Salazar started as he realized that the annoying priest was beside him. “What are you thinking of, colonel,” the priest asked.
“I’m thinking of a beautiful picture. In it, my whore of a wife is burning at the stake while her shit of a lover is being drawn and quartered.”
Bernardi laughed nervously. He never knew when is partner was kidding or not. “Your hatred of her for her sins is compelling. However and as before, now is not the time for the luxury of a personal vendetta. First we must find a ways to help Spain defend Havana and defeat the Americans. Then you can see to the painful destruction of your faithless wife and her heretic lover.”
* * *
Sarah and the other American nurses had just taken up mops, brooms, and anything they could use as a weapon to wield against a furious and steadily advancing Sister Magdalena, when the door to their ward opened. To their astonishment, Governor-General Villate stood there. Beside him was a very nervous Doctor Juarez and what appeared to be a bald American man in his late thirties. He looked amused at the scenario, while Villate appeared outraged. Juarez looked like he would pass out from fear caused by being so close to the dreaded and thoroughly angry Villate.
“What the devil is going on?” Villate demanded.
Ruta stepped forward. “Do you see this bruise on my face?” she said angrily. There was indeed a red blotch on her cheek and it was turning purple. It fairly well matched one on Sister Magdalena’s chin. “We are nurses, general, not cattle to be whipped and beaten. This vile creature decided we weren’t working hard enough and started hitting us with her broom, and I think it’s the same one she rides around on.”
“You are lazy American whores and swine,” snarled the nun. She turned to Villate. “This creature struck me. I am a woman of God and I demand that she be flogged within an inch of her heretical life.”
Sarah laughed mockingly. “A woman of God? I can’t think of a god that would have you.”
When an enraged Sister Magdalena started to charge like an enraged bear, the other American nurses formed a phalanx and she paused. This gave Villate a moment to put himself between them. When he did, he looked around at the scores of wounded soldiers on their cots. They were looking at him with expressions of fear and hatred, and it dawned on him that if many of them could move, they would rise up and tear him to bloody pieces. He then wondered if they had been searched for weapons or did some of them have knives hidden in their rags. He put his hand on his pearl handled revolver and signaled for a couple of his bodyguards to come into the ward.
Villate sighed. “The gringo who is enjoying this insane debacle is Mr. James Kendrick, an American reporter. It has been an open secret that he’s been in Havana at the home of the British Consul and periodically spying on us while writing articles about your foolish President Custer who is also living at the consulate. It has been decided that he will write an article about how you American nurses are caring for Spanish soldiers and becoming beloved by them and all the time being treated well by us.” Sister Magdalena gasped and turned away on hearing the comments.
Kendrick? Sarah quickly recognized the name from her conversations with Martin. And this Kendrick was staying with Custer with the British Consul? How very interesting, she thought. Might she and the others manage to finesse their way into the consulate where they would be relatively safe when the battle started? But that would mean abandoning the wounded men they now thought of as their own. She would have to think on that. These poor creatures were not her enemy.
Sarah smiled warmly. “We would all be thrilled to be interviewed by the esteemed Mr. Kendrick, but not here. We would also appreciate it if he was allowed to send some personal messages to our families regarding our situation.”
“Everyone in the United States is aware of your situation,” Kendrick said. “But I will see to it that each of you is allowed to send personal messages to loved ones.”
“But any interviews will take place here,” said Villate.
“Then there will be no interviews,” snapped Sarah.
“And why not?” asked a bewildered Villate.
“Because we are sick and tired of being pushed around and being treated as property instead of human beings,” Ruta answered. “We were stolen like cattle, treated barbarically and now, after working hard to save the lives of your soldiers; you won’t grant us that one little favor?”
Villate looked away. It was clear that he didn’t give a damn about the lives of the Cuban peasant soldiers in the ward. He took a deep breath and turned back. “I will graciously concede. The interviews will take place in Mr. Dunfield’s residence. There you will have the privacy to tell Mr. Kendrick anything you desire without having to worry about being overheard or misinterpreted.”
“I will watch out for them and make sure that they say nothing that would slander Spain,” said Sister Magdalena.
Before Villate could respond, Kendrick interjected. “You will do no such thing. Mr. Dunfield will not permit you to enter the consulate. Besides,” he continued, “General Villate will be given copies of everything I’ve written before it is sent. If there are mistakes, I’m certain he will, ah, correct them.”
Even Villate smiled at the blatant falsehood. By the time he read Kendrick’s writings, the text would be well on its way to Washington.
* * *
Mercedes de Milan had not been feeling well. Her stomach ached and she was having trouble keeping food down, which made her crabby and irritable. One of her friends told her that her problems signaled the approach of old age. She hated the thought of aging. Just that morning she had looked in her mirror and seen new wrinkles and a few more strands of gray hair. The hair she could die, but the wrinkles were there forever. She could hide some of them with heavy makeup, but she had seen older women using too much and ending up looking like clowns. She hated growing old and it made her short-tempered.
Even though she was uncomfortable having Diego Salazar in her house, she could think of no reason to deny him entrance or even be concerned about it. Yes, he was a monster who murdered his enemies, but he was also a Spanish gentleman and, yes, he had what some people considered deviant sexual appetites, but they were appetites shared and enjoyed by so many other men. And, she smiled to herself, some women as well.
She received him in her parlor. She did not sit down and she did not invite him to do so either. “To what do I owe this honor, colonel?” she said sarcastically. Her stomach had just started cramping. “I didn’t think you’d be brave enough to show yourself here since the abortive attack on this house.”
Salazar smiled nervously. “That was an unfortunate mistake. Yes, I wanted to take back my wife and yes, I wanted to punish her lover, but there was never any intent to harm anyone. My men misunderstood. They were overzealous and they have been disciplined.”
Disciplined? Mercedes had seen their dead bodies. Rojas had taken her out to the place where they’d been dumped. “Then why did they carry knives and guns, colonel?”
“Why to protect themselves against Kendrick and your guardian, Rojas. By the way, where is the very large Hector Rojas?”
She smiled tightly. Why did he want to know? Mercedes wondered. “He is running a brief errand for me. He will return momentarily.”
Salazar’s eyes suddenly blazed with fury and she realized she shouldn’t have admitted that Rojas had gone at all. “Why did you protect my whore of a wife?” he snarled. “I deserve to know.”