"Perhaps tomorrow?" he proposed with enthusiasm, as his eyes brightened and became wide with excitement. "You and I and we can even take Fred along for a ride out in that direction. My horse needs the exercise. Who's going to know where we're going? This is a large area. And besides that, you'll be with me and your brother!" He sounded very persuasive.
Before Victoria could answer, she noticed her father had walked out from the library and begun mixing with the crowd. He seemed more cheerful than earlier, but still projected a gloomy authoritarian face. The music had stopped. Roy was not playing his guitar but was sharing sips of tequila with one of the friendly neighbors. Miss Belle had returned to her piano and paperwork in the parlor. Yolanda had gotten tired of spying on Roy and Miss Belle, and decided to drift into the kitchen where she was needed because Mamá Maria was already yelling at her. Love and hate were all around and emotions ran high, and in general, people were frightened.
"Juan!" exclaimed the great Don, taken by surprise. “I need your attention please!” He approached the couple from behind. He cleared his throat. "I'm pleased that you're socializing and talking to my daughter, making her acquaintance, and you're enjoying your stay with us. The ladies in the kitchen have just announced we'll be eating within the hour. Enchiladas are on the menu. But I need to talk to you and Roy in the library, for a minute, if I can get Roy's attention."
Juan took in a deep breath and felt guilty, not knowing what was coming. He felt the same feeling of being caught with your pants down in an intimate moment with your best friend's wife. His concern turned into an air of uneasiness and his thoughts began spiraling. Was he showing the Don’s daughter too much attention? He did not want to make any waves, at least not at this moment. Shaken and apprehensive, he answered, "Sí, Señor! I'll be in right away."
The sun had slanted to the west and could be only partially viewed between the clouds.
Occasionally, a gentle drizzle of rain would sporadically fall, increasing the humidity and making the weather uncomfortable, sticky and sultry, but it never bothered the singing carried on by the inebriated group.
In the library, Roy and Juan found a seat and faced Don Federico across his desk. The Don leaned forward and began telling the men the information he had gotten from Tom White. The news did not surprise Roy, for he knew Hanson and the stories that were being told by many workers who had come and gone from the hacienda. There were reports of his charging the Mexicans for being drunk and disorderly. Hanson would throw them in jail and then demand large amounts of money to free them. Many of the desperate Mexican people would be forced to sign documents and divide their land to gain their freedom. Old judge Parker, handy in writing up legal records, received payment under the table. The property where Hanson lived had come from that arrangement.
Juan already felt the liquor taking effect and realized there would be no repercussion in his actions, so he asked about Hanson. He understood that corruption and extortion were no different across the border, but in Texas, it was more sugarcoated, in signed documents, making them look legal.
Then, in a lengthy conversation, Don Federico told Juan about his problem with the gold mine in Monterrey. Since the Revolution was coming, he would make plans to take a trip to the mountains.
"It's too dangerous!" voiced Juan. "Highwaymen are stationed all over those mountains. The last word is that the mine has been abandoned. Bandits got their hands on the gold and killed the workers."
"Perhaps, you're right." Don Federico countered, looking distraught. "I have been looking at this document for over three hours and have decided not to do anything with the gold mine. But, I do need to inspect it while I'm there. If a war comes, it will have to wait until everything clears up. Everything that I suspected, Tom White has confirmed. On these documents about Hanson, he was right. Those bastards have been planning to get part of my property, even before my father's death."
"Lardy me," answered Roy.
"This leads to another problem that needs to be addressed, Roy. Tom White informed me that several people have been looking around in the area where Doña Adela lives. Apparently, a geologist, a friend of Hanson, thinks that oil exists in that area. There is an indication that the black, smelly, stuff from the resaca. The grease that we apply to the windmills and the axles on the wagons and buggies, has become valuable. Those men have been snooping around, without our knowledge, suspecting the area contains plenty of black gold."
"Law me! Ya' mean dat black stuff dat we put on doggies' bellies—has become valuable? Waal, hush my mouth! Shit is gonna hit the windmill's fan!" shouted Roy, excited and smiling from ear to ear. "Patrón, yore gonna git rich! Yippee! Damn! Ya' lose one gold mine and discover another one!" The liquor had taken effect. Roy was feeling his oats.
"Hanson would like to get his hands on that section. I need to start putting the vaqueros on guard around that area, especially at night. We'll wait until the land starts drying and the water recedes, then we can decide what we have to do. "
"Shore, patrón," Roy said.
"It's the only good news I've had today. As a matter of fact, it's been the only good thing that has come my way, considering all of the other distressing information. First of all, I'll have to start checking if the information is true and then hire an engineer and people who know about drilling oil and what it takes to get an enormous project like this going. Any undertaking like this will take lots of dinero and several months of preparations and planning.”
Juan cleared his throat, stood up, and reached into the pocket of his white shirt. "I don't want to change the subject," he interrupted. "But, you need to take a look at this. I meant to give it to you earlier, but it slipped my mind. This was clenched in Soledad's left hand. Could it be a clue of some kind? She didn't talk and I couldn't get any information from her." He laid the object on top of the desk.
Roy moved in more closely on Don Federico's side of the desk, picked up the object, and observed it in the light. "Wha' da' hell is it?" he said, looking puzzled.
"Looks like a piece of metal of some kind, a star-shaped ornament, maybe brass or copper. Looks like it was ripped from something, but who?" All three were befuddled and glanced from one to another.
"As soon as Soledad gets better, I will try and have a talk with her," Don Federico replied, and then he paused. Instantly, he knew where he had seen the missing piece. "I'll need to speak with her— that's vital to this investigation." He stood up and spoke, ignoring his thoughts. "For now, my friends, let's go down to the dining area where the ladies have prepared us a wonderful meal.”
Don Federico remembered that he needed to get some supplies for his horses, but with Juan's unexpected arrival and the urgent trip now to San Antonio, he now needed to change plans.
"Roy," he ordered, "head over to Milton's Mercantile in Mercedes City after the ground dries, and get the horse supplies. Have him put it on my bill."
Roy nodded his acknowledgment by tipping his hat.
"Come!" Don Federico addressed the two men, already strolling under the arches and heading toward the kitchen. "I'm getting hungry!"
CHAPTER 8
The storm had finally left, and the reconstruction of fixing roofs and fences and cleaning up the area around the hacienda had become a regular routine. The rounding up of cattle and horses from the deep gullies and undergrowth became customary. Weeks passed. The land had started to dry, and the water had begun to vaporize. The weather was still humid during the day but had become much cooler at night, as the days were starting to get shorter. The rain had indeed been a blessing to every farm and rancho.
Miguel Garcia had arrived from his long train trip from San Antonio, bringing Don Federico a large leather bag with the profits from his cattle. There would be plenty of money to celebrate Victoria's sixteenth birthday and to donate to Madero's cause. Miss Bell had returned to her home, with pay, leaving Victoria and Fred assignments, until she returns the following month for more music lessons.
During the third wee
k in September, the curious Don Esquibel and his son, José, came to visit Spanish Acres. José was perhaps the only educated son of six children in Don Esquibel's home and had been studying engineering at Cuidad Victoria, Mexico.
The vaqueros were skillfully roping and riding some of the wild mustangs that had been rounded up after the hurricane in the large corral, several yards away north of the kitchen area. Don Federico sat half-straddled on top of the wooden fence while Juan perched beside him. Fred and Manuel were standing beside the Don, looking through the wide opening between the corral posts. They were all admiring Roy's masterful skill in roping.
"José!" said Don Federico. "How are things in Cuidad Victoria, amigo?"
"The day I left Cuidad Victoria, which was two days ago, the press had just released the election of President Díaz. The people, especially the peasants, were all in an uproar."
"Because of President Díaz's election?" asked Don Federico.
"No, because of his choice for a running mate, El Señor Corral. This man has a very bad reputation. Several months ago, workers in a factory complained about their working conditions and rebelled. Díaz ordered his federalist troops in, and men, women, and also little children were shot to death. Their bodies were later dumped in the Gulf of Mexico to be eaten by the sharks."
"The terrible injustices in Mexico will not last long," ventured Juan, whose face had turned pallid at the news. He was not surprised at what he had just heard. "The anti-reelection group, of which I am a member, has already nominated Francisco Madero for the next president of the Republic of Mexico. With your help and others, we will succeed."
Mamá Maria walked out of the kitchen and yelled at Manuel to come and help her.
José Esquibel stood silent for a moment, and scratched his chin, trying to find words to respond to what Juan had just said. "I have heard about Francisco Madero, but the people in Mexico are afraid to speak or say anything. They talk only about rumors and in whispers. If an opposition comes from the government, no doubt there will be a revolution."
"Exactly," Juan snapped. "Mexico needs a change. We need a revolution to change the corrupt government. If Díaz dies while in the saddle, just think of what will become of Mexico and its people," Juan said with his face full of hate and his eyes as hard as emeralds.
Don Esquibel, who had been quiet through the conversation, spoke with much concern. "What is going to happen to us who live so close to the border, if war comes in Mexico?"
"It’s going to be hell for all of the Mexican-Americans!" Don Federico replied gazing at the old Don. "How are the Mexicans any different here, than in Mexico?" he asked. "The white man looks at us as nobodies. The Mexicans are treated as dogs here in the Valley. You know that Don Esquibel! And don't count on any sheriff or Los Rinches to protect us! They are against us and have been since they first set foot in the Rio Grande Valley. We need to band together as ranchers and as Mexicans."
José was not surprised, for he heard, while he was away studying, of the terrible stories of the Rinches and what they were doing to the Mexican-American people in the Rio Grande Valley. He had experienced several hateful remarks in his younger years and worse, since his return while shopping in Harlingen and in McAllen. He was a handsome young man at the age of twenty-three, well-built, tall, thin, and had a studious face. His complexion was fair, and his eyes and hair were a soft brown. His well-trimmed mustache enhanced his smile. For the moment, he was not interested in government problems. His reasoning was that his father had bragged several times of how he had saved Soledad. Several of the working vaqueros had told him how beautiful she was. José, curiosity piqued, wanted to view Soledad for himself. His eyes wandered toward the kitchen, and he tried to visualize what she might look like.
The conversation between the men and vaqueros continued for over an hour, going back and forth, joking among themselves and laughing. Occasionally, Juan would look towards Victoria's upstairs bedroom. Not necessarily knowing which one it was. He was not the only young man interested in the girls at Spanish Acres.
It did not take long before the busybody, Don Esquibel brought up the question of Soledad. "By the way," he interrupted. "How's the young girl Soledad doing?" He coughed and cleared his throat, caught men an embarrassing question. "It's been many weeks now. I hope she's getting along and feeling better." He was curious to a fault, nosey and meddlesome.
"As good as new," Don Federico said, smiling. "She's getting along just fine, and it's amazing how well she has adjusted to the hacienda and our household. We are all grateful to have her here."
Roy, standing in the middle of the corral with a lariat in his hand, stopped his roping and eyed the Don, giving him a frown of disapproval.
"I want my son to meet her," mused the cankerous Don Esquibel, being very frank.
"Well! I don't know if she is up to seeing any company at this time," replied Don Federico, being apprehensive at the old man's demand. "She's normally in the kitchen helping Mamá Maria doing some light chores. She is still very fragile."
Don Esquibel exclaimed with authority, "My son and I took the time and effort to come here. I want José to meet her."
The rest of the vaqueros and Roy came to attention and waited for Don Federico to comment; all were aware of el patrón's dislike of Señor Esquibel. "She's inside the house and is very shy," he said. "Soledad is embarrassed to talk to anyone, except for the women members of the household. I'll see what I can do." Annoyed, he slid down from the fence. The Don glanced around the vicinity of the stables, trying to find Manuel, and began calling his name.
It was minutes before Manuel appeared, coming from the kitchen area.
"Manuel, please call Soledad! Go tell her to come here!" he commanded.
The sounds of Manuel's shout resonated throughout the yard and in the kitchen. "Soledad, Soledad! Ay! Ay" Manuel moving clumsily and as swiftly as his body would allow him. He was concerned, knowing that Roy was interested in Soledad. Roy had made them all aware of his actions and the way he talked and asked about her, almost claiming her. Now the neighbors' son was interested also. It seemed like the course of destiny was about to change, and there would be hell to pay.
"Soledad!" Maria spoke from inside the kitchen door. "El patrón is calling you, hurry!"
Roy stopped immediately what he was doing when he saw Soledad coming out from the house.
Dos Mío! José thought. Soledad was as pretty as the vaqueros had described her. "She is beautiful!" he said out loud in front of everyone. He felt as if the world were standing still. Her healing face still had blue and black marks but, she was a transcendent beauty. The dark rebozo on her head gave her the look of an angel and the light from the sun beamed around her hair like a halo. She stood looking timid with her eyes on the ground. Her hands fidgeted with the rebozo nervously.
"Soledad!" said Don Federico. "Do you remember Señor Esquibel? He was the one who helped you and is responsible for bringing you here." His voice was half rough, half affectionate and paternal.
"Sí, Señor," replied Soledad. Her voice was soft and low. She glanced up at Señor Esquibel. "Gracias," she said lowering her head and eyes. "I am very grateful to you for saving my life."
"Well, this is his son, José Esquibel. He wants to meet you," replied Don Federico.
Soledad's face flushed. She was now speechless, not knowing what to say. She looked up, past the young Esquibel, and saw Roy mounted and ready to ride the wild mustang, but eyeing her, watching her every move. "Mucho gusto, Señor Esquibel," she replied humbly.
"Call me José."
"Very well, José." She appeared quiet and gentle, a totally submissive creature.
"Can I please call on you?" José Esquibel replied, taking her hand and kissing it in front of everyone watching. The rest of the vaqueros cheered when he kissed her hand, finding it very romantic.
Soledad nodded. Her face was flushed, and she turned quickly. Adjusting her rebozo, she headed back to the house. She felt totally humiliated and dis
appointed, wondering why Roy, who had an interest in her, didn't say something.
The vaqueros laughed and made remarks to Roy. "Compadre!" shouted a vaquero. "Somebody's eating your lunch, hombre!"
The rest of the vaqueros roared. Roy's angry face turned pale. Still sitting on the wild mustang, he had become careless, letting the reins go slack. Suddenly, the horse exploded in a wild rage and bucked him off. He was flying through the air before he realized it. In seconds, Roy was lying face down on the ground. Scraping himself up from the dirt, muttering, "Dang blast, dam' it!"
Don Federico could not keep from laughing, even though he could see Roy's frustration at what was happening. It was like the writing on the wall, and he grasped the psychological impact of the situation on Roy.
Shortly after, Don Esquibel and José left to take care of business at their ranch. José Esquibel would be visiting later; he would be seen at Spanish Acres again.
As the days grew shorter, the roads were dry and clear to use the buggies and wagons. Don Federico, Fred, and Juan were anxious to begin planning their trip to San Antonio. The newspapers, the Brownsville Herald and the Mercedes Tribune, were printing stories of Díaz's election in Mexico, telling of the overwhelming election results. For Díaz, it would be his eighth time on the throne. The same corrupt government that he had allowed, and had moved the election to every six years, instead of four. But Díaz was now eighty years old. His blood was running cold and slow. As grand and impressive a man as he had been, he had run the country with an iron hand, and he was not wise enough to retire at the right time.
The border was now hearing of a new redeemer, and opposition to the administration's rule—Francisco Madero was righteous and a man of his people; he was destined to become president of Mexico. He was drawn to the truth, and his tongue flowed with much wisdom. His rallying cries came in three expressions: "Effectual suffrage; no re-election; redistribution of the land."
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