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Bonita's plump face would set in determined lines. Every night with
stiff, angry movements she would lay out a fresh, clean nightgown, and, of
late, every morning Sabrina resignedly put it on—it was easier than offending
Bonita.
     
    Sabrina
had just settled herself back in bed, several lace-edged pillows plumped up
behind her, when Bonita, a warm smile on her swarthy face, waddled into the
room carrying a large silver tray that held Sabrina's usual breakfast: hot
chocolate and a sweet cake called pan dulce . Different from most days,
however, was the huge bouquet of yellow roses and the small cloth-covered box
that lay in the center of a plate.
     
    Seeing
the roses, Sabrina gave an exclamation of pleasure, and Bonita's lined face
softened. "Happy birthday, little one," she said, the affection she
felt obvious in the wise brown eyes and the crooning tones of her voice.
     
    Bonita
had been Elena's nurse, and when her mistress had married the dashing Alejandro
del Torres, she had accompanied her from Natchez and had settled down in the
wilderness of Spanish Texas to devote herself to the houseful of babies she was
certain would be arriving in due course. But there had been only one baby,
Sabrina, and consequently Bonita had lavished all her love and not a few
scoldings on Sabrina, much like a cat with one precious kitten.
     
    Watching
as Sabrina took a deep, delighted sniff of the fragrant roses, Bonita was
conscious of a feeling of bittersweet satisfaction. How proud Dona Elena would
have been of her daughter on this day! Then, eyeing suspiciously the uncreased
state of the demure nightgown that covered Sabrina's body, she thought how
shocked Elena would have been that her daughter could have acquired such wanton
habits.
     
    Bonita
was old and fat, her once-dark hair liberally streaked with gray, and whatever
shape she had possessed had long ago disappeared. She had a merry face, though,
and a deep, rich chuckle that made one smile involuntarily. She ruled the del
Torres household with an iron hand; that is, all the household with the
exception of Senorita Sabrina and Don Alejandro. Don Alejandro had only to
pinch her cheek and smile whimsically at her and she instantly melted. As for
Sabrina, well, try as she might, Bonita could never resist the appeal of those
amber-gold eyes. She had been heard to mutter on more than one occasion that Senorita
Sabrina could have charmed the devil or slain him with just one glance.
     
    As
Sabrina opened the cloth-covered box, those incredible eyes darkened with deep
emotion, and staring at the beautifully wrought gold hoop earrings that lay on
the white satin, Sabrina breathed reverently, "Oh, Bonita, you are too
good to me—you spoil me."
     
    " Si ,
this is true," Bonita returned with her rich chuckle, and reaching over to
tweak a strand of the curly hair, she added, "But there are days when you
deserve it, and today is one of them."
     
    Oblivious
to the nearly spilt chocolate pot and the wobbling vase of roses, Sabrina
twisted in bed and flung her arms around Bonita's neck. "Oh, Bonita, I
love you so much! And I will always treasure these lovely earrings. I will wear
them tonight for the fiesta."
     
    The
remainder of the day proved to be as enjoyable as its beginning. There was a
constant stream of well-wishers arriving and congratulations from everyone she
met, and from her father and relatives and the servants of the ranch there was
an almost overwhelming variety of gifts to help celebrate her birthday: a gold
hair comb from the women in the kitchen; a fine leather bridle embossed with
silver from the stablemen, a beautiful white lace mantilla from Tia Francisca
and her family, a breathtaking silver-inlaid saddle from the suddenly shy
vaqueros, and from her father a curious combination—a delicate blade of
wonderful Toledo steel and a necklace of glittering emeralds.
     
    That
evening as she dressed for the fiesta in her honor, she managed to wear as many
gifts as possible.