“You didn’t think that had somehow changed, did you?”
“Well, I guess not. But it’s just that in comparison to doña Sara and don Samuel … I don’t know. They’re so grateful to have Laura, that everything she does, everything she says … she can do no wrong in their eyes. And I think Mama’s beginning to notice.”
They were silent for a few minutes, relaxing into the quiet of the country afternoon.
“Maybe this is an opportunity for the two of them to get to know each other better,” Irene suggested.
“Could be. We’ll see what happens. By the way, when is Mamita expected?”
“Who knows. Too many things to close up at the house, leaving instructions for Demetrio, the usual. She called just before you got here. The car she hired had just pulled up.”
Doña Isabel made her entrance as they were sitting down to dinner. In addition to her three suitcases and several boxes of items for the kitchen, she brought two cases of wine.
“I think we should toast the fact we’re all together,” she said as she sat down. “I can’t remember the last time I had both my daughters with me at the table, and I’ve never before had my granddaughter with me at my country house. So it calls for a celebration!”
Irene had prepared a chicken stew flavored with basil and rosemary picked fresh from the garden, and the thick flavors matched perfectly with the roundness of the Estate Reserve Merlot doña Isabel had chosen. It was the first time since she and Laura had arrived, Eugenia thought, that doña Isabel relaxed. After they finished off the peach cobbler María had baked, they settled back at the table with cups of sweet tea.
“Laurita,” doña Isabel began after a short silence, “has your mother ever told you the story of the takeover of this estate?” When Laura shook her head, she continued: “Well, it was during the revolutionary years, you know, when Salvador Allende was president, and your mama and papa were students. Your mama and Aunt Irene were always worrying about me, and whether I’d be safe coming out here all by myself.”
“Those were hard times, Mamita,” Irene said. “Don’t forget, you used to keep Papa’s old hunting rifle by your bed at night.”
“That’s right,” doña Isabel said. “And it got especially difficult when that peasant group connected with the Revolutionary Left, your papa’s organization, Laurita, began moving into this area. So in 1972, it must have been in late February, because it was so hot, they knocked on the door at three in the morning. They had decided to invade our farm. By dawn they’d covered the barns and gates with Revolutionary Left flags, plus handmade portraits of Che Guevara. And they had persuaded the servants and workers to join them!”
“What did you do, Mamita Isabel?” Laura asked excitedly. She had sat up straight as the story built to its climax.
“Well, hijita,” her grandmother answered, basking in this new attention, “I’d always told my daughters that the servants were loyal. I was partly right! The Garcías—you remember Inocencio, don’t you, Laurita? He’s the one who opened the gate for you when you arrived. Well, Inocencio’s father, who was in charge of the horses back then, heard the rumors. He told me the day before that a takeover was being planned. So I decided to leave before they arrived!”
“So the house was empty when they got here?” Laura asked.
“Exactly, m’hijita. It must have been quite a surprise! But I learned two important lessons. The first was that it’s always better to know when you’ve lost and retreat gracefully. I should have done this more often in my life. The second was that you can’t count on people all the time, no matter how loyal you think they are. After telling me about the takeover, the Garcías went right ahead and joined in, anyway!”
“Time for some cards!” Irene announced quickly, before the subject of loyalty could get out of hand. “How’s your canasta game, Mamita? Why don’t we teach Laura how to play! It’s an old family tradition, Laurita, and your mama used to be a big champion.”
“I haven’t played in years,” Eugenia protested, “I’m an easy mark now.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Irene said. “Careful with her, Mamita, she’s actually played pretty regularly with me over the years. Last time we played she beat me by a large margin!”
At first they played with the hands on the table so that Laura could get the hang of it. But after a few games, Laura decided she’d had enough and retired to her room.
“She’s probably gone to write Joaquín another note,” Eugenia whispered once she heard Laura’s door close.
“She has a boyfriend already? She’s taking after you, Chenyita,” her mother said. By this point they were all just a bit tipsy on the second bottle of merlot. They played several more rounds of canasta, and doña Isabel kept winning.
“You’re letting her win, Nenita,” Eugenia accused finally, after their mother had beaten them three times.
“No, I’m not,” Irene protested. “She’s been practicing!”
Mama laughed with delight as she counted up the points and announced herself the winner of the fourth round. “What do you expect from a poor old woman whose daughters have left the country? What do I have except my canasta club? We’ve been playing three times a week for years. Too bad I didn’t suggest we play for money,” she chuckled, getting up from the table. “I’ve found I’m pretty good at making a little cash on the side. But I’m too tired now. You girls stay up if you want. I’m going to bed.” She gave them each a kiss on the cheek and headed down the hallway, swaying slightly and humming to herself.
“Well, talk about surprises.” Irene got up from the table and brought the wine bottle over to the couch. The two sisters sat by the fire and shared the last of the merlot between them. “Who would have guessed?”
“I know.” Eugenia took a sip from her glass and giggled. “Mama was happy as a clam tonight. Maybe if we let her win at canasta, things will work out just fine.”
The next morning Eugenia woke up early. The worst of the nightmares had not come back since she testified at the Commission with Sara and Samuel, and she had been sleeping much better. But that first night at the farm, she had been restless. She remembered dreaming about Ignacio. Every time they kissed in her dream, she woke up, then had a hard time getting back to sleep. He had promised to call once their work together was over, but perhaps he had thought better of it. She wondered now if he felt rejected by her on the San Cristóbal hill, after they’d kissed. When she woke up to see the beginnings of dawn through a crack in the curtains, she knew she would not be able to go back to sleep. So she decided to get up and take a walk.
Dressed in jeans and a jacket, she walked out the front of the house and down toward the main road, picking her way carefully among the ruts in the dirt. She could smell the sharp combination of pine needles and eucalyptus oil from the leaves under her feet. The sun was coming up over the mountains to the east and she stopped for a moment, noticing how the sunrise seemed to bounce against the dew that blanketed the ground right in front of her.
“Good morning, patrona. Up early this morning. Want a horse?”
She jumped. It was Inocencio. He was dressed in his work clothes, but the boots he had on were new and, from the look of them, probably custom-made.
“Good morning, Inocencio. You startled me! I didn’t expect anyone up quite this early.”
Inocencio’s gaze focused on the loafers she was wearing.
“You want to ride, you need to wear boots. Those shoes come off at the first bump, believe me.”
Eugenia brought the collar of her jacket up more tightly around her neck to ward off the cold. She didn’t know why, but Inocencio was making her uncomfortable. Perhaps it was that he was standing just a bit closer than seemed proper. She moved back a couple of steps.
“You’re right. These aren’t the right shoes. But that’s probably because I didn’t plan to ride anyway.”
“Why you up so early, then? Anything else I can do for you?”
“No, thank you. You’re very
kind.” She turned to go.
“Patrona.”
She turned back to look at him.
“Why didn’t you come back for so long? La patrona Irene, she’s here every year, you can set your clock by her. But you …”
Eugenia focused on his face, trying to find some ulterior motive, but his eyes were as clear as the morning sky.
“I was in exile. After the military coup they picked me up and put me in jail. When they let me out I went straight to Mexico. I couldn’t come back until the first democratic president was elected.”
Inocencio stood in front of her, staring straight into her eyes. Eugenia felt increasingly uneasy. This was not the way country people had behaved when she was growing up. She held his gaze. Finally he looked down, but did not move away.
“That means you supported el doctor Allende,” he said, his voice raw.
“Well, my boyfriend more than me. But the military picked us both up.”
“La señora Chelita. We helped her, you know, when the young barbudos came. She didn’t help you?”
“She didn’t know where I was. When I finally got word out, Irene helped me leave the country.” After another long silence, Eugenia turned to go.
“Patrona.”
She stopped again, but did not turn around.
“The barbudos, they helped us at first. At first we were glad that doña Chelita had left. But then …” Inocencio’s voice got softer, the torn edges more pronounced. “Then, the barbudos, they got greedy. They wanted more and more land. Finally the soldiers came. They took some of the younger ones into the old house, in the back, where the old kitchen used to be. We could hear their screams for miles. Then the screams just stopped. We never saw them again.” Inocencio turned then, and began walking away. His last words caught in the early morning breeze and came back to her, hovering in the air above her head. “I’m glad doña Chelita redid the house. It has fewer ghosts now.”
In the week and a half before Christmas, Irene taught Laura how to ride horseback. The two went out every day and returned for a late lunch, with early summer dust and broad smiles on their faces. They’d sit together at the table, giggling. Eugenia was happy to see them getting along so well, glad that the distance between them that opened up during Laura’s crisis in Boston seemed to be closing.
Doña Isabel was in her element at the farm, the grand matriarch, fixing large meals and baking treats daily in the old pot-bellied oven that had survived the reconstruction of the kitchen. In the afternoons they all retired to their rooms, and Laura wrote her daily missive to Joaquín that would go out in the next morning’s mail. As Eugenia watched Laura bring the daily envelope, sealed, stamped and addressed, out of her room, she realized that her daughter had never written to her friend Marcie in Boston. Thinking back, she remembered that Laura had never written to her Mexican friend Cecilia, either. Gripped by guilt, she suddenly saw how both moves had forced her daughter to cut all previous ties.
Over dinner, as they slowly made their way through the first case of merlot, doña Isabel told stories of her childhood that even her daughters had never heard before. Laura was enthralled. As Eugenia sat back and listened, she was caught up in a modern-day Thousand and One Nights, with her mother a new Scheherazade spinning stories to save herself and her relationship to her only granddaughter.
On Christmas Eve, the roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and fresh asparagus from the garden were followed by an exquisite meringue cake. The glow of the fireplace provided both light and warmth as they exchanged gifts. When Laura opened the box from her grandmother, her reaction brought a satisfied smile to the older woman’s face. Inside was the single, perfect string of pearls that doña Isabel wore every day. “It’s only right that my only granddaughter should begin wearing it,” she said in answer to Laura’s whispered thank-you. Though the old-world, classical style of the pearls did not completely match the large copihue earrings that hung constantly from Laura’s ears, Eugenia knew it was the loving acceptance symbolized by the gift that mattered most.
Later that evening, after both grandmother and granddaughter had retired to their rooms, Irene and Eugenia sat by the fire.
“Well, that’s the last bottle in the case,” Irene said as she poured the remaining wine into their two glasses. “Lucky Mamita brought another one. It should last through New Year’s.”
“It seems almost too good to be true, don’t you think?” Eugenia asked. “Mamita and Laura seem to be hitting it off so well after such a bad start. But I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Irene took another sip of the wine and settled back into the cushions of the couch. “You know what, Chenyita? I’m going to do something I rarely do, being the older sister and all.” She raised her glass to her lips and drank a bit more wine. “Remember when we were arguing about what it was going to be like when the two of you came back? It seems you were right. Laura seems a lot happier here than she was in Boston.”
“What a pity I don’t have a tape recorder,” Eugenia teased, giving her sister a mock slap on the arm. “This is probably the first and last time you’ll ever admit to being wrong!”
“Well, you had your chance,” Irene answered, laughing. “But seriously, she’s learning to ride horseback very well. I think she’s ready to come up into the hills with me. And Mama’s happier than I’ve seen her in years.” Irene finished her wine and set her glass down on the end table. “I never thought I’d say this, Chenyita. But maybe there’s a form of payback here. After all we’ve been through, maybe it’s time for our family to enjoy a bit of simple happiness.”
The phone rang the next day during lunch. María answered and came out to the table. “Señora Eugenia,” she said. “It’s for you. A señor Pérez?”
“Thank you, María.” Eugenia got up from the table. “I’ll take it in the bedroom.”
“So, how’s it going?” Ignacio asked once they heard María hang up the other extension.
“Surprisingly well. Irene, Mami, and Laura have been getting along famously. Mamita’s been telling Laura stories from her childhood, and last night, during the exchange of gifts, she gave Laura her pearl necklace.”
“I’m so glad to hear it. Do you think you’d be willing to leave Laura in your mother’s and Irene’s care for a few days?”
“Why?”
“Well, remember that I told you once we’d finished the work at the Commission, we’d see about us?”
“I didn’t realize there was an us.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it? To see if there is.”
“And what do you suggest?”
“I could come pick you up. We could spend a few days on the road, just taking it easy. There are some beaches near your place, kind of rough and not that popular, that might be fun to explore this time of year. Just a vacation, some time together. No strings, no obligations.”
“How long do you think we’ll be? Would I be back for New Year’s?”
“Hard to tell. Maybe we could leave that open?”
“I’ll check. Could you call me back tomorrow?”
“All right. And Eugenia? Remember. No strings.”
When Eugenia went back to the table, all eyes were on her.
“So?” Laura asked almost immediately.
“It was Ignacio,” her mother answered.
“Well, duh. What’s up?”
Eugenia took a sip of tea and looked around at the three other women at the table. “He invited me to spend a few days with him on the road, until New Year’s give or take. I told him I needed to check with everybody before I answered.”
“What do you think, Laurita?” Irene asked after a short silence.
Laura leaned back in her chair, her eyes on her mother, a smile spreading across her face. “What I think,” she answered, “is, about time! What took this guy so long?”
Doña Isabel sat up straighter in her chair. “Laurita,” she began, “are you suggesting …”
“Exactly. My mama’s spent mos
t of her good years taking care of me. She deserves a fling before she gets too old to enjoy it!”
Eugenia waited for her mother’s shocked exclamation, and for Irene’s and Laura’s laughter, to die down before she answered. “Are you sure, Laurita?” she asked. “I could be gone for New Year’s.”
Laura smiled. She looked so much more at ease than she had a few weeks ago. “I’m sure,” she answered. “In fact, me and Irene and Mamita Isabel can get drunk on the special cherry wine that’s hidden away in the kitchen and I’ll win at canasta. I’ve been practicing with María.”
Ignacio drove up two days later in a royal blue convertible with the top down. It felt easy and comfortable from the start, Eugenia thought, and so different from the chauffeur-driven black sedan with the car phone. They went south to Curicó and cut west through Hualañé to the coast at Bucalemu. With the sun low over the Pacific, its bright orange tones shimmering in the slate-blue swells right before they broke, froth-like, along the surf, they decided to find a place to stay. A tattered building hugged the beach, the remains of its originally salmon-colored paint faded to a mottled shade of rust. “Pensión Bucalemu,” said the sign. “Breakfast Free. Dining Room open daily.” Ignacio pulled into the empty parking lot.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It looks pretty awful,” Eugenia answered.
“Have you seen anything else? Do you want to get out and at least take a look?”
They got out and climbed the stairs to the porch, ringing the bell next to the door with peeling paint. Just as they were about to go back to the car, they heard a door close on the second floor and the muffled sound of feet on the stairs. A woman about Eugenia’s age opened the door. Her tanned skin and green eyes sparkled, her hair streaked with white.
“Well, hello,” she said, her lips spreading to show perfect white teeth. “I wasn’t expecting anyone today.” Her accent was hard to place, but it had traces of a European language, perhaps French or German. “Are you interested in a room?”
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