

  He thrust the flowers into Espé’s hands and turned on the heel of his boot. Espé watched him walk away. She had no choice now.

  She had to leave immediately.

  Chapter 3

  One week later

  It took two days for Espé to leave St. Augustine. She was not performing that evening so she made as if she was going out with several of the other performers in town.

  She wrote out a note to her parents and slipped it under her pillow and then ran off to meet the train. It would be at least twelve hours before anyone realized she was gone.

  Hopefully with all the dark-haired women the man at the train ticket window wouldn’t remember her. She slipped a few folded bills under the window and purchased a ticket all the way to Portland, Oregon.

  She didn’t have any idea what was in Portland, but it was far enough away that it would take a great deal of time for someone to find her. Even if someone managed to check at every train station along the way, she would still be far enough ahead of them.

  The ride from St. Augustine to Chicago took three days and Espé was exhausted by the time the train pulled in the station.

  “Excuse me,” she said to the trainman passing by her seat. “How long are we here?”

  The man pulled out a watch attached to a gold chain from his vest and flipped over the cover. “About three hours. Was there something you needed, Miss?” He closed the watch and stuffed it back in his pocket.

  Espé looked around. “Do I have time to grab something to eat, or do I need to stay on the train?”

  The conductor must have answered this question a thousand times before as the response was almost robotic. “You need to be back in your seat twenty minutes before we leave. Be sure to take you
r ticket with you so you can come through the gate when you return.”

  Espé nodded and quickly gathered up her reticule and shawl from her seat, leaving her carpetbag, and headed into the train station. It was a short walk from the station to the vendors selling sandwiches, fruit and all types of drinks.

  She wanted to be as frugal as possible with the little money she had with her. She had been saving the money thrown on stage for months. She just never expected to have to use it so soon.

  The price of a sandwich was more than Espé wanted to pay, but it was certainly less than food on the train. She selected a cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee and went to sit down where she could observe everyone around her.

  It wouldn’t do if someone found her and dragged her back to Florida. She was sure that Papá had found the note by now and sent Luis after her. Luis was an escolta.

  The escolta were a team of hired gypsies that ensured the safety of everyone in the theater group. If someone went missing, the escolta found them and brought them home. They also escorted the young women if they went into town.

  Espé bit into her sandwich. It was bland but filling. She took a look around the station house and watched the people as they went by. One person caught her eye immediately.

  She was shorter than Espé with long dark hair. Papá would say it was the color of the chestnut trees that grew back home in España. She had classical good looks and strong bone structure (as her Mamá would say). However, it wasn’t hair that caught her attention, it was the big hat on top of her head.

  Espé thought that hat was the ugliest thing she had ever seen. It had a large floppy brim with a huge feather stuck in a piece of ribbon around the crown. The woman kept adjusting it as every time she moved, the hat moved as well. These women have some funny fashions, she thought.

  The woman in the hat was surrounded by several other women. All were dressed in traveling clothes and appeared to be going on a trip together. She wondered if they were sisters. They moved as a group and stopped close to where Espé was sitting.