“Yes, Victoria,” said Lola. She’d been looking forward to this visit for ages, and now it turned into yet another lesson on being a lady. Lola took a sip of tea and looked over at Enriqueta.
Enriqueta put up her hand as though to smooth her hair out of her face; while she was shielded from the older sisters by her hand, she crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at Lola. Struggling to suppress her giggles, Lola wound up making a snorting sound and spattering droplets of tea out of her mouth.
Amelia looked horrified. “I agree with you, Victoria,” she said. “It is like trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Now that I’m enceinte I don’t have the energy.”
“What’s enceinte?” asked Lola.
“It’s French for pregnant,” said Enriqueta. “Amelia’s pregnant again.”
“Enriqueta, how many times do I have to tell you? Only Cholos get pregnant. Ladies are enceinte or expecting a happy event.”
“But I was only explaining to Lola…” Enriqueta’s voice trailed off as Amelia gave her “the look.”
At last the two young sisters were given permission to walk in the garden and visit, but with conditions. They must stay within sight of the sitting room (young ladies never went outside without a chaperone); they had to remain in the shade and wear their wide brimmed hats (ladies always stayed out of the sun because their skin had to remain white or they would not marry well); they were to move with decorum (if they acted like small children they would be banished to the nursery like small children).
As soon as the door closed behind them Lola muttered in a low voice, “You know what I want to be when I grow up? I want to be a Chola so I don’t have to obey all these stupid rules.” That sent both girls into paroxysms of laughter. By the time they reached the garden bench, tears were beginning to flow from their near-hysterical laughter. Somehow the laughter stopped, but the tears kept flowing.
“Oh, Enriqueta, I’ve missed you terribly. I wanted to be with you so badly that it made me hurt inside.” Enriqueta agreed that life had been pretty miserable lately. They soon found that they had been leading almost identical lives since they parted. Apparently the older sisters had agreed on the proper way to mold them into ladies.
“We’d better stop crying,” said Enriqueta. “If not we’ll be all red and puffy when we go inside, and I’m sure young ladies aren’t supposed to get all red and puffy—not to mention we’ve soiled our embroidered handkerchiefs.”
“That’s all right,” said Lola, “I was only allowed to keep this one because the stitching was so uneven Victoria declared it an unfit gift.” They both laughed again as they dried their tears.
“Maybe we could convince them that we know how to be ladies and they’d let us go home,” suggested Enriqueta.
“If they believed we knew how to be ladies, we wouldn’t be here, would we?”
“What about being troublesome? Amelia already complains all the time because she’s enceinte.”
“That’s it!”
“No, it isn’t. I knew it was a bad idea when I said it. They’d tell Papa, and our lives would be even more miserable.”
“Not that—the French. Is Mateo learning French? Are you learning with him?”
“Yes, and it would move a lot faster without him. He hates it.”
“Because you’re better.” Enriqueta nodded and grinned. “So pick something else he studies, and learn it faster than he can. You can listen to the lessons and still write those dumb thank you notes and invitations, can’t you?”
Enriqueta smiled. “I already listen to the history lessons all the time. I just wish I could read the book.”
“Why don’t you ask?”
“Amelia might not let me.”
“Then give Mateo your desserts for a week to read his.”
For the next few weeks, even the social correspondence went smoothly. Lola found that algebra was not that hard. She began whispering answers to Ricardo. Once he got over his suspicions, he eagerly accepted the prompts.
It didn’t take Señor Gomez long to uncover the arrangement. He began giving Lola more difficult problems to keep her busy. He also began to give his other lessons in a slightly louder tone of voice when he noticed her interest. He even forgot his science book on Lola’s desk a few times. As Lola’s mood improved, so did her penmanship and her willingness to learn Victoria’s rules.
Less than a month later another bed was moved into her small room. Amelia wasn’t doing well, and Enriqueta was coming to stay with Victoria. Even changing diapers and coping with knotted silk threads couldn’t dampen Lola’s spirits.
After the lights were out that night, Enriqueta told Lola that the plan had worked. One evening when she and Mateo had joined the adults in the dining room, Amelia had asked Mateo about his studies. He said he’d learned how Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand discovered America. Enriqueta had giggled and Mateo had asked her what she thought they had done. Enriqueta was prepared. She talked about the unification of independent regions into modern Spain—and, of course, they provided the funds for Columbus to make his historic voyage.
“I told him kings and queens don’t actually do any discovering, and I laughed again. The silly boy burst into tears and asked his mother how he was supposed to learn when I was always picking on him.” Enriqueta paused. “So here I am.”
The next day Enriqueta and Lola went to the library when it was time for lessons. Ricardo glowered at them. When Victoria appeared for her daily chat with the tutor about how the lessons were going, Ricardo jumped out of his chair.
“I’ll never learn anything now that there are two of them. It was bad enough with just Lola flirting with my tutor, but now he won’t even notice I’m in the room.”
Two days later the girls were driven home in Victoria’s carriage.
~ ~ ~
“Rosa?” Enriqueta’s voice seemed to echo in the empty hall.
“Strange no one heard the door,” Lola said as the driver carried their bags inside. They showed him where to put their things and thanked him. As soon as the door closed behind him, the two girls raced to the kitchen.
“Pilar!” They ran to the cook and threw their arms around her.
“My lost lambs are home—what a wonderful surprise.”
“Surprise?” asked Lola. “I heard Victoria give instructions for a message to be delivered saying we’d be coming today.”
“Where is everyone?” Enriqueta plopped down on the plank bench.
“You poor dears.” Pilar reached out and grasped Enriqueta’s hand. “Oh, Sweet Jesus, help my little lambs. That explains everything.” Tears flowed down her cheeks.
Lola had a sick feeling that their homecoming was going to be far from the exciting event they had anticipated. “What does what explain?”
“Two days ago a messenger brought an envelope. Señora Jacoba,” Pilar’s nose wrinkled as she gave Jacoba the title of respect, “took the envelope from Rosa.”
“When your father came home, she told him she needed to go to town with him to be fitted for a new gown.” Pilar smiled. “He may be El Patrón, but he’s still a man. When the wife gets her head set on something he has no choice. He protested that she could make better gowns than anyone in town, but she said she no longer had time for such things. They left this morning and will be gone for two nights.”
“Never mind,” said Lola brightly. “You’re here and we like you more anyway.” Enriqueta nodded her agreement.
“We haven’t had lunch yet,” said Enriqueta. “Can we eat with you and the others?”
“I’m the only one here. She sent the others home, saying they weren’t needed because no one would be home for a couple of days. There’s more.” Tears filled Pilar’s eyes as she shook her head and pointed to the pantry door. The two girls gasped as they saw a large padlock on the door.
“And you don’t have the key.” Lola heard her stomach rumble as she eyed the lock.
“Jacoba convinced your father that we’ve been steali
ng food from the house to feed ourselves and maybe even the whole village. Everything that can be put behind a lock is behind a lock.”
“What’ll we eat for two days?”
“Don’t worry, we can find enough in the garden to make a nice soup.” Pilar pushed herself up from the table. “Come on.”
“Why can’t Pepe get the vegetables?” Enriqueta asked. “We’re not supposed to go out in the sun now that we’re young ladies.” Lola snorted. “Stop making that awful sound. You know it’s not ladylike.”
“So what? I’ll never be a lady, and you know it. You heard them. We’re sow’s ears.” Lola snorted again, sounding remarkably like a sow.
“Go get your hats,” said Pilar. “But if you don’t come and help, I’ll only pick parsnips because Jacoba doesn’t like them.”
“Come on, Enriqueta, I’ll race you to see who gets her hat and back first.” The two scrambled for the door.
As Lola was poking through the vines to find nice green beans for the soup, she worked her way closer to Pilar. “Why isn’t the gardener here? He lives here, like you.”
“No, Roberto lives in the village,” said Pilar absently.
“Who?”
“Roberto, the gardener.”
“What about Pepe?”
“Pepe’s gone. Roberto’s the new gardener.”
“What happened to Pepe? He was very old. Did he die?” Lola lowered her voice when she talked about death. The idea that people could blink out of existence was frightening. Lola realized that Pilar was answering her question.
“…assumed he had too much to drink at the wedding. No one knows where he went.”
“Why doesn’t Roberto live here?”
“You’re just full of questions today.” Pilar looked in the basket she was carrying and expressed her satisfaction. They all started for the house.
“We haven’t been gone that long, but everything seems different,” said Enriqueta.
“Yes, things’re very different” said Pilar. “The distillery master left last month. Juan’s keeping up with writing down the numbers while your father’s in town to look for a replacement.”
“That can’t be too hard,” said Lola.
“Enough talk,” said Pilar. “Let’s make some soup.”
“Why is…” Lola stopped talking at a nudge from Enriqueta.
Late that night the two girls huddled together in Enriqueta’s bed. Every little creak reminded them they were all alone in the house.
“Enriqueta,” said Lola quietly, “are you asleep?”
“Are you kidding?”
“What’re we going to do? As miserable as our lives were with Victoria and Amelia, that might have been the lesser of two evils.” Lola felt Enriqueta shudder.
“No. We’re together now. Maybe she’ll ignore us. Papa won’t let her hurt us.”
“Oh, no. We didn’t write our thank you notes,” said Enriqueta.
Lola sat straight up in bed. “That’s what we’ll do. We’ll be perfect young ladies, and Papa’ll be so impressed that Jacoba won’t be able to complain.”
“Yes,” agreed Enriqueta. “We’ll curtsy prettily when they come in and ask Papa to please have our thank you notes delivered. You’re right, Lola. That’s her weak point—she’s not a lady, and no amount of jewelry and fancy gowns will make her one. She can’t possibly complain about us not doing it right—especially if we stay out of her sight as much as possible.”
IV. August 1907: Lola age 13
The floor was cool under Lola’s bare feet. “Why can’t you write in your room or on the verandah?”
“Because the river inspires me.” Enriqueta’s nightdress billowed out as she twirled. “Sitting under that big tree with the birds overhead and the water lapping at the bank, I feel free and the words just flow.”
“You can hear the birds just as well on the verandah, and I won’t have to worry about Jacoba catching you wandering around without a dueña.”
“Lola, please don’t be tiresome. We’ve been through that before.”
“I don’t mind you going off alone every morning because I’m working then, but why can’t I come in and talk now? I thought we were best friend sisters.” Lola’s bare feet were getting chilled.
“Evenings are when I get my best ideas. I plot out my chapter in the evening when everything is quiet, and I write in the mornings. Please, Lola, just go to bed and let me think. We can talk for hours once I finish my novel.” Enriqueta gently moved Lola toward the door. “Good night.”
Her novel? Enriqueta hated writing a simple thank you note. Lola hurried to her own bed to warm her feet and searched her memory once again for anything she might have done to alienate her sister.
The next morning Lola stepped into the cool shade of the distillery and hung her wide-brimmed hat on a nail. She dipped a glass of cool water from the large clay pot by the door and set it on the desk. With a sigh she slipped into her chair and started work. She was proud that her father entrusted his complicated bookkeeping to her, but even that couldn’t lift her spirits today. She pulled the picker tickets toward her and brushed away a stray tear. Enough. She wasn’t a baby to cry over an argument with her sister.
The office door burst open. Tears forgotten, Lola’s face broke into a bright smile as Rudolfo came in and she caught a whiff of what she termed his “essence of guava.” It had taken almost two years for her father to find and hire Rudolfo as distillery master trainee. Her father maintained that as a Spaniard, Rudolfo would have been raised with a sense of honor that Jacoba had convinced him was lacking in the Cholos.
Seeing Rudolfo was the best part of her day. He made her laugh, he listened when she talked, and it was easy to talk to him because they had so much in common. His father was also a large landowner, but he refused to split his land. Rudolfo’s older brother would inherit it all. When Rudolfo had told her about this his dark eyes had smoldered with injustice, and Lola felt their intensity burn through to her very soul. When he explained how his older brother had become arrogant and distant, Lola had felt her own loneliness vibrate in tune with his words.
“Guess what? My first batch of guava brandy is ready and being bottled!” said Rudolfo with an excited grin.
“That’s wonderful!” Lola knew how much this meant to him. Rudolfo had been very upset when her father had insisted that his training begin in the orchard, learning how to care for the trees and which fruit to pick and exactly when. He had complained to her that he was supposed to be learning to be a distillery master, and her father was trying to make him into a farmer. Lola knew her father was a perfectionist about his guava brandy and liqueur, insisting that even the slightest deviation would produce an inferior batch. She’d managed to talk Rudolfo into being patient and now his patience had finally paid off.
“Come and taste it.”
“No, I can’t. I’m working.”
“It’s lunchtime, come eat with me and have some after lunch.”
“No.”
“Why not?” Rudolfo sounded almost petulant. She was his only friend; shouldn’t she share his moment of triumph?
“I’m not allowed to drink yet,” she explained in a low voice. Lola’s cheeks grew warm. “Papa would be angry.” She felt Rudolfo’s eyes boring into her, and she fought not to squirm under his gaze. “I’m sorry.” Her voice came out in a near whisper.
Rudolfo’s answer was a long time coming. “I’m sorry, too. I must have misjudged you. I thought you were a woman, in spite of your small size. It seems that I was wrong, you’re only a little girl after all—clever, but still a child.” He turned and began to walk out of the office.
Still a child? “Wait,” she called. Panic welled up inside her at the thought of losing Rudolfo’s friendship just as she had lost Enriqueta’s. What would she do if Rudolfo turned his back on her? She wouldn’t have anyone to talk to in the whole world.
“Please,” Lola tried to sound calm and mature. “I’d like to reconsider my answer. It was unkind of me
to refuse to share your moment of triumph. It was especially unkind since you have no family of your own here. You extended an offer in friendship, and I’d be honored to accept.”
Rudolfo turned toward her, his face shining with excitement. “Oh, Lola, I knew I was right in thinking you were a modern woman. I was so sure you’d agree that I have lunch all ready for us in my apartment.”
Lola knew that even a modern woman would not accept to have lunch alone with a man in his apartment. On the other hand, she was Rudolfo’s only friend, and she could not bear to refuse him. The other workers resented having a younger man with no experience appointed as distillery master. El Patrón had built an apartment above the distillery for Rudolfo. As a man of an aristocratic Spanish family, Rudolfo could hardly be expected to live in the Cholo village, yet he was not family and could not live in the main house.
Lola’s heart was pounding as she mounted the stairs to Rudolfo’s apartment. Her mind was full of confusing ideas of right and wrong. She knew her father would be very clear that it was wrong of her to be alone with a man. On the other hand, it was her father who had put Rudolfo in an untenable position. No one can live with neither friends nor relatives—yet that is what her father expected Rudolfo to do. It was her duty to make sure that Rudolfo was not so unhappy that he left them because then all her father’s training would be wasted. Except for Rudolfo’s inability to comprehend the complicated ledger system, he had certainly worked hard and was doing well with the distillery. It was her duty to be his friend. Surely her father would understand that.
Even as she rationalized her actions in her own mind, she felt her stomach tighten with fear and…and what? Lola wasn’t quite sure what she felt, but she thought it was her sense of adventure and daring being kindled.
Lola was reassured when she stepped into Rudolfo’s apartment. There was a small table in the center of the room, set for two. It had a decent tablecloth and even a bunch of flowers in the center. She enjoyed the lunch very much and the conversation flowed easily, although later she could not remember either what they said or what they ate. After eating, Rudolfo poured two small portions of guava brandy.
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