Cinderella in Overalls - By Carol Grace Page 0,2

who thought she must be rich. They didn’t know that except for the living allowance the Peace Corps gave her she would be penniless.

As they bumped along the road, Catherine was convinced the village would never rise out of its cycle of unending poverty unless the villagers owned their own truck. But how? Borrowing the money was out of the question. Or was it? The truck swayed as they rounded a narrow curve, and Catherine braced her feet against the floorboard and looked out the window into the steep ravine below. She had never driven on mountain roads like these, but if they had their own truck, she would do it. She would do anything to help these people.

Her eyelids drooped and she stifled a yawn. The women had been up since 3:00 a.m. and only now were they approaching the outskirts of La Luz. By the time the truck rumbled up the hilly streets of the capital, it was six o’clock and the Rodriguez Market was teeming with activity. As soon as Tomas parked the truck, the women trudged from the street to the market, doubled over by the weight of the produce on their backs. Catherine, with her colorful ahuayo filled with lettuce, wove her way through the crowds to their stall, a structure of vertical two-by-fours that supported a patched roof of corrugated tin and plastic.

Doña Jacinda, her small face browned and wrinkled from the years in the fields, surveyed the young woman from California and sighed. “Ah, la Catalina.” She shook her head in mock despair. “What is to become of you buried here among the burlap sacks with only farmers for company? When I was your age, I was married and the mother of six already.”

Catherine straightened her bowler hat and smiled. “But, Jacinda, it was you who taught me that ‘Women’s faults are many, but men have only two. Everything they say and everything they do.’”

A shopper arrived and silenced the unspoken retort in Jacinda’s throat. While Catherine watched her haggle over the price of parsley, she surveyed the early-morning bargain hunters. She seldom saw tourists at the market, but over the babble of Spanish came the sound of English, of Americans speaking English. She leaned over the wooden crates to see a small group of men approaching, wearing suits and ties. She hadn’t heard a word of English for weeks, not since the last Peace Corps meeting in La Luz. The man in the middle of the group seemed to be the center of attention.

He would be the center of attention anywhere, she decided, with his dark, close-cropped hair and rangy good looks. He moved easily through the throngs of morning shoppers, his suit coat slung over his shoulder. His blue eyes swept the stalls as if he were looking for something special. Guava? Papaya? Hand-woven baskets? As he drew closer, he caught Catherine’s eye, and she looked away quickly, embarrassed to be caught staring.

Jacinda nudged Catherine with her elbow. A woman wrapped in a tattered shawl with a baby on her back was asking the price of mangoes. Catherine had been so busy watching the man that she hadn’t noticed her.

“Do not go lower than three pesos a piece,” Jacinda whispered urgently.

Catherine flushed and bit her lip. “Three pesos,” she said softly. She could plant, she could plow and she could pick, but she couldn’t bargain. For months she had tried to learn, but she always came down too low too fast, or stayed too high too long until her customers shook their heads and went elsewhere. Maybe today, with Jacinda at her side, she could finally get it right.

The customer complained loudly that she couldn’t afford to pay that much for a mango, and then her baby started crying.

Out of the corner of her eye Catherine saw the man with the blue eyes at the edge of the crowd regarding her intently. She wiped her damp palms against her skirt and cleared her throat, but no sound came out.

Jacinda, weighing fruit with one hand and making change with the other, was at Catherine’s elbow. In a flash she closed the deal, grabbed the mangoes and wrapped them up. The customer paid and walked away grumbling, but Jacinda’s black eyes gleamed.

“Did you see that, chica?” she asked Catherine. “There was nothing to it. It was a fair price and she knew it. Start high so you have room to come down.”

Tiny worry lines etched themselves in Catherine’s forehead. The man was now