Chapter Thirty

Robert decided to continue the wine deliveries, at least for the time being. Emily’s drunkenness didn’t preclude stealth, and Julio had never found out about the extra items she brought home from the store along with the groceries. Robert would have to talk to her, though. Maybe rather than cut her off entirely, he could reduce the amount he gave her over time, giving her a chance to either find another source or wean herself off the alcohol altogether.

Emily was elusive, though. In spite of her assurance that she was eager to get caught up, he hadn’t seen her since that first day. She came to the store at odd times, and didn’t linger. It was almost as if she knew when he wouldn’t be there, and if that was the case, the most likely explanation was that Norma was tipping her off. And so Robert wavered between suspicion of his store manager and stern self-scolding that he was being paranoid.

Sensing that he was letting himself get too caught up in small town drama, he decided to drop the matter for the time being. In a town this size, Emily couldn’t evade him forever, and $200 of the heavily devalued southwestern dollar was a drop in the bucket compared to his actual financial worth.  So he spent the next several weeks with his head down, busying himself with documenting processes at his store and directing cleaners and handymen at the lodge. Late at night and in his spare moments, he pored over maps of the USS telephone network and made notes so that he could send some recommendations to Santa Fe when the next postal rider went out.

What he didn’t do enough of, and he felt guilty about this, was spend time with Sophie. She still wasn’t crazy about school, but she went without complaint and then rode to the store afterwards behind Mateo on his donkey, Baltazar. She made it clear that it wasn’t as good as riding Bandera, but Robert saw no reason to make her horse stand in the street all day, when the mare could be grazing in her paddock at home.

At night Sophie read her books, desultorily worked sums, practiced her handwriting, and wrote paragraphs about the stories she was assigned in the fourth grade reader. Robert would stop working on his own plans for lodge renovations and store inventory tracking and check her work or give advice if she asked, but there were many times she didn’t ask and struggled alone while her father drew diagrams, organized his invoices and added up numbers in his account books.

Then Sophie’s first report card came. Robert examined it in silence while Sophie uneasily shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Your grades are adequate,” he finally said, “But is this really your best work, or are the lessons too hard for you? There’s no shame in dropping back a grade if you need to. You were on a different curriculum in Kentucky.”

“No, the lessons are fine,” she said quickly. “And even if they weren’t, I can’t go back a grade. The other kids—”

“Yes, the other kids.” Robert frowned over the uneven scores in her social skills. “I’m glad you’re quiet and attentive in the classroom. I would expect nothing less from you. But what’s this about not getting along with the other children?”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “It’s only the girls. Me and the boys get along fine. I play with Mateo and his friends at recess and I’m getting really good at basketball. I can make a basket all the way from—”

“Please don’t change the subject. That’s great you get along with the boys, but what’s wrong with the girls? You had a lot of girlfriends in Kentucky.”

“I don’t like them.”

“Not any of them?”

“No.”

“Any particular reason?”

“They’re stupid.” She sighed in exasperation. “All they do is show off their clothes and talk bad about other people. They even talk bad about each other. If one girl isn’t there, they all say mean things about her, but when she comes back, they smile and act like they’re best friends.”

Robert had been afraid of this. Castaño parents were fiercely protective of their girls, almost rabidly so. With few opportunities to broaden their horizons, the girls became insular and competitive. “I suppose you worry they talk about you, too.”

“I know they do. Mateo told me. And sometimes the girls say things to me, like why do I always wear pants, and why do I play with the boys all the time.”

“What do you tell them?”

“The truth. I don’t like dresses, and it’s fun to play basketball or kick a soccer ball around.”

“I bet they don’t like that answer.”

“They pretend like it’s okay,” Sophie said. “But then they tell me boys don’t really like girls who wear pants and play sports, and that they just invite me to join them because they feel sorry for me. Then I tell them that all the girls at Northwind played sports and the boys liked us just fine, and then they say I’m lying, and we end up yelling at each other and Ms.Garduño comes over and makes me go inside and sit at my desk. Sometimes she makes me write things.”

Robert frowned. “What kinds of things?”

“Like ‘I will not lie’ or ‘I will not fight’. But I don’t lie and I sure don’t fight! Not real fighting, at any rate. I just yell at them. I’d never hit one of those girls. They’d probably cry or something.”

“I see.” Robert tried to think, but had no good answers for her. He had hoped that the overly sheltering attitude that Castaño parents took toward their girls had changed once the civil war and its many dangers had passed. After all, there had been a time back in his mother’s childhood when girls played soccer, went skiing and roamed the surrounding forests just like the boys. The girls even had a special club for that sort of thing. Girl Scouts or something like that. But that was long ago. The Resource Wars had made it dangerous for able-bodied men to walk down the street or for girls to wander the forests. The organized fighting units weren’t a danger to the girls, rather it was the young mavericks who took advantage of the chaos. When two Castaño girls were found raped and murdered in the woods, parents started keeping their daughters at home, discouraging any tomboy tendencies.

And this was the result. Robert stared at the report card without seeing it, to avoid having to meet Sophie’s eyes. It wasn’t her fault she had been raised differently, and it was possible that at least a few of the girls at school were secretly jealous of her. Probably in time they would all get used to Sophie and accept her, although they might not ever think of her as one of them. That would probably suit her just fine. But speculating about the future wouldn’t solve the problems his daughter faced in the present, and he had no clue what he could do to help. Well, honesty was the best policy.

Robert set the report card aside, beckoned Sophie to him, and folded her in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what I can do to help you.”

Sophie sniffled. “That’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. But trust me and be patient. Can you do that?”

After a long hesitation, Sophie nodded and hugged him tight.