Lockett gasped, but Nella didn’t skip a beat. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You must have misunderstood.”
“It’s true. He offered to divorce Char and marry me.”
“Did he actually say he’d divorce your sister?”
“Well . . . no . . . but—”
“Then you misread him. Lamar will never leave Char.”
“My, we do have our illusions, don’t we?” Lockett said with a tsk.
“I’m afraid it’s true. He wanted to sleep with me another time, too, after he became engaged to Char.”
Nella ground her teeth, then snapped, “Shame on you for slandering your poor brother-in-law like this. Just because your husband failed . . .”
“My poor brother-in-law was stealing my oil right from under my feet.”
“I think you’re being paranoid. Splendora has a right to drill wherever they like.”
“But not in our offset location. One well can drain forty acres, you know.”
Lockett’s eyebrows shot up, but Nella appeared unruffled. “Why would he need to steal your oil? Like you said yourself, he has thirty wells of his own.”
“Because he couldn’t stand to see Garret successful. He had to squash him. And he did. Lamar is a snake—don’t you see that?”
Both women crooned “Nooooo!” together. “How can you say such horrid things in my drawing room?” Nella asked.
“Because they’re the truth. You can’t shut me up any longer, Mamá.”
“You’re just bitter because you chose the wrong man and can’t stand to see your sister happy.”
“That’s right,” chimed in Lockett. “You made a mistake. Admit it.”
“Oh no.” Hetty sat up straight and faced them both. “I chose the right man. I know that now.”
“You might change your mind when you hear what I have to say!” Lockett nearly jumped out of her chair.
“Exactly!” added Nella.
“Not the ‘scandal’ again?” Hetty said, making quote marks with her fingers. How can I avoid hearing this?
“For your own good,” Lockett snorted, “you need to know what I found out about Garret’s father.”
Hetty sighed. Maybe I should listen. Maybe it will explain why Garret left. “All right, Lockett. I’m ready to hear what you have to say. But just stick to the facts, please. I don’t need a lot of judgments.”
“Well, the facts speak for themselves.”
“So this was back in Butte?”
“Back in that pit!”
“No judgments. You promised.”
“All right, then.”
“So we’re back in the mining town of Butte?”
“Actually, we’re in the nation’s capital. You remember I told you that Garret’s father didn’t finish out his term in the Senate . . .”
“Yes, Termite MacBride.”
“Well, it’s worse than I imagined. This is what I’ve been trying to tell you for over a year! He lost his seat!”
“Lost it? Garret never told me that.”
“He wouldn’t, of course. But Congressman Welch uncovered the whole sordid affair. In order to get elected, Termite had offered bribes. D.C. was overrun with terrified Montanans who had to testify in front of a Senate committee. He denied everything, of course.”
“What did he say in his defense?”
“That he never bribed anyone. That he didn’t have to. Termite was a hero among the workers apparently. They loved him because he was one of the few miners ever to take on the huge copper company that’s always held Butte in its grip.”
“Really? What company was that?”
“Oh, my dear, I thought everyone had heard of Anaconda.”
Hetty caught her breath, remembering the ghostly look in her husband’s eyes and his enigmatic statement: “We’d better leave before we get swallowed by an anaconda.”
“The upshot was, Senator MacBride resigned in disgrace before they could vote him out. I just thought you should know.”
“Yes, thank you, Lockett. I think I understand perfectly well.”
Lockett looked at Hetty, puzzled, obviously disappointed in her rather blasé reaction. “Well, at least I’ve gotten that off my chest. I’ll leave the rest up to you, of course. But I wouldn’t expect to see that Irishman back, if I were you.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Lockett. He’s a man of many surprises.”
Taking one last sip of her tea, Lockett stood. “Very well, then, it seems I’m no longer needed here, so I’ll just trip back across the hall. The congressman will be getting up from his nap. This heat does him in. I don’t know why we didn’t stay in Virginia. Give Pierce a kiss for me,” she said, lifting her ruffled skirt with one hand. As she followed Nella out into the hotel hallway, she chattered on, scattering snippets of comment in her wake: “You can bet on it—poor Irish orphan—I can’t imagine—and why Spanish?—it’s what the maids speak.”
Nella slammed the door when she came back. She walked straight over to the sofa. “May I remind you not to speak Spanish in front of Lockett. ¿Qué te pasa? ¿Estás loca?”
Hetty stood. “No, I’m not crazy. I simply won’t have my child hidden away in the kitchen with the help.”
“Then be a little more discreet.”
“Forget it. I’m not denying my heritage any longer, Mamá. Cora lives openly as a mestiza, so why can’t I?”
“You can do that in San Antonio, but not here. Think of your poor sister.”
“I just want to be what I am.”
“Oh, God! Cora’s gotten her clutches into you.” Nella paced in front of the great Diana screen. “Just remember your aunt has trouble facing reality. She’s an artist.”
“That’s funny. I’m rather fond of her reality.”
“But she has no idea what living in Houston is like. We’re farther from the border here. Mexicans just don’t mingle with quality. Houstonians are gracious, but we’re not that gracious.”
“I find that cruel and narrow. It’s time people got over those attitudes.”
“You’re living in a dreamworld just like your aunt. Nobody’s telling Southerners what to think. I’ve found that out the hard way”—Nella collapsed into her black enamel armchair—“recently.”
“How?”
“Well . . . for one thing, the Forum of Civics was voted down because of zoning. After all our work!”
“So you’re not going to be able to turn Houston into the Paris of the South?”
“Hardly. I shudder to think what this city will be like in fifty years with no planning.”
“It’s a shame. The Allen brothers had such visions for the place.”
“What’s wrong with Houstonians? Zoning! Will Hogg is crushed.” Nella gabbed on about boulevards and parklands, obviously relieved to have changed the subject.
Finally, Hetty stepped forth and said, “Mamá, I know what happened to your knees. Cora told me.”
Nella leaned back and gave her an icy stare. “The first thing you have to realize about your aunt, dear, is that she clings to the past. I’ve long ago forgotten my school days.”
“But I read your recantation. She has it in her scrapbook. Now I know why you keep the postigos locked. Why you hide my son away in the kitchen.”
Hetty had struck flint. Nella’s eyes flared up. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, Esther! Cora’s been doing it for years. Her and her Freudian theories! You can’t explain everything by toilet training, believe you me.”
“Still, I forgive you, Mamá.” Hetty sat back down on the sofa.
“You forgive me? For what?”
“For not picking me up as a baby.”
“Why would I want your forgiveness?”
“Because it releases you. Someone forgave me recently, and it felt so good. Pure balm. Don’t you feel bad about what happened?”
Nella’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that?” “Lina told me.”
Nella muttered something toward the kitchen.
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�It wasn’t her fault. I made her tell me. I have a right to know. Why have you kept all this from me?”
“What good would it have done to tell you?”
“Because I’ve been starving myself all my life as a result. These things have an effect. Cora helped me see that.”
“You would have to go and visit your damn aunt. I’m warning you, Esther, Cora is dangerous. Why do you think I’ve kept you away from her all these years?”
“Because you’re afraid of the truth, maybe?”
“The truth? Ha!” Nella stood and circled the sharp-edged armchair. “Truth is a very relative thing, believe me. Do you think we’d be welcome in No-Tsu-Oh if they knew the truth? That your sister would have been chosen Cotton Queen? That we’d have memberships in the Cupola Club? Would your girlfriends still talk to you if they knew your grandmother was a dirty Mexican who sold chili on the plaza?”
“I don’t want friends like that. I don’t want to be part of No-Tsu-Oh if that’s the price I have to pay.” Hetty stood up and took a deep breath. “Your life has been a lie since the day I was born. Even before that. Since you pawned yourself off as an Anglo to Dad.”
“I am an Anglo.” Nella turned the full blaze of her enraged eyes on her daughter. Hetty started to feel weak in the knees as she always did in the presence of Nella’s incandescent power but, this time, she was able to stand firm and stare her down.
“Only half, Mother. Half. Mestiza means the black and the white—don’t you remember? You’ve been showing your whiteness alone to the world, which is cowardly. Your black you’ve hidden until it’s become something smutty and dark, toxic as tar. It’s poisoned this whole family—can’t you see that?”
“You’re the one who’s poisoned the family with your lies about Lamar.”
“They’re not lies. It’s all true. I wish you’d take him off the pedestal you’ve put him on and see him for the vicious predator he is.”
“I’m not listening to any more of this,” Nella said in a furious tone as she fled down the hall, dodging behind the postigos.
Hetty followed right after her, flinging the heavy wooden door aside so hard it crashed against the wall. “You know, Mamá,” she shouted. “You think of yourself as this madcap bohemian, but under those turbans your brain is 100 percent bourgeoisie.” Hetty barged into the room painted the color of chili peppers. “If you really want to know what Lamar is like, bring him in here. Show him what his wife’s grandmother looked like. See if he still loves her after that. Garret did.”
“You may want to ruin your sister’s life, but I don’t.”
“Maybe it will save her life. Tear down these creaky doors, Mamá. Stop hiding out back here. Let the world know who you are, for God’s sake.”
“It’s too late for that,” Nella spewed in an exasperated tone.
“No, it’s not. Go get Lockett right now. Bring her back here. See if she remains your best friend.”
“Why would you ask me to do that?”
“So you can see your grandson again.”
For the first time ever, her mother looked genuinely stunned. Hetty had finally found a way in. Nella staggered back into one of the quarter-moon chairs. “You won’t really keep Pierce from us, will you?” A piteous look passed across Nella’s eyes. “It would break your father’s heart, pobrecito.”
“I won’t withhold him intentionally. But I insist you honor him as the mestizo he is.”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t hide his heritage from him. Speak Spanish to him in the drawing room as well as the kitchen. Be as proud of his Mexican and Irish blood as you are of his Anglo. And tell Dad he has to do the same.”
“You’re asking him to choose between you and No-Tsu-Oh. He would be shunned.”
“Then he’ll have to choose me. I won’t be pushed off to the borders. And neither will my children.”
“It’s all he’s ever known. You’re asking us to give up the Old Houston.”
“The Old Houston? Jesus Christ, Mamá, there’s more to modernism than a couple of armchairs. Look in your art books.”
“Books? I don’t need books, Esther. I’ve been to Paris. To the salons.”
“But did you understand what they were whispering to each other in French? Art is a wrecking ball. Swinging on a chain. The Old Houston, and all it stood for, is demolished. We’re living in a Depression, in case you hadn’t noticed. We can’t afford these pretensions anymore.”
Nella looked around the room, a little lost. “But what would people think?”
“They might admire you. Show them what it really means to be gracious. Show them what a real Southern gentlewoman is like, a woman whose heart is kindled by kindness and compassion. A woman who loves her grandchildren no matter what they’re like.”
Nella stood and turned her back to her daughter, stepping onto the dais to sit at the bureau de dame. “I don’t know if I can do what you’re asking, Esther.” She removed her turban and placed it gingerly on a wire hatstand. She brushed her hair and gazed off into the great round mirror with eyes vacant and wounded. “What a terrible bargain my daughter drives. I don’t know if I can give up my place in society. I’ve worked so hard to earn it. No one knows what I’ve suffered.”
“I think I do. Conocí a Tipo.” Hetty sat at the foot of the dais and watched her mother’s face change in the mirror. She’d intentionally used Miguel’s nickname as if to say, “I know everything about your youthful mal de amor.”
Nella gazed off into the melancholic light of the mirror. “How dare you dig into my past. It’s none of your business.”
“Yes, it is. He could have been mi padre.”
Nella snickered as if this was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “You know nothing. Nada. You heard a story, that’s all.” Nella smeared cold cream on her face and began removing makeup. “You think you can blame me for everything that’s wrong with your life? I did what I had to do. You were provided for. You always had Lina. Anyone can change a diaper and spoon food into a mouth. I was protecting you. That’s what I was doing. I shielded you girls from my despair because that would have been much worse.” She wiped her eye shadow off and dragged rouge off her cheeks. She looked older without her makeup. Dark rings emerged under her eyes. Lifting her lustrous hair off her face, Nella snared it with the teeth of a Spanish comb. She brushed at her spit curls mindlessly. “So don’t try to make me feel guilty, Esther. What if I had sacrificed myself to you? How do you think I would feel now? After the way you’ve treated me? Bitter, that’s what I would be. Bitter as wormwood. And now you’re threatening to take my only grandchild away from me. You know how that makes me feel, m’ija?”
“How?”
“Glad that I made the choices I made. There were places I wanted to go, great ships that docked at the Port of Houston that could take me as far from Texas as I could get. I knew how to hunt all right. I sought beauty and brought it home. Art from Paris. Glass from Venice. Silver from England. The good stuff. I don’t regret a thing. Not one. Not even Tipo.”
“I do.”
“What’s that?”
“I regret we weren’t closer. I love you, Mamá, in spite of it all.”
“If you love me, you won’t take my grandchild away from me.”
“Have you heard anything I’ve said today?”
Nella slapped the hairbrush down. “I don’t know what you want of me, m’ija.”
“Mamá, just look at me. See me.”
Nella glanced at her for the first time in the mirror. “All I see is a poor woman whose husband has left her and is now saddled with a child she’ll have to raise alone.”
“That’s all you see? That’s all you want for me?”
“Be fair, my child. You could have been living like a princess. That’s what I wanted for you.”
“I don’t want to be that kind of princess. I’d rather be . . . a handmaiden . . . to the Empress.”
Nella shot her a puzzled look in the mirror.
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“La Madonna Morena.”
Nella threw back her head and chortled. “That old madre’s tale? I didn’t realize you were so naive.”
“Cora says she’s the only real goddess we have in America. Not an import like Diana.”
“Oh, please. Mary miraculously appears to a humble Indian just when the Spanish were trying to convert millions of Aztecs? How convenient.”
“But the tilma?”
“That relic? It was painted by an artist named Marcus. Didn’t Cora tell you?”
“Then why has it lasted four hundred years?”
Nella sprayed perfume into the air. “Now that I would like to know. My Chanel suits rot in the closet.” She set the bottle down and swayed her head back and forth in the fragrant mist. She caught Hetty’s eye. “I’ll never kneel to the Virgin again. And I can’t imagine why you would.”
Hetty thought for a moment, then said softly, “I want to learn how to love people.”
“Why? So they can break your heart?”
She and Pierce left by the back hall. Lina gave her a long hug on her way out, confident Garret would turn up soon. “I’m more determined than ever to find him,” Hetty said, “to prove my mother wrong.”
“You will. Don’t give up, m’ija. As we say in Mexico, ‘Donde menos se piensa, salta la liebre.’”
When you least expect it, the rabbit will jump.
Hetty drove through downtown on her way to the Heights. When she pulled up to the intersection at Main and Texas Avenue, the sign spelling out MAJESTIC THEATER in electric lights was still strung across the street, but many of the bulbs had burned out, leaving the message JEST EATER. When the signal turned green, Hetty edged forward, checking out the sale signs in the stores. She pulled up in front of Foley Brothers and sat idling at the curb. She had lots of cash with her. She could go in and buy herself a new dress. But when she looked at the fashions in the windows, she lost her enthusiasm. Everything for fall had a threadbare look to it: simple black dresses, boring wool coats, and hems that skirted the ankle. Silk was out; cotton was in. “Washable” was blazoned across almost every sign. Is this what it’s come to? she wondered. Streetlights turned off and fashion gone dark?
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