“And so to conclude,” said Doña Margarita, kneeling back down, “I remain Your most humble servant, but not a docile one, believe me. You do Your part up in heaven or I’ll do more than my part here on earth, and there’ll be trouble!”
Doña Margarita bowed her head and kissed her rosary, the very same one that her father had used to pray for guidance up on the knoll half a century before.
Seeing this, the old priest turned to the younger priest, questioning him with his eyes. The young priest tried to explain what he’d heard, but Father Ryan cut him off.
Doña Margarita got up and went out of the pew, genuflected in the aisle, and started for the door.
Father Ryan hurried after her. The young priest followed.
“Excuse me, Doña Margarita,” he said to her in Spanish as she went out the door, “but I’d like to introduce you to Father Anthony. He’s my new assistant.”
“Oh, it’s a pleasure,” said Doña Margarita, taking the young priest’s hand.
“The pleasure is mine,” said Father Anthony. “Do you come here often, Señora?”
“Almost every day,” she said.
“But I don’t believe I’ve seen you at our daily mass.”
“Of course not,” she said. “I only go to services on Sundays. It’s enough that I have to listen to you priests once a week when I can talk to God directly myself every day.”
The young priest was stunned once again. He’d never heard such disrespect. The older priest only smiled.
“Doña Margarita,” said Father Ryan, going down the steps of the church with her, “I’d like you to please thank your son for me. His friend’s gift was most appreciated.”
“And you’d like some more, eh?” said Doña Margarita, glancing at him with a knowing eye.
“Well, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” he said.
“Trouble or not, I’ll tell my son. And he’ll see what he can do.”
“Oh, thank you. The Lord be with you.”
“Yes, He better be with me,” she said, “or, like I told the Virgin, there’s going to be trouble!”
He laughed. She ignored him.
At the bottom of the steps, the priest shook Doña Margarita’s hand and told her goodbye. Father Anthony watched them from the top of the stairs. He still didn’t feel comfortable with what was going on.
When they got to Hemet, Lupe and her family found that the canneries had closed down. They weren’t going to be canning the apricots this year.
The year was 1928, and this year the farms were going to dry the apricots. They were only going to need half of the women to work for them in the long-roofed packing sheds.
Lupe and her sisters managed to get work in the sheds because they had a reputation for having extraordinarily fast hands. But many of the other women were turned down and put to work with the men in the orchards, picking the apricots.
All day long, Lupe worked alongside Carlota, María and Sophia, splitting the golden fruit in two with a small knife. Then they’d take out the pit and put the halved fruit in large, long trays. The trays were then passed through an oven and put to dry-bake in the bright, hot sunlight.
For the first five days, Lupe had no problems, and she worked from sun up to sun down with her sisters. But then, in the middle of the second week, she began to suffocate in the constant fragrance of the ripe fruit and the terrible heat of the open sheds. Lupe began to sneeze, and her skin started to itch with such a vengeance that finally, one afternoon, she tore the hat off her head, threw it down and stomped on it with her feet in rage. She began to scratch her skin, wanting to tear it off. Carlota shrieked with joy, laughing at Lupe.
“You better get married quick,” she said. “You’re too lazy to work!”
“Shut up!” yelled Lupe.
“I will not!” said Carlota. “You’re just spoiled!”
“Spoiled?” yelled Lupe, and she threw her tray of apricots at her sister, hitting her in the face.
Carlota screamed and threw her tray at Lupe.
“That’s enough!” said Sophia, coming between them.
Lupe began to gasp, not being able to breathe. Sophia helped Lupe walk out of the suffocating shed. “Go home and help Mama with the children,” said Sophia once they were outside.
“But I have to keep working!” said Lupe, wiping her allergy-swollen eyes.
“Don’t worry, María and I will do your share. You help Mama take care of our children for us.”
“Oh, I feel like such a failure!” said Lupe, beginning to cry.
“It’s all right,” said Sophia. “Your day will come, mi hijita.”
“You really think so?” asked Lupe.
“Of course,” said Sophia, getting the hair out of Lupe’s face. “Remember, you are our sister of the meteorite; you have always been very special, and don’t you forget it.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Lupe. “I feel like such a failure at times.”
Sophia laughed. “Believe me, we all do at times, querida.”
Sophia went back inside the shed with all the women who were gossiping about the fight. Lupe walked home by herself. Her eyes became so swollen that she could hardly see. By the time she got to the little shack they rented on the edge of town, Lupe had lost all strength, and her vision was so blurred that she could only see a mass of glistening white sky. She passed out. The dull, hot earth came up with power, hitting her in the face.
“Aunt Lupe! Aunt Lupe!” shouted the little four-year-old girl playing in front of their shack. Her name was Isabel; she was María’s last child from her first husband.
By the time Doña Guadalupe came out of their rented shack, Lupe was gagging and choking to death.
All that afternoon, Doña Guadalupe sat by her daughter’s side, putting cold compacts to her forehead, trying to get the swelling to go down. It had become very scary for a little while. Lupe had come that close to death. She was just beginning to rest peacefully when everyone came in from the fields.
“What’s this?” said Carlota, seeing her sister lying down. “Are you still pretending to be sick, Lupe?”
“Quiet,” said their mother.
“Oh, yes, that’s right! Stick up for her when it’s us who do all the work!” yelled Carlota, going out back to shower with the hose.
“Don’t listen to her,” said Doña Guadalupe to Lupe. “She’s never been sick in her life, so she has no idea what you’re going through.” The old lady breathed deeply, massaging Lupe’s forehead. “And also, remember, mi hijita, it was you that was able to help deliver the twins that night, not Carlota. People are strong in different ways.”
Lupe was far away in a dream, but she could still hear her mother’s words, “People are strong in different ways.” Then she heard Sophia’s words, “Your day will come.” And far away in a deep, dark tunnel, Lupe went down and down, and then she came out to bright sunlight and green meadows, but it wasn’t hot and dusty. No, it was cool and wonderful, just like after a wonderful summer storm, and all the people were dancing, singing, having a wonderful time, dressed in costumes of the deer, the rabbit, the bear. Lupe slept, feeling her mother’s hand on her forehead and hearing her wonderful words, “People are strong in different ways.”
After showering, Carlota got dressed, ate dinner, and went to the dance in town with her father and brother. Lupe could stay sick for all she cared, she got to go to the dance.
That night, while everyone was at the dance, Lupe awoke often, and for the first time in her life, she began to understand why so many of the young women in the fields thought that the only way to get out of their drudgery was to marry a rich man. Lupe also understood now why, back in La Lluvia de Oro, Lydia had entertained the idea of marrying old man Benito when he’d promised her shoes of gold so her feet would never touch the dirt of the earth again. She thought of Salvador’s dream of being rich one day, and she liked it.
Lupe was sound asleep when the first dark clouds came over, dropping down a few delicious drops
of moisture. Then it began storming hard, and the lightning split open the skies. Lupe awoke, smelling the fresh, clean air. Her nose opened up and she was able to breathe. Oh, it was heaven! It was almost like being back in La Lluvia de Oro!
It rained the rest of the night and Lupe and her family got soaking wet inside the little shack, it had so many leaks. But, still, it felt so good to smell the fresh rain, especially after all the dust and heat of the week before.
In the morning, Lupe felt strong and she decided to go to work with the men in the orchard instead of with the women in the sheds. Among the wet trees, there wouldn’t be any dust. Going with the men, Lupe was able to work well. Breathing in the rain-washed air, she finished out the day, working with strength and power.
It was quitting time, and Lupe was coming down between the trees with her sack full of apricots and her little niece Isabel in tow when she suddenly glanced up, and there was Salvador. She stopped. Her heart pounded wildly. He was no more than fifteen feet away from her, dressed in a beautiful white suit, with the sunlight coming down behind him in colors of gold and silver. She thought of her Colonel, of that first day that she’d seen him down by the creek, and she felt the skin grow tight across her chest, she was breathing so quickly.
Without a word, Salvador smiled and came forward, step by step like a game cock. Lupe laughed, he looked so ridiculous. Then, coming up to her, he whipped out a bouquet of flowers that he’d been hiding behind his back like a matador fighting the bull.
“For you, my queen!” he said.
“Why, thank you,” she said, genuflecting like Cinderella to her Prince Charming.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he said. “And I would’ve brought diamonds,” he shouted, “but they didn’t have any good enough for you!”
Lupe laughed all the more. This was wonderful. He took the sack from her shoulder, and they walked down the line of trees. People looked at them and, when Victoriano saw them, he came over and said hello to Salvador, like an old friend.
They dumped their apricots at the nearest dropping station, and Victoriano excused himself and went over to visit with some of the other men so Lupe and Salvador could be alone as they all went out of the orchard. And there, beyond the last line of apricot trees, stood Salvador’s Moon in the open field, glowing in the late day sunlight.
“Your car, my queen,” said Salvador. “I parked it in the middle of the field so you can finish your driving lesson without hitting anything.”
“You what?”
“Get in and take it,” he said.
“Right now? In front of all the men?”
He nodded. “Sure. Why not?”
“But what if I wreck it?” she asked.
“So what?” he said, taking her by the arm. He put her in the Moon, started the motor, put it in gear and stood back. “Gas it!” he yelled.
She gave it the gas, and the Moon leaped forward. Victoriano and the other men looked on in complete horror. They’d thought Salvador was joking. Women didn’t drive.
The Moon was racing wildly across the open field, and Lupe was screaming in fear, trying to maneuver the steering wheel.
Salvador slapped his legs and shouted, “Ride ’em, Lupe! Ride ’em!”
Filled with fear, Victoriano tore off his hat and raced across the field, shouting at the top of his lungs. Lupe saw her brother coming toward her, waving his arms for her to stop, and she turned the car on him, he who had laughed at her when she’d asked him to teach her to drive.
Victoriano saw his sister coming at him and he turned and raced for his life. Now everyone was laughing hysterically, along with Salvador. Lupe had the time of her life, racing the car around the grassy field, chasing her brother. Finally, Victoriano managed to jump aboard with her and he brought the Moon back to Salvador and the rest of the waiting people.
Lupe was in ecstasy. She got down and went to Salvador. And in that moment of sun and joy, Lupe knew why she loved and also hated Salvador. He gave her wings. He didn’t try to lock her in, as had Jaime and the other boys she’d known. No, she could dream her wildest dreams with him and so she loved him for this; but she also hated him because it made her fearful. No one in her family was like this. They were always very cautious.
“Great, eh?” he said.
“Oh, I don’t know, I was so frightened and all you’d do is laugh when I asked you what to do!”
Seeing her anger, Salvador just laughed some more.
“Aunt Lupe!” said little Isabel excitedly. “Aunt Lupe! Are you and Salvador going to get married?”
Lupe blushed. “But why do you ask, child?”
“Because she can see it in your eyes,” said Salvador. “Because she can smell it in the air! It’s springtime! And the bees are gathering, the butterflies are migrating, so, of course, it’s in God’s great plan for us to marry!”
Everyone applauded.
“Oh, Salvador,” said Lupe, feeling so embarrassed with all the people standing around.
“Well, are you?” insisted the little girl again.
“That’s enough,” said Lupe, wanting to pinch Isabel to silence her.
“Will you be our ring bearer?” Salvador asked the little girl.
“Salvador!” snapped Lupe. “Don’t mislead her! The girl carries the bride’s train, not the ring!”
The people laughed, and Salvador laughed the hardest of all.
“You’re absolutely right, Lupe,” he said. “Then you’ll carry the tail of the wedding dress, mi hijita,” he said to Isabel, “not the ring.”
“Oh, good!” shouted the little girl. And she began to shout to everyone that Lupe and Salvador were getting married and she’d get to carry the tail of the wedding dress.
That night, Salvador stayed for dinner. He ate with Lupe and her family outside of their little rented shack under a tree. And it would’ve been paradise, if it hadn’t been for all the mosquitoes. The children started crying, and Doña Guadalupe had to prepare oil and fresh ground garlic to put on their naked limbs.
Lupe and Salvador came to realize that the mosquitoes were God-sent because Doña Guadalupe was kept so busy with the children that she didn’t have time to corner Salvador. He was left free to visit with Lupe while she finished her chores.
It was late, and Lupe walked Salvador up the line of shacks to his car. Passing the last large tree, Salvador suddenly grabbed Lupe and pulled her behind the tree. He kissed her full on the lips. It took Lupe by surprise. She hadn’t expected this. It angered her, too, and she was just going to say so, but then, to her own dismay, she gripped Salvador by the face, instead, kissing him back.
“Ah,” said Salvador, laughing, “you make the kiss, too!”
“Oh, no, I don’t,” she said, “you made it first! So I was only getting even!”
Hearing her explanation, he burst out laughing. She began to laugh, too. That was the first time that they’d kissed. In fact, it was the first time Lupe had ever really kissed any man outside of her own immediate family.
They stopped laughing and gazed at each other. Then, without a word, they drew close again and started kissing, truly kissing, and holding each other closely.
Lupe began to tremble, feeling a strange, hot, aching sensation come up into the center of her stomach. She’d never felt anything like this before. She felt as if she’d burst, erupt like a volcano from down deep inside the center of her being. She pulled away to catch her breath, feeling so hot all over. She smiled, brushed back her hair, and she was just going to start kissing Salvador again when little Isabel came running up to them.
“Aunt Lupe! Aunt Lupe! They sent me to get you!”
Salvador grinned. “I best go, I think.”
“Not yet,” said Lupe.
“Yes, go!” said Isabel, taking Lupe’s hand and tugging at her to come home. “It’s late!”
Lupe shrugged. “Well, buenas noches,” she said. “Drive carefully.”
“I will,” he said, “and when you get back to Santa Ana, I
think that maybe I’ll have a little present for you.”
“Really?” she said.
“Yes, really,” he said, drawing close to her once again.
But Isabel squeezed in between them. “No more!” she said, “you aren’t married!”
And her tone of voice was so authoritative, so full of scolding, just like an adult, that Lupe and Salvador began to laugh once again.
“Good night,” he said.
“Good night,” she said, too.
He got in his Moon and drove off. Oh, he was flying. He was the happiest man in all the world. He wanted to drive over immediately and tell his mother the wonderful news. She’d been right once again. Lupe was ready for marriage, as ready as a ripe peach for eating. He shouldn’t lose any time.
But he decided that by the time he got to Corona, it would be too late and his mother would be asleep. He decided to drive down to Escondido and check on the distillery. He was flying too high to sleep. He drove down the road, whistling as he went. Oh, he was in love, and his truelove loved him, too!
Walking back to the little shack, hand-in-hand with Isabel, Lupe couldn’t believe what she’d done. Why, she’d kissed him right back. She just didn’t know what had gotten into her. But it had angered her when he’d grabbed her and kissed her like that, so she’d just done it right back to him before she’d realized what she was doing. Oh, the look on his face! He’d been even more shocked than her!
She laughed, racing down the way with her little niece. Kissing was fun. No one had ever told her this.
The sun was only one fist off the horizon when Salvador pulled into the barrios of Corona, having checked the distillery in Escondido. He hadn’t been able to sleep all night. He just couldn’t believe how Lupe had gripped him by the face with her two hands and kissed him right back. He’d never forget the look on her face for as long as he lived when she realized what she’d done. Oh, she had a wild side to her. She wasn’t just an angel. She had quite a bit of the devil in her, too.
His mother wasn’t inside the house, and no one was up at Luisa’s place yet. Then he saw cigarette smoke coming from the outhouse.
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