“You worked with him for a long time. Didn’t you like him?”

“I got to where I did, after a while. But I ain’t a woman. He’s a good friend and partner for a man, but he’s got too much travel in him to be good for a woman. Was I you, I’d take another look at some of them boys from over at San Felipe.”

Her voice was firm. “I don’t need them, and I don’t need him. I can get along by myself very well.” She started to rise up from the table, then sat down quickly, her hands on her stomach. Her face looked pale.

Worried, James asked, “What’s the matter, Annie? You don’t look good at all.”

“I guess it’s this chilly, damp weather. I must’ve taken a cold.”

That made sense. James volunteered, “I’ll make you a fire in your bedroom. Maybe you’d ought to drink a little whiskey and then go lie down and wrap yourself up real good and try to sweat the sickness out.”

Whatever it was, it seemed to pass in a while. But the next morning she looked sick again. She started fixing his breakfast, then had to sit down and let him finish it.

He said, “I’m goin’ over to see Petra. Seems like she’s always got some Mexican remedy for just about anything that ails you. Maybe she’s got somethin’ to get you over this.”

Annie argued that it wasn’t necessary, that this wouldn’t last long, but James went anyway. Andrew seemed concerned and said he would ride over after a while and look in on Annie as soon as he got a few chores done. Petra said little until Andrew had left the cabin.

James asked her. “You got anything that might help Annie?”

Petra studied him with large, dark eyes. James had always thought Petra and Marie had eyes enough alike that they could have been sisters, except that Marie was Spanish and French, while Petra was pure Mexican. Petra said, “Yes, I have something. It tastes bad, but it can help.” She knelt before a wooden cabinet and brought out a bottle half full of some dark liquid. It looked terrible. He had no intention of removing the stopper and smelling of it.

“Is it good for a cold?” he asked.

Petra considered a moment before she shook her head. “What is wrong with Annie is not a cold.”

“Then what is it?”

“If you were married, you would know.”

He stared at her, not comprehending for a minute. When the answer came, he rejected it out of hand. But it would not go away. “You tryin’ to tell me Annie’s—” He could not say the word, not in front of a woman.

Petra nodded. “Preñada.”

He felt a flush of heat rush through his body, anger and confusion and helplessness, all wrapped up together. He almost dropped the bottle. He finally managed, “Are you sure? How do you know?”

Petra made a faint smile. “You forget my children? I have only to look at Annie, and I know before she says it.”