It's Just Lola

by Dixiane Hallaj

  “You can and you will,” said Maggie firmly. “There are three frightened children outside this door who have just lost the only father they have, and Nellie hasn’t even had a chance at life. You can’t abandon them. Four lives depend on you; they need their mother more than ever now. It’s your duty to think of them rather than yourself.”

  Lola nodded weakly and allowed Maggie to help her sit. She took Nellie from Catalina and put her to her breast. As the hungry baby drew milk from her body, she concentrated on the love she felt for the small helpless infant and her other children. Maggie was right; she had no other choice. She had to get through this.

  Catalina brought a cup of nourishing broth. Once Nellie was sated and sleeping peacefully, she asked to see her other children. She talked to them about staying strong and making Pop Wulf proud of them.

  ~ ~ ~

  Two days after the bosun left for San Francisco, promising to leave no stone unturned in his search for Wulf, a strange boy came to the door asking for Señora Lola.

  “The Station Master said you’d pay me when I delivered this note. A conductor on one of the morning trains brought it.” The boy held up a creased piece of paper, adding his own dirty fingerprints. Lola counted a few coins into his hand.

  El Patrón is very ill. I beg you to come quickly.

  Tío Juan

  Of course it was out of the question. Nellie was too small to leave and too small to be exposed to whatever sickness might have struck her father. Sadly, it was not possible. How did Juan know where to send the message? Enriqueta. Enriqueta was the only thread that connected her to her former life. The signature, “Tío Juan,” reminded her of their shared history. How could she refuse?

  “Maggie!”

  The women of the house all agreed that Nellie was old enough to drink cow’s milk. She was already eating bananas and mashed yams. The children would all stay—the risk of infection was too great to ignore. Late that night as she nursed Nellie for the last time, Lola wrote a letter to the manager of the Central Bank naming Enriqueta as custodian of the securities. She sealed the note and the key to the safety deposit box in an envelope she would entrust to Maggie to be opened in case of her death.

  Lola was at the train station before dawn and was wearily mounting the steps to Enriqueta’s as night was falling. The sisters talked far into the night, alternately crying and giggling like young girls.

  As dawn lightened the sky, Concha brought them coffee.

  “Thank you, Concha,” said Lola sleepily.

  “It’s Concepción now,” said Concha shyly. “I’ve been baptized with a real Christian name.”

  “I’m happy for you, Concepción,” said Lola with a smile.

  Enriqueta got a large package down from the top of her wardrobe and put it on the bed. “I kept a few things that reminded me of you,” she said with a laugh. “When you disappeared, Juan brought me the belongings you left behind.” She held up the split skirt and Lola saw her riding boots. She also saw yellowed papers with sketches that brought back a flood of memories.

  “I’m not sure I can fit in that any more. That was two children ago.”

  “Do you really want to try riding sidesaddle? Or rent a carriage? Try it on. I’ll fix it while you eat breakfast.”

  By the time Lola rode up to the plantation stables, every bone in her body reminded her how long it had been since she last rode a horse.

  She limped stiffly to the house, followed by a stable boy who carried the carpetbag she had strapped to the saddle.

  “Thank God you’ve come, Señora,” said Rosa when she opened the door.

  “I’m glad to see you, too, Rosa. Are you well? And Pilar?”

  “Yes, Señora, we’re all well except...” Rosa couldn’t finish the sentence. If the servants weren’t sick, it must not be infectious.

  “Rosa, I’d like to see Father right away.”

  “What are you doing here?” Jacoba jumped from her chair when Lola appeared. “Coming back to steal from a dying man? Well, it’s too late to get him to change his will now.”

  Lola nearly gagged from the smell of filth and sickness. It took all her will power to answer Jacoba in a calm voice. “I haven’t come for his will, Jacoba. He’s a sick man, and I’m a nurse.”

  “We don’t need a nurse. I haven’t left his side since he got sick.”

  “So I’ve been told, and I appreciate your efforts, but you need to rest. Go have something to eat and get a good night’s sleep. You’ll do him no good if you’re too tired to move.” Lola guided Jacoba out the door, ignoring or refuting her objections. “And you certainly haven’t done him any good in here,” muttered Lola as the door closed.

  Within seconds Rosa reappeared. “Pilar says your supper is almost ready, Señora Lola. Would you like coffee or tea while you wait?”

  “Neither thank you, Rosa. What I need first is plenty of hot water and strong soap.” Soon Pilar brought hot water and soap. Together they changed the linens and bathed her father’s unconscious body. Lola worked through a cloud of tears at the unhealthy gray color of the skin covering his wasted muscles. After they finished, and her father was wrapped warmly, she threw open the windows to air out the room.

  “Has a doctor seen him?”

  “Yes, but the doctor only gave him laudanum for the headaches.”

  Lola lifted one of her father’s eyelids and bit her lip at the sight of his pinpoint irises. “Where’s the laudanum?”

  Pilar picked up a small bottle. “This isn’t the first one.”

  “I see.” Lola pressed one of her father’s fingers below the nail and counted seconds as the color slowly returned to the area. “I want his clothes and linens boiled and changed daily. Please bring me boiled sugar water. I must get some liquid into him, and the sugar may give him strength without taxing his digestive system.”

  Although her dress was rumpled from being crammed in her bag, a bath and a good meal made her feel refreshed. Pilar brought coffee when she removed the dinner tray. “Jacoba made you a cup of her special restorative coffee. She said it’ll help ease the strain of the long journey.”

  “Since when has Jacoba done anything in the kitchen, other than criticize you?”

  Pilar chuckled. “She started a couple of months ago, I guess. She hinted that your father wasn’t the man he once was, but Rosa and I think Jacoba’s sour expression kept him out of her bed. Anyway, the coffee didn’t do much for your poor father.” Lola saw Pilar’s eyes fill with tears before she turned away.

  Lola sipped the coffee. “Tell me about Papa’s sickness.”

  “At first he had headaches, and then he started with diarrhea and vomiting. He kept getting weaker, but Jacoba surprised us all by insisting on taking care of him herself. When he couldn’t drink coffee anymore, she made him tea to settle his stomach. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

  “And the doctor didn’t know what was wrong?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is this is the only medicine he gave him.”

  “Would you mind staying here for a few minutes while I get something from the library?” Lola spent the night spooning sugar water into her father’s mouth and searching medical books for things that had the symptoms Pilar had described. After a few hours she gave up in frustration. There were so many things with similar symptoms. She sprawled in the chair and allowed herself to fall into a light sleep. She woke up to the smell of cinnamon and coffee.

  “Good morning, Pilar. That smells really good.”

  “Good morning, Señora Lola. Jacoba said thank you for giving her the first night’s sleep she’s had in weeks, and sent you more coffee to restore you.”

  “Since when has Jacoba worried about how I feel?”

  “Maybe since you let her get some rest.”

  “Do you really think Jacoba is becoming a nicer person?”

  Pilar shrugged. “Maybe. If her husband started losing interest in her body, maybe she figured she’d better try some
thing else.”

  Lola smiled. At least the coffee was better than the stuff Maggie made. She spent the morning slowly spooning sugar water into her unconscious father’s mouth. She ignored a small headache, attributing it to the strain of the journey. Throughout the morning she felt steadily worse. By the time Pilar brought her lunch tray, she had a pounding headache and her stomach was upset.

  “Pilar, as much as I enjoy your cooking, I think I need to lie down. Could you be a dear and sit with Father for an hour?”

  “Of course, Lamb, you must be tired from the journey and sitting up all night. No one’ll miss me for an hour or two. I can reheat your food later.” Pilar settled into Lola’s chair. “By the way, Juan sends his thanks and says he’ll come by late this afternoon. Poor man’s been run ragged doing his job and your father’s as well.”

  Lola lay down on her bed and closed her eyes. She couldn’t help her father if she succumbed to the same thing that caused his headache and diarrhea. Wait—it wasn’t infectious. Her eyes flew open. She knew. She ran back to her father’s room.

  “Stop!” Pilar’s hand froze with the coffee cup halfway to her mouth. “Don’t drink that.”

  “I’m sorry, Señora Lola, I didn’t think you’d mind. Coffee doesn’t reheat well.”

  Lola reached under the bed for the chamber pot. “Pour it in here.” Pilar did as she was told. “Jacoba hasn’t changed, Pilar. She’s just as mean and even more devious.”

  It took Pilar a few seconds before her eyes widened and her jaw dropped in shock. “I played right into her hands.” Lola could almost see the guilt as Pilar’s body began to shake with sobs. She knelt in front of the older woman and put her head in her lap. She had to let her work through her tears before they could talk.

  “Don’t worry, Pilar. Now that we know, we have the advantage.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but tell Jacoba I enjoy her coffee—and keep some of the coffee hidden in a safe place. Empty the chamber pot before Dolores notices it smells like coffee. No one, including Rosa and Dolores, must know. I’ll talk to Juan.” Pilar nodded.

  Lola’s headache did not disappear, but it was easier to bear. She picked up the medical books that were still next to her. By the time Juan came to visit, Lola had half a dozen medical books with bits of paper marking passages she thought were relevant.

  “I’m so happy to see you,” said Juan. “I had little hope you’d get here in time. How did you get here so quickly?”

  “I took the first train from Lima, and then I rented the fastest horse in the stable. I still feel bruised from the ride.”

  “Your father looks better already.”

  “He’s clean, and the opiate’s wearing off.”

  “What’re you reading?”

  Lola showed Juan the passages she had marked. “I have no proof, but every symptom he has could be explained by arsenic poisoning. Of course, they could be explained by other things, too. That’s what makes arsenic poisoning so hard to detect.” Juan nodded, and his face showed no surprise.

  “Can I go back to the doctor for different medicine?” asked Juan.

  “I can’t find any treatments. The body tries to expel the poison naturally. We have to get as much fluid into him as possible to prevent dehydration. One old book said garlic sometimes helps. I can’t say I put much faith in it, but it can’t hurt.”

  There was a moan from the bed. Juan helped Lola prop her father up with pillows. Even though he still seemed unaware of what was happening, Enrique managed to sip from a glass held to his lips.

  Feeling hopeful for the first time since she arrived, Lola began asking Juan about what was happening on the plantation. She still felt guilty about the way James had deceived her father when they left.

  “I think he knew you weren’t coming back,” said Juan. Rapid footsteps interrupted their conversation.

  “Juan.” They heard Rosa’s voice before she appeared. “Someone named Filipe is in the kitchen saying you sent for him. He won’t speak to anyone else.”

  Juan nearly knocked his chair over as he jumped to his feet. “Tell him I’ll be down in five minutes.” Rosa nodded to both of them and left. Juan looked at the still figure on the bed. Satisfied that Enrique was not conscious, he continued in a low voice. “Do you remember the letter I showed you when...uh...before Señor Atkins took you away?”

  Lola searched her memory. “About Pepe, the gardener named Gardener?”

  “Good, you remember. When I wrote asking you to come, I thought...we all thought your father was dying. It terrified me to think about what would happen to the plantation if Jacoba did not have your father to restrain her. I needed to know for sure if my suspicions were true. I wrote a letter to Pepe’s son, Filipe, telling him that his father was dead and there was foul play involved. I said that if he came here, we might be able to bring the killer to justice.”

  “But what if you‘re wrong and JJ isn’t Jacoba?”

  “Then we can breathe a little easier, and Filipe can see that we buried Pepe in the family cemetery with respect and honor.”

  “Even if she is JJ, that doesn’t prove she killed Pepe.”

  “Everyone liked Pepe. She was the only one with a motive. Excuse me, but I have to go down and talk to Filipe.”

  “No. Now we have to go down and talk to Filipe. I will go as my father’s surrogate.” Juan nodded.

  “Filipe,” Lola extended her hand as she entered the kitchen. “I apologize that my father is too ill to see you. We extend our deepest condolences for the loss of your father, and we regret that your letter was only recently rediscovered. “I am sure you’re anxious to see your father’s final resting place. If you’re not too tired from your journey?”

  “Thank you, Señora.”

  Lola swept out of the room, before Filipe could say anything about Juan’s letter. The men followed. Once they were outside, she walked alongside Filipe. “Pepe did not talk about his family, and we didn’t know he had children. Tell me about your family.”

  “I don’t remember my mother. She died when I was very young. It was just the three of us.”

  “It must have been very hard for you.”

  “It was harder on Jacoba. I kind of lost touch when I left home. Father couldn’t write, and Jacoba didn’t. Years ago Father got word to me that she was working as a seamstress on this plantation. If she was here, I knew he’d be here too. When there was no answer to my letter, I assumed they’d moved on.” They reached the cemetery, and Lola and Juan stepped back as Filipe removed his hat and knelt by his father’s grave.

  “You may be right, Juan,” whispered Lola. “We have to confront Jacoba with this.”

  “Your father isn’t strong enough to take this kind of shock. I wanted proof when I thought he was dying. Now I think we should leave it alone and send Filipe on his way.”

  “And leave Jacoba to do more damage? Juan, Father’s life is more important than his feelings.”

  Filipe walked back toward them. “I am honored, Señora, that you buried my father with your own family.”

  “Your father was very kind, and he always had fresh flowers for my mother.”

  “Señora, do you know where Jacoba went when she left here?”

  “Actually...” Juan looked at Lola, his eyes pleading. Lola shook her head. “Jacoba may still be here. At least, there’s someone here named Jacoba, but...”

  Filipe’s face drained of color. “I need a few more minutes. Why don’t you go back to the house, Señora, and I’ll follow with Juan soon.”

  Lola knew the men would be uncomfortable talking in front of her, but she could not leave this for an employee, no matter that she still thought of him as Tío Juan. “I know Juan told you how your father died, and it must have been a shock for you. The two of you can discuss that later, but first we need to know if your sister and our Jacoba are the same person. Our Jacoba’s father was a Spaniard—a small landowner whose property was taken to satisfy debts, leaving her bereft
of resources. She never mentioned a brother.”

  “My father was not Spanish, but my sister seldom told the truth. Father spent his life getting her out of the trouble her lies got her into.” Filipe’s eyes filled with tears. Pepe’s death happened years ago, but for his son it was still new. Did they have the right to cause him greater pain? Before Lola could offer to delay the discussion, Filipe straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Let’s go meet your Jacoba. I’ve always been afraid of her, but it’s time I stood up like a man and asked her some hard questions.” He led the way back to the house.

  “Pilar, please serve us coffee in the parlor, and tell Jacoba it’s urgent that she join us.” Lola ignored Pilar’s look of disapproval. Cholos weren’t served in the parlor—not even Juan.

  They sat in silence until Rosa brought the coffee. “Señora Jacoba will be here shortly.” The silence lengthened. Several times Lola thought Filipe was about to speak, but he didn’t.

  When Jacoba finally appeared, the two men rose. She ignored them and turned her anger on Lola. “What’s so urgent that I had to be disturbed? And what are these Cholos doing in my parlor?”

  “Your parlor?” Filipe made a sound that might have been a laugh. “Jacoba, you haven’t changed.”

  Jacoba looked at Filipe for the first time. Her face paled as she recognized him. “You! What are you doing here?” Jacoba’s expression changed from shock to fury in the blink of an eye. “Get out of my house now—before you say another word, or I’ll squash you like the miserable cowardly worm that you are.”

  “I’m not afraid of you anymore, Jacoba.” The tremor in his voice belied his words. “I can’t stay quiet. I was too afraid to speak before, and Father paid the price. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”