friends was a personal matter. Fox had described himself as a leftover kid, and that's what she was too. She hadn't realized how badly it hurt.
"Magdalena?" Rafael was at her elbow. A line of men trailed him, all waiting to be introduced. She rose to meet them.
A few spoke English and described how much they had admired her father. Others began hesitantly in Spanish until she responded in their language, and they could express their sorrow more fully. They were all kind, their emotion clearly genuine, and by the time the last man had spoken to her, it was time to go.
She squeezed Rafael's hand. "Thank you."
"It wasn't my idea. Once they learned you were here, they all wanted to meet you," he insisted.
"They're gentlemen who pretended they wanted to meet me, but thank you anyway."
"What man wouldn't want to meet a beautiful woman?" he countered.
"Exactly. Did you read any of my father's obituaries? Were Santos and I included among his survivors?"
"I've been too busy to look through the papers." He took her hand. "Now, let's go. I'll tell you about the basilica on the way."
She welcomed the distraction. "Does it have an interesting history?"
"It most certainly does. When the apostle James came to what is now Spain, he had little success finding converts. He prayed for help, and angels carried the Virgin Mary from the Holy Land to comfort him. This was her only magical appearance before she was raised to heaven. She descended atop a jasper pillar and gave James, or Santiago, a carved wooden statue of herself, and directed him to build a church where they stood. He built the first chapel, and over time, larger churches were constructed around it."
They had reached the plaza, and the monstrous, baroque basilica was an amazing sight. In addition to a large central dome, there were ten smaller cupolas and four corner towers topped with colorful tiles reminiscent of circus tents. "So that's why this is the Basilica of Our Lady of the Pillar?"
"Yes. I looked it up while you were going through the picture albums," he admitted with a shrug. "The pillar and wooden statue carried by the Virgin are on display and draw a constant stream of the faithful."
They were on the edge of the crowd pressing in toward the wide-open doors of the cathedral. Three mobile news vans were parked on the opposite side of the plaza. Maggie knew Santos was prepared to deal with reporters and television cameras, but she felt completely out of place. There were seventeen hundred students at Catalina Foothills High School, and while she'd seen them all gathered for pep rallies and football games, there were many more people waiting here to enter the basilica. She sent Rafael a frantic glance, but he misread the cause of her concern.
He pressed close. "I'm not Catholic either, but they won't ask for a password. Like most Gypsies, my grandmother held a different view of virtue than the church holds, and she refused to allow religion to confuse us. Many matadors travel with their own small altars and pray before a bullfight. It would make more sense just to stay out of the ring."
Maggie laughed but quickly caught herself when the people nearby responded with hostile frowns. Someone recognized Rafael and Santos coming up behind him and shouted their names. The crowd then parted and swept them forward on a wave of helpful hands. It was like swimming through thick seaweed, and Maggie clung to Rafael's arm to keep from falling. Santos used his crutches to good effect, while Fox and Ana grabbed his coattails and hung on.
The crowd's final rolling shove landed them at the entrance. Ana pulled a scarf from her purse, and Maggie paused to don the lacy mantilla. Going from the bright morning sunlight to the dimly lit basilica left her feeling dizzy and disoriented. Rafael hugged her shoulders to keep her by his side. Seats had been saved for them in a front pew, and she was relieved they wouldn't have to stand. She hoped Mrs. Lujan, Refugio and the ranch hands weren't lost in the crush, but she recognized no one seated near them.
The basilica's high vaulted ceiling lent the air an ancient chill, while it was too warm in the closely packed pews. Maggie leaned against Rafael. "Do you dream of a crowded funeral?"
He responded with the harshly disapproving glance he'd turn on a naughty child, but she was way past mere misbehavior. The incense-scented air made her