Cinderella in Overalls - By Carol Grace Page 0,22

him a rut was staying home.

It was taking a job and going to work every day and bringing home a paycheck.

By the time they reached the outskirts of town, Josh was still undecided and Catherine was sleeping with her head on his shoulder. The truck screeched to a halt, and she woke up, her gaze so open, so trusting that he knew he’d do whatever it took to earn that trust, to get them their loan. The driver twisted around in his seat and nodded at him, and the women moved aside so he could step over the produce and jump out.

With a belch of diesel smoke the truck pulled away. He stood on the corner with the small cars and buses rushing by and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Thanks for the ride,” he called, but his words were swallowed up in the cacophony of horns. He watched as the truck turned the corner. She hadn’t even said goodbye. He went home to shower and change. He had a big day ahead of him.

In the afternoon the market was filled with masses of people. The mountain air was cool, but the sun was hot, beating down on the corrugated plastic and turning the stall into a sauna. Catherine yawned for the third time and Jacinda beckoned to her.

“Come,” she said, removing her apron and settling her hat at a jaunty angle. “I’m going to see my friend Doña Margarita, the weaver. I promised her some of my peppers.”

Catherine put her hat on a wooden crate, wiped the perspiration from her forehead and gratefully followed Jacinda up the steeply inclining street. At the top of the hill she gazed in awe at Teregape, one of the most spectacular mountains in the Andes, its white peak visible in the clear afternoon air. The awesome sight lifted her spirits and made her forget for a moment her fatigue and her humiliation at being turned down—again.

Doña Margarita was too busy to admire the beauty of the mountain that towered above her shop. Briefly acknowledging the arrival of her friend Jacinda, she supervised her daughter at the loom and waited on customers. An alpaca sweater dyed a natural rose color hung on a hanger at the entrance to the stall. Rubbing the soft wool between her thumb and forefinger, Catherine caught Jacinda’s eye. Jacinda smiled and nodded emphatically.

“It was meant for you, chica,” she said. “Perhaps we can trade for eggs or—”

Catherine shook her head. She wouldn’t take their produce and use it for barter. It was too precious. She reached into her pocket. “I have money. A birthday present from my mother.” She examined the price written on a paper pinned to the hem of the sweater. “It’s not expensive.”

Jacinda held the sweater up to Catherine’s shoulders and nodded her approval. “Leave the bargaining to me,” she whispered.

When Margarita finally cleared the stall of customers and turned her attention to Catherine and Jacinda, she sent her daughter to the crate in back to fetch a bolt of hand-woven wool. The loosely woven fabric was a mixture of pink and rose and mauve and a perfect match for the pink sweater. Catherine stood still while they wrapped the material around her hips, then pinned and tucked and turned her around like a department store mannequin.

She didn’t remember saying yes, but she had no intention of saying no as the women chattered and beamed their approval. While she watched, Margarita’s daughter stitched up the side and sewed a waistband around the top. Jacinda and Margarita settled on a price, and Catherine paid and walked out with the first new clothes she’d bought since she’d arrived in Aruaca. The fact that she had no place to wear such a beautiful handmade outfit didn’t occur to her until she returned to their stall. Oh, well, she could always send it to her sister for Christmas.

The other women insisted she try on the new clothes, and behind the crates they spread their skirts to give her privacy. Pulling the sweater over her head, Catherine loosened her braid and let her dark hair fall over one shoulder in a mass of waves.

The skirt flared from her hips, then floated to midcalf, the rose-colored sweater caressing her skin above her pink lace bra. She held out her arms, and to the women’s delight, twirled around in front of the parsley and melons.

Giddy from lack of sleep, Catherine suddenly realized that shadows were falling over the marketplace. Without taking time to