It's Just Lola

by Dixiane Hallaj

  “Lola knew exactly what to do.” James proceeded to describe the episode with great pride. He managed to make everyone smile with his description of how they must have looked trudging back from the river in shoes that made squishy sounds with every step. Listening to James tell it, even Lola smiled and began to adopt his attitude of a happy ending to a potentially tragic accident.

  “I’m pleased everything turned out well. The children shouldn’t go near the river until they’re older,” said Enrique in a tone that indicated he was putting the incident to rest.

  Jacoba, however, was not so quickly satisfied. “I can’t believe that girl left them alone near water. I felt terrible when Rosa told me there’d been an accident. It was lucky you were close by.” Lola looked at James. His face reflected puzzled confusion.

  “Alone?” Enrique sounded more incredulous than angry. “They were left alone?”

  Lola opened her mouth to speak, but Jacoba spoke first. “I blame it on that dreadful girl. Imagine, leaving the dears alone by the river. You know, Enrique, your horsewhip has hung in that library too long. The Cholos are becoming totally irresponsible. That girl should be whipped for leaving our grandchildren unattended.”

  Lola heard a strangled noise come from James’ throat. “But you were there—you left them alone. Marta didn’t leave the children, you did.” James was shouting in astonished anger.

  “I was out for my daily walk and joined them for a short while. You know how little time I get to spend with the children. It never occurred to me she would scamper away and leave them. I’d walked as far as I cared to and I returned home.”

  “But you sent Marta away.”

  Jacoba’s mouth stretched into a sardonic smile. She directed her reply to Enrique. “Of course he shields his mistress. He thinks everyone is blind to his actions.”

  Lola dropped her fork. She looked from Jacoba to James, shocked by what she’d just heard. James’ face was flushed…with anger? Embarrassment? Shame? No, it was just Jacoba trying to deflect his accusations and make more trouble. “What James said is true. Marta met me at the stables and told me that you sent her home.” Lola thought she’d see something in Jacoba’s expression that would show that she was worried by the words, but the smile only became condescending.

  “Of course you defend your new husband. You already have more scandal than you can stand in your background,” Jacoba said calmly. James shot Lola a startled look.

  Silence fell over the table as Rosa emerged from the kitchen carrying a clean fork. She placed it on the table to the left of Lola’s plate. As she stooped to pick up the fallen fork, she whispered a single word to Lola. “Cuidado.” Take care.

  Lola looked at the faces of the people sitting around the table as Rosa refilled her father’s wine glass and all the water glasses before returning to the kitchen. Lola silently blessed Rosa for the interruption. Jacoba’s face almost looked triumphant; her father was looking from one to the other of his dinner companions. Then she looked at James and felt the blood drain from her face. She had never seen him angry before—and he looked frightening.

  “May I be excused, Father? I have a terrible headache.” Lola pushed her chair back. The two men stood as she rose to leave the table.

  “You don’t look at all well,” said Jacoba. “I’ll have some tea sent up for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lola fled upstairs. She couldn’t look Marta in the eyes as she told her she had a headache and was going to bed. She undressed quickly and extinguished the lamp. The children’s beds were still crowding the room to the bursting point, their presence comforting to Lola. She lay in the dark on the very edge of her side of the bed, tense and anxious. Was it true? Was James having an affair with Marta?

  Her mind went in circles as she moved in and out of a dream. Lola was running from Jacoba while carrying her children, but her shoes were mired in mud. Lola had no idea how much time passed before she heard James come to bed. Lola was now wide awake, feigning sleep. Which was worse, the dream or the reality?

  Lola tensed even more as she felt the bed shift beneath James’ weight. She listened to his breathing, waiting for it to slow and indicate he was asleep. It didn’t. Lola’s lips twitched in an involuntary smile. What’s wrong with me? My son was nearly drowned today; my husband may be having an affair with Marta; I may have married a man with a worse temper than my father. And I’m about to giggle over the thought of the two of us, lying stiff as two boards on opposite sides of the bed, pretending to be asleep. I must be insane.

  “Are you asleep?” Lola jumped at the sound of James’ whisper.

  “No.”

  “I talked to your father.”

  “And…?”

  “I told him I’m taking you and the children away for a week. You need to relax and get away from this place and your work.”

  At least neither man had become violently angry—but it made no sense to her. Lola wanted to protest that this was a busy time for her because the distillery was working at top capacity, but she stayed silent.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “What?”

  “The scandal in your background.”

  “You said you talked to my father,” she said flatly.

  “I didn’t want to admit to anyone, not even your father, that my wife has been less than open with me.” The anger was back in his voice.

  Lola met his anger with her own. “Why would you get so upset about that one sentence? Why would you believe that statement? Unless, of course, you recognized truth in the rest of her accusations.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Very well, it’s because I saw you react to that statement.”

  “And you reacted to her statement that Marta was your mistress.” There was silence. Had her answer struck the mark?

  “You’re right, as usual, my dear. The woman’s not only a liar, but a very vicious liar.” Lola felt weak with relief as she allowed James to pull her into his arms.

  “We’ll go to the city with Juan the day after tomorrow,” he said softly. “That should give you plenty of time to pack. It’ll be the honeymoon I was too busy to take after the wedding.” Lola happily fit herself into the curve of his body. “In the meantime I’ll be with the children in the mornings. Marta can visit her mother in the mornings and help you in the afternoons.”

  Lola rose with the sun the following morning. She hurried to her office, wanting to leave everything perfect for her father. She was surprised to see Juan waiting for her.

  “How did you know I’d come so early?” she asked.

  “I would’ve waited. I’m a patient man.” He spread two halves of a paper on her desk. “It’s a letter addressed to Pepe the gardener in care of Señor Herrera. Read it. I’ll get some coffee.”

  Dear Papa,

  I hope this letter finds you well. I have a good job now, and we bought a small house with some land. We want you to come and live with us. You can plant a garden and help us keep up the house.

  I am sure that by now sister JJ has either been tamed or has come to a bad end. Either way, it is time to let her fend for herself. It is time for you to take it easy. I am making good money, and it will be good for the children to have their grandfather around.

  I look forward to coming to the plantation to bring you home with us.

  Your loving son,

  Filipe

  Juan came back with two cups of coffee. “I heard about the accident by the river. You were lucky.”

  “Yes.” It was on the tip of Lola’s tongue to say it was no accident, but she hesitated.

  “You remember Pepe,” said Juan.

  Lola shuddered. “I remember the funeral. This letter was for Pepe?” She could tell by the expression on Juan’s face that whatever he was about to say would not be good.

  “I think that ‘JJ’ is Jacoba Jardinero. Your father refuses to consider the possibility. We thought at first that
the letter was addressed to Pepe the gardener, but his name might have been Gardener, Jardinero. Instead of Pepe the gardener, it was for Pepe Gardener.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “When Jacoba came here, she said she was the daughter of a small plantation owner. El Patrón would never have married her if he thought her father was a common Cholo.” Juan took a deep breath. “I believe that Jacoba killed Pepe to make sure her secret was safe.”

  “Holy Mary, mother of God—her own father?”

  “Perhaps. We have no proof.”

  “But you could get proof. You could answer that letter and Filipe could tell you if she’s his sister. And shouldn’t someone tell Filipe that his father’s dead? Why haven’t you done it, Juan?”

  “It isn’t my place, Señora.”

  “It isn’t your place to have the letter, but I see it in your hand.”

  “I took it out of the trash—insurance.”

  “How could Father with his rigid ideas of right and wrong and his unbreakable moral code, let a woman like that live as his wife?”

  “I think your father can’t admit to himself that it might be true. He just can’t do it. How could he possibly marry his gardener’s daughter? How could he possibly marry a criminal of the worst kind? Patricide is one of the most despicable crimes imaginable.” Juan got up and began pacing back and forth in the small office like a caged lion. “Your father may not be convinced it’s not true.” Juan stopped pacing and gave Lola pleading look. “Lola, think about what it would do to your father if we did find proof. If my suspicions are correct, it would destroy him.”

  “But even if he has any suspicion—to let a woman like that live as his wife? He can live with that?”

  “He must shut it out of his mind somehow.”

  “I suppose that explains a lot,” said Lola. Her eyes clouded as she thought of what her father lived with day after day. She didn’t think he was right to do it, but she understood.

  Juan put the letter in his pocket. “If anything happens to anyone in your family that even hints at irregularity, then the letter will be shown to the villagers. They still suspect Jacoba is in league with Satan, and they have a great capacity for violence.” Lola felt a wave of nausea as she grasped his meaning.

  ~ ~ ~

  “You can still take the carriage,” said Juan as Lola, James, Estela, and Yousef climbed into the wagon. “I can bring a driver along to bring it back here.”

  “No, it’s more fun for the children to ride the wagon. In the carriage they’re shut up inside. This way they get to see everything.” The children entertained them all with their excited chatter all the way to the city.

  “Thanks for the ride, Tío Juan,” said Lola with a grin as James watched a porter unload their luggage.

  “You know where I am if you ever need me,” Juan said seriously as he reached out and touched her cheek.

  “I’ll need you to be here next week to pick us up,” said Lola. Taking her children’s hands, she turned and followed James and the porter into the station. James walked up to the ticket counter and bought tickets for Lima. Lola’s breath caught with excitement. “I thought we were going to stay in a hotel for a week.”

  “We are…but the hotel is in Lima.”

  Lola was as excited as the children about the train ride to the capital. Yousef quickly fell asleep as the train rocked and the wheels clacked rhythmically. Lola and Estela glued themselves to the window and talked endlessly about what they were seeing. When the terrain became monotonous Estela joined her brother in sleep, and Lola leaned against James contentedly.

  By the time they reached Lima, Lola was too tired to care that the hotel had threadbare carpet. The next morning James took them all to the British Embassy. He found a place for them to sit and wait until he came for them. James seemed anxious and unwilling to talk, so Lola learned little more than the fact that he needed a new passport.

  At last James returned and led them into a small room where an Englishman sat at a desk in front of a battered typewriter. Lola had never seen a typewriter, but she’d seen pictures. She watched in fascination as the man inserted a form in the machine and began to ask questions and transfer the answers onto the form. The man addressed his questions to James and the entire exchange was in English. Lola knew a few words and paid close attention.

  “Wife’s name?”

  “Lola.”

  “Dolores,” said the man.

  “No,” said Lola, “My name’s not Dolores. It’s just Lola.”

  “Your real name must be Dolores. Lola’s a nickname,” said James.

  “Did you look at the paper the priest wrote when we were married? My name is Lola.” It was difficult for Lola to keep her voice calm. She didn’t want the man at the desk to know she was arguing with her husband—especially about her name. How could a husband not know his wife’s name? It was embarrassing.

  “That was only an ignorant village priest.”

  Lola lowered her voice even more, hoping it would not carry beyond James’ ears. “Priests are not ignorant. My mother refused to name me Dolores because it means pain and sorrow. She said there was too much pain and sorrow in the world without saddling a child with that name. My mother named me Lola.”

  “But that isn’t even a Christian name.”

  “Perhaps not, but Isabel is. My whole name is Lola Isabel Victoria Consuelo Herrera Osman.”

  “Atkins,” added James.

  “Atkins,” echoed Lola.

  “Very well,” James said. “Wife’s name: Lola Isabel.”

  “L-O-L-A A-T-K-I-N-S,” the man typed.

  “Daughter’s name?” asked the man.

  “Estela.”

  “E-S-T-E-L-L-E A-T-K-I-N-S,” tapped the machine.

  “Son’s name?”

  “Yousef.”

  “J-O-S-E-P-H A-T-K-I-N-S,” typed the man. Lola gave a silent apology to Mehmet. An English name fit better on an English passport.

  James smiled when he put the new passport in his pocket. They walked to a nearby park for coffee and to let the children play under the trees.

  “So tell me about all those names I never knew you had,” he said as they walked.

  “Isabel was my mother’s mother and Victoria was my father’s mother. Consuelo was my mother’s sister, or maybe her aunt. I never met any of them, but I think my parents missed having family when they moved here so we all have lots of family names. Mother sometimes told us stories about when she was young and lived in Spain.”

  “At least people spoke the same language when they got here. I was expecting to live in the United States where everyone speaks English, almost.”

  “You mean almost everyone speaks English or everyone almost speaks English?” asked Lola with a mischievous grin.

  “Both,” laughed James. “Immigrants often make their own little villages inside cities so some of the older people live entirely surrounded by people from their own country and never learn to speak English at all. However, I was talking about the educated Americans who speak a form of English that has evolved from proper English to have its own words and its own pronunciations.”

  “Like the Cholos’ Spanish. They have some of their own words and some of their grammar is different.” Lola nodded. “But why were you expecting to live in the United States? Surely you knew the Panama Canal wasn’t there?”

  James laughed. “I was hired by John Frank Stevens to work on railroads, but by the time I reached America he’d been appointed to the Panama Canal. My expertise is rail, but he brought me with him to the Canal project.”

  James was in good spirits as they talked, watching the children explore their new surroundings. “And now, my dear, if you learn English as quickly as you learn other things, we’ll make a proper English lady of you in no time.”

  “Why should you want me to be a proper English lady?”

  “I thought that perhaps we’d go to live in England. You’ll like my sister, I’m sure.”


  “But you promised Papa you’d stay on the plantation.”

  James’ mood changed abruptly. “Things change. There are things in this world more important than a promise like that.”

  “What do you mean? A promise is a promise.”

  “Listen, Lola, I understand that you and your father are close, and it’ll be hard for you to leave him, but that’s just part of growing up. You can’t believe what happened at the river was an accident. You were the one who panicked and made me start running. If you hadn’t made us hurry, those beautiful children might not be here today.”

  Lola was chilled by his words. She could still hear the shrill cry of Estela telling her brother to get up and feel Yousef’s limp body in her arms. “We’ll just have to make sure someone has an eye on the children every minute. I can’t throw away Yousef’s inheritance because you want to go back to England. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “What inheritance?”

  “You mean Papa didn’t tell you? My son, or sons, will be raised to inherit the plantation.”

  “So that explains it,” James said softly. Lola felt a double sense of relief. It was nice to know that James had married her without knowing that there would be a lot of land and money in the future; it was an even bigger relief to know that he now understood why they couldn’t leave the plantation.

  That night in bed Lola laughed softly.

  “What’s funny?” James asked.

  “How many people go on a honeymoon with two children and…” Lola moved closer to James.

  “And what?”

  “And another on the way.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Lola, you have no idea how happy this makes me.” James hugged her so hard she could hardly breathe. He turned the light on again. “That changes the timeline.”

  “What timeline?” Lola sat up, plumping the pillow behind her.

  “I was going to leave for England right after this next job, but—“

  “This afternoon when I told you about the inheritance, you said—“

  “Inheritance be damned! What good is an inheritance if he’s not around to enjoy it? We can’t go back, especially now with one more child at risk.”