“Are you making that up?” Bella laughed. “ La Mancha, as in Don Quixote?”
“On my honor.”
Now, when Pedro started out the back door, Bella said, “Make sure you hang up the washtub and scrub board for Mama.”
Pedro nodded. A washtub for rinsing the clothes hung against the back wall of the house, along with a stirring stick, scrub board, and hand wringer. Another tub stayed propped up on bricks in the backyard. Once the clothes were boiled and rinsed, Mama hung them on a line strung between a tall magnolia and two live oaks. A tin bathtub also hung from a nail on the back wall. For Saturday baths the tub was set behind a lattice screen on the back porch.
Bella turned to Julio, who was sitting on the floor. “Is it time for our walk?” Bella helped him up. Julio had been born four months after Papa’s death. Bella was proud that Julio’s dark, curly hair and his square chin told the world he was Domingo Lorente’s son, but she was sad because he always reminded her that Papa was gone. Her papa had been taken away when he was so young!
Julio wobbled up and down the hallway. Like other casitas, their house was tall and narrow. It had been built in shotgun style: a long hall on the left side of the house ran from the front parlor past the two bedrooms to the kitchen. All the rooms were small and paneled with dark pine beadboard. Twelve-foot ceilings and tall windows helped circulate the air during the hot summers.
Clutching Bella’s hand, Julio turned into the bedroom that Bella shared with her younger sisters, Isabel and Juanita.
Julio aimed a finger at the window and said, “What’s that?” When Bella said, “La ventana,” Julio repeated it. Bella said, “Window,” so he could learn the English along with the Spanish and have a head start when he entered school.
He pointed to the iron bed.
“La cama,” Bella answered, and as he traced an embroidered butterfly on her quilt, she whispered, “la mariposa.”
Julio wobbled back to the hall and turned into the front bedroom. He walked past Pedro’s bed and his crib to the far wall and touched a tooled leather belt that hung from a bright silver buckle. “Padre?”
“Padre.” Bella nodded. The belt was the one legacy that Domingo had left to his family. Hidden in the lining was a tiny pouch of rare tobacco seeds that Domingo had purchased in Havana just before his murder. No matter how difficult things got, Mama felt better knowing the seeds were there. In an emergency the seeds could be sold, or perhaps one day the Lorentes would use them to start the cigar business that had been Domingo’s dream.
When Julio stepped into the parlor, Bella clapped her hands. “You’re walking like a big boy!”
“Big boy.” Julio pulled her onto the front porch. Heat waves rose from the paving bricks in the street, and the sun-bleached casitas across the street floated in golden light. Over the shouts of boys playing stickball, el riquiti, Bella heard the distant clang of the trolley downtown.
The bell in the clock tower at the Regensburg Factory tolled two o’clock. “El reloj.” Bella used the Spanish word for clock, the local name for the factory.
“El reloj,” Julio repeated as the bronze echo rolled over their heads and out toward the invisible sea.
Bella thought of how Papa used to walk her up the street to the Regensburg’s redbrick tower just before noon. They’d stand hand in hand, waiting for the tolling to begin. As the huge bell boomed, Papa would kneel and whisper, “El reloj.”
CHAPTER 3
La Séptima
Juanita and Isabel ran in from playing. “Will you tell us Grandfather’s story?” Juanita asked Bella. She was short and curly-haired like Pedro, and she had a little dimple on her chin. She never stopped talking.
“After dinner,” Bella said.
“Did he read Don Quixote again?” Isabel asked. Her green eyes were dreamy. She was tall and slender like Grandfather and Bella, and she always thought before she spoke.
“Oh, yes,” Bella said. “Help me put the rice on the table.”
Each evening after supper Bella retold the part of the novel Grandfather had performed that day. Bella read the chapters on her own to keep up with the story. If she studied hard and trained her voice, she hoped to entertain a hall filled with cigar workers one day. Just like El Lector.
Tonight, even Pedro helped clear the dishes so Bella could begin. “What’s happened so far?” she asked.
Juanita told about Don Quixote’s quest, his loyal friend Sancho Panza, and his knighthood.
“Don’t forget that he wore a helmet and a buckler,” Pedro said. “And he carried a big sword and a lance.”
Bella tried to tell the story at the same pace as Grandfather, taking her time to picture the field, the giant windmills, and Sancho’s warning to Quixote. Then came the charge. . . .
Just as Bella finished, a voice hollered from the back porch. “Where’s my girl? It’s time for our Saturday-night promenade! Seventh Avenue awaits.”
“Tía Lola!” Isabel and Juanita cheered as their aunt walked through the back door. Mama didn’t care about fashion, but Tía Lola’s short hair was dyed red blond and her eyebrows were pencil thin.
Pedro jumped up. “Did you visit the pirulí man, Tía Lola?”
“It so happens that I met such a man on my way here, and”—she reached into the pocket of her bright yellow dress— “he sold me these.” She handed a lollipop to each of the children, who clapped and thanked her.
“So how are things going with Fernando?” Mama asked.
“I’m too young to settle down,” Lola said.
“You’re thirty-one years old.”
“Marriage would cut down on the number of boyfriends I could have.” Lola winked at Bella. “Besides, Fernando expects me to become a housewife, and I’m not about to give up my job.” Aunt Lola was a master cigar maker at the Rafael Fuente Factory, where she specialized in filling custom orders for rich American businessmen and European royalty.
“So why aren’t you dressed up?” Aunt Lola turned to Bella.
“I was going to wear this.”
“Jeepers creepers, do we have to go through this again?” Lola said. “We’re not visiting a nunnery.” Lola rolled up the waistband of Bella’s calf-length skirt until the hem hung just below her knee. “Perfect,” she said. “The easiest way to interest young men is to raise the hem a few inches.”
“That’s the sort of interest Bella can do without.” Mama frowned.
“You’ve got to let her grow up, Rosa. When I was her age I had to beat the boys off with a stick.” Lola grinned at Bella. “And a haircut would do wonders for you.” She fingered Bella’s black braids.
“I admire Bella’s modesty,” Mama said. Bella had wanted to cut her hair for a year, but Mama said braids were more proper for a young girl.
Lola studied Bella. “Stand up straight and be proud of your figure.” She tried to unfold Bella’s arms from her chest. “Lord knows, gravity takes over soon enough.”
“Lola García!” Mama said.
Just then someone in the backyard yelled, “Would you stop it!”
“That must be Mary,” Bella said.
“Rocinante’s trying to get her purse again,” Isabel said.
“We’re in the kitchen,” Bella called.
“That goat will chew on anything,” Lola said. “She’s got some hot Cuban blood in her veins.”
“Grandfather says Rocinante is pure Spanish,” Isabel said.
“Your grandfather worries too much about purity,” Lola said.
“Hi, Mary.” Bella hugged her friend. Like Bella, Mary was shy about her height. She had frizzy black hair that she parted on the side, and her smooth skin was a shade darker than Bella’s. Mary’s face was always set in a quiet smile.
“We’ll have to work on your wardrobe some other time. For now”—Lola took Bella by the shoulders and turned her around—“we’ll brighten you up.” She pulled a tube of lipstick out of her purse and did a quick paint job on Bella’s lips.
“Me too.” Ju
anita thrust her face forward.
When Lola finished with Juanita, she offered the lipstick to Isabel and Mary, but they shook their heads.
Bella knew that Mary’s mother forbade her to use makeup. Mary was the real reason Bella wanted to wear a plain skirt tonight. Thanks to gifts from Lola and Grandfather, Bella owned four different outfits, but Mary’s only dress was thread-bare and patched. Like most folks in Ybor, Mary’s family had been struggling to survive the Depression. Her mother worked as a cleaning lady, and her father, who was a carpenter, had been forced to travel north looking for work.
Lola put her lipstick back in her purse. “Let’s fix that collar for you.” She turned down the collar of Mary’s dress and smoothed her hair.
“Thanks,” Mary said.
“My pleasure, honey,” Lola said. “You’re so pretty.” Then she turned to Mama. “What time do you want these ladies home?”
“Eleven at the latest,” Mama said.
“The dancing doesn’t even start until eleven in Ybor.” Lola did a half twirl and curtsied to Mary as Juanita and Isabel laughed.
“But you’re only taking them to the movies. And remember, you’re the chaperone.” Mama turned to Bella. “Make sure your aunt behaves.”
Bella chuckled. In Ybor City, mothers or aunts accompanied young girls when they went out in the evening, but Mama often joked that Lola was the one who needed the chaperoning.
“Do you want me to be like Mrs. Cianni?” Lola asked.
“Who?” Mary asked.
“Our neighbor,” Bella said. “She’s so strict that when her daughter went out on a date last summer with a boy who owned a car, she rode in the front seat while her daughter sat alone in the back.”
“Sounds like my mom,” Mary said.
“Let’s get a wiggle on, or all the good seats in that petting pantry will be taken,” Lola said.
“Would you stop!” Mama threw up her hands.
“Have a good evening, Rosa.” Lola waved as they stepped outside.
“Bye, Mama,” Bella called. She felt bad that Mama stayed home all the time. When Bella was a little girl, the high point of her week had been walking downtown to shop with Mama on Saturday, then watching her get ready to go out on a stroll with Papa. But since Papa’s funeral Mama hadn’t ventured farther from home than Cannella’s Market around the corner.
Lola grabbed Bella’s and Mary’s hands and swung their arms high. “La Séptima, here we come.”
La Séptima was Seventh Avenue. On Saturday nights hundreds of people gathered at the clubs, movie houses, bars, and cafés. Cigar workers were known for spending all their money on payday. “Live as if you’ll die tomorrow” was Aunt Lola’s favorite saying.
At the end of the block a tall policeman smiled and tipped his cap. “Good evening, Miss García.”
“Hi there, Billy,” Lola said. Billy Burns was the most popular policeman in Ybor City.
“Have a pleasant time tonight, ladies.”
As Burns whistled on his away, Lola said, “I just love the way a man looks in a well-pressed uniform.”
“He’d almost be cute if he wasn’t so old,” Bella said.
“Old!” Lola said. “Billy’s younger than I am!”
Bella and Mary giggled.
The sidewalks were overflowing. Vendors sang of tropical fruit, fresh-cut flowers, vegetables, and deviled crabs. The manisero man sold peanuts, the heladero man sherbet. The aroma of roasted coffee, hot bread, and cigars mingled with the spices of Italian and Cuban cooking. Groups of young men in their best white shirts and pants whistled and waved to each other, while young girls paraded in their fanciest dresses.
“Shall we promenade one time?” Lola asked.
Mary shook her head. “Not tonight, Tía Lola,” Bella said. Most young people walked a regular Saturday-night route, starting at Fourteenth Street. But Bella knew that Mary didn’t want to walk down the main street. Not only was Mary’s dress patched, but she was ashamed of her bright yellow shoes, which her mother had found in a sale bin the past fall. Mean boys called her Canary.
“You’re a couple of killjoys,” Lola said.
“We came to see a movie,” Bella said.
“Clark Gable is handsomer than these skinny boys.” Lola raised her voice to be heard over the crowd. “They look like starved chickens! But if I could get my hands on that Al Lopez—have either of you seen him tonight, by chance?—I’d marry that man in a minute.” Lopez was a catcher who had been called up to Brooklyn a few years before. He was Ybor City’s most famous citizen and its most eligible bachelor.
“He has a girlfriend,” Mary said.
“Don’t break my heart!”
“Besides, he’s way too young for you,” Bella laughed.
“Watch your tongue, vixen.”
As they walked home from the movie, Bella asked, “Weren’t Clark Gable and Greta Garbo a perfect couple?”
“I love a tall man with a mustache,” Lola said. “Don’t you, Mary?”
When Mary didn’t answer, Bella said, “What’s going on with you tonight?”
“What did you say?”
Bella stopped and looked at her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Tears welled up in Mary’s eyes.
“What is it?” Bella said.
Mary dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. “My mother—”
“Are her lungs worse?” Bella asked. Mary’s mother was recovering from a mild case of tuberculosis.
“She’s fine,” Mary said. “But you know things haven’t been easy.”
Bella nodded. Mary’s father had lost his job the year before, so he’d gone to Philadelphia and worked in construction. After sending money to the family through the summer, he’d been laid off and headed west.
“It’s been five months since we’ve heard from my dad.” Mary looked down at the sidewalk. “Our rent is past due. . . . I’m afraid we might have to move to my grandma’s.”
“Not the one in Jacksonville?” Bella asked.
“Yes.” Mary began to cry.
Bella reached into her skirt pocket to get a handkerchief. “Ouch.” She jerked her hand back. Under the iron streetlamp she could see blood oozing from a thin slit on her fingertip.
“How’d you do that?” Mary blinked back her tears.
“I took some razor blades from Pedro this afternoon, and I forgot they were still in my pocket,” Bella said.
“You yelped like a lobster pinched you.” Lola laughed. “It’s only a little cut.” She pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped up the finger.
“Serves me right for being so forgetful.” Bella tried to laugh, but the thought of losing Mary cut deeper than any blade.
CHAPTER 4
Sunday Dinner
When Bella woke the next morning, she tried to guess the direction of the wind before she opened her eyes. Today it wasn’t the usual easterly breeze that brought the smell of bread down the street from Ferlita’s Bakery. Nor was it a southerly wind carrying the sea scents from the bay, or a north wind bringing the odor of damp tobacco from El Paraíso. Instead, the sweet, tropical smell told her the breeze was drifting into town from the guava-processing plant to the west.
The first things Bella saw when she opened her eyes were two photographs hanging on her bedroom wall. One was a picture of the famous pilot Amelia Earhart, standing in front of her plane. The other was a present from Aunt Lola. It showed Luisa Capetillo, an old friend of Lola’s who had risen to the position of lector. Dressed in a man’s white suit, hat, shirt, and tie, La Lectura posed proudly beside her reading platform. On the bottom of the photo she’d written: “To Lola, my compadre.”
Each morning Luisa’s confident look inspired Bella to picture herself at a lectern. But Bella had shared her dream only with Mary and Lola.
“Laundry time.” Mama spoke softly and touched Bella’s shoulder so she wouldn’t wake Juanita and Isabel.
“Why can’t we rest on Sunday like normal people?” Bella groaned. Mama’s clothes
already smelled of woodsmoke and soap.
“Normal people don’t do other folks’ washing all week.” Mama kept her voice low. “That leaves Sunday for our laundry.”
Bella sighed as she got up and dressed. It wasn’t fair that she had to climb out of bed when her neighbor Mr. Navarro was snoring next door. Since the casitas on their block were only a few feet apart and everyone left their windows open, there were no secrets in the neighborhood. In the evenings the porches worked like a telegraph system, spreading news from house to house. When Pedro and his friends got into trouble, their parents found out about it before the boys arrived home.
As Bella walked down the hallway, she heard Mama visiting with Mrs. Navarro. They often talked through their windows as they cooked or did the dishes.
Bella looked at her finger. The thin cut reminded her of Mary. If only Mary’s father would write!
“Let’s get moving.” Mama stepped onto the back porch.
Not only did Bella help wash clothes on Sunday, but she and her sisters also had to clean the house, wash the windows, sweep the walk, and prepare for the family dinner with Grandfather and Aunt Lola. Though Pedro helped outside, Mama excused him from housework because he was a boy.
Bella knew she was lucky to have her grandfather visit so often. Most men in Ybor spent their free time in the local clubs and cafés, playing dominoes and drinking coffee, but Grandfather enjoyed being with his family. Though Mama was too proud to ask for help, Grandfather always bought food, and presents for the children. When Bella heard talk about how the Depression had hit Florida sooner and harder than the rest of America because of the real estate crash, she was especially grateful to Grandfather for watching over them.
The steeply angled rays of the sun flooded the backyard with green-gold light. As Bella stepped off the porch, a tiny, emerald-colored lizard darted behind their purple hibiscus. A fire crackled under the laundry tub where Mama stirred the clothes in the steaming water.
“It feels like summer already,” Bella said, looking up into the pale tendrils of Spanish moss that trailed from the oak limbs. Just then the bell at Our Lady of Mercy tolled, calling the parishioners to early mass. Only a handful of people in their neighborhood attended church regularly.
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