“Some of the people Mister Silver criticizes were highly respected and well-educated in their own language and country. Others were uneducated, simple, hardworking folks, anxious to start again without the fear of starving, being robbed, kidnapped or murdered. Just because you had the good fortune of being born in this country makes you no smarter, more deserving or more civilized than someone born elsewhere.
“On that subject, didn’t your family hail from Ireland, Judge O’Leary? If your family had not been allowed into this country or you’d been denied an education, where would you be today?”
“Don’t compare me to those illiterates!” the judge sputters.
“I want to introduce you to this young woman,” Doctor Taylor says, ignoring the judge. “Whatever happens, I’m going to ensure she gets a proper education, but I expect this community to provide her and all children the education they deserve.”
“Doctor?” I tug on his sleeve as politely as I can.
“Yes?” He tilts his head. “Evangelina, do you have something to say?”
My parents signal the three men in sombreros and the woman from the mercado and her son to move forward. All seven hurry forward and stand next to my tía.
“Yes, sir. Thank you. I . . . I . . . want to learn at school, and thank you for all you teach me, but . . .” I look out across the rows and rows of faces. “Did God not say, ‘Love thy neighbor as yourself,’ and ‘Let us not love in word, neither in tongue, but in deed and in truth?’”
Some people stare at me, astonished. Some smile, and others whisper to each other or move restlessly in their chairs.
“You are right young lady, that is what the good Lord said,” Mister Greer pipes up. He places both hands on his cane, pushes to a stand and sets his hat on his head. “I wish you and your family every success here, Evangelina. Despite all of Frank Silver’s bluster, the people of Seneca believe in the Lord’s teachings, and they’ll find it in their hearts to live His word. Now, I’m not in charge, but I do believe this meeting is over, unless anyone else has something to add?”
People stand up and gather their things.
“I didn’t think so,” he continues. “Everything we needed to know has already been said.”
Mister Greer gradually makes his way down the aisle, and others file in behind.
“I have not dismissed the meeting yet!” Judge O’Leary rails.
A tall thin man in a dark suit and bow tie steps from behind the table, puts his arm around the judge’s shoulder and leads him back toward the other council members. Together, they move as one to a door at the front of the room and file out.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Enemy of Triumph
November 13, 1911
We approach the house and jabber non-stop about what just happened. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this good. I wish Abuelito could have seen me up there! He always said, “Fear is the enemy of triumph,” and he was right! I was brave tonight, for once. There was no predictable outcome, and it was a wonderful surprise ending!
“The doctor is a hero in my mind, as well as you, my dear,” Tía says, beaming. “You were so brave!”
I hug Tía’s arm and bounce up the walkway. “I’m ashamed to admit this, but I can hardly wait to see the look on Rosemary’s face at school tomorrow!”
Papá pulls open the door. “After you, ladies.” He bows and ushers us in.
“Hello!” I call out cheerfully. “Tío?”
I wish Elsa was home so I could share it with her, too. She got a job at Lady Wright’s Boutique and Alterations last week and usually stays late.
“What’s going on?” Tío Mario emerges from his room with Tito squirming and fussing in one arm and Leticia holding his free hand.
“Mamá!” Leticia runs to her mother.
“Hello, sweet girl,” Tía says, crouching down to kiss her cheek. “It was quite an evening, Mario,” she announces. “We’ll be talking about this for a long time to come! Let me see if I can get them both down for the night, and I’ll join you when I can.”
She walks down the hall with Leticia trailing behind her. The bedroom door closes with a click.
“Where’s Domingo?” Mamá asks.
“He fell asleep on our bed,” Tío says, gesturing toward the room.
“M’ija, tell Tío about the meeting,” Mamá says as Papá slides her coat off her shoulders.
“Have a seat, and I’ll go get us something to drink,” Mamá offers. “You go ahead. I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Tío, you should have heard Doctor Taylor!” I begin. “And Frank Silver! Doctor Taylor made him look so foolish! He said . . . I mean Frank Silver said, not Doctor Taylor . . . he said we’re part of an inferior race and we’re not as smart at the Anglos! Can you believe it? And . . .”
“Hold on a minute, Evangelina.” Tío holds up his hand. “Slow down. Why don’t you start at the beginning? First, you got to the courthouse. Then someone started the meeting. Was it Frank Silver?”
Mamá brings glasses and a pitcher of hibiscus tea. Tío pulls a bottle of tequila out of a cupboard in the living room and pours two shot glasses, one for him and one for Papá. Mamá goes and gets her own shot glass.
We settle in the living room.
“We had a remarkable experience at the Town Hall meeting tonight,” Papá begins. “It started with Frank Silver filling people’s ears with complete nonsense . . . that we’re less intelligent, carry diseases and have low moral standards! The whole meeting was to get people on his side, to bar our children from getting an education.”
“Low moral standards?” Tío Mario repeats indignantly. “That bigot wouldn’t bury my stillborn son!” He tips his shot glass and swallows the tequila in one gulp.
“He’s a hypocrite,” Papá scoffs. “Doctor Taylor got him, though, when he produced his birth certificate. His real name’s Francisco Silva! He’s half Mexican and half Spanish himself! His proposal to adopt that irrational, ignorant law would bar his own daughter and son from school.
“A toast! To Evangelina, to Doctor Taylor, to equality!” Papá announces, glass high in the air.
Glasses clink. Such a happy sound.
November 14, 1911
I sit up on the floor in a tangled heap of blankets. Elsa and Domingo breathe slow, regular, rumbly sleeping breaths. They’ve gotten used to sleeping on the hard floor. But me, I can’t wait to sleep on a real bed again!
“That’s wonderful, Maríaelena!” Tía cries from down the hall.
I stand up, put on my housedress and scurry to the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“We got a letter from your sister this morning,” Mamá explains. “God has answered our prayers! Your brother is better!” Mamá grabs my arm and squeezes. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Unless there’s an objection, I’ll catch a train tomorrow morning. I don’t want to wait,” Papá proposes. “I’ll have to sell our last rifle to get the money for a ticket, but so be it.”
“Thank God!” I clap my hands together. “Did she say anything more about Tomás?”
“Just that he’s gotten stronger and is eating like a little piglet again.” Mamá grins and hands me her handkerchief.
I wipe my nose. “And Abuelito? Did she say anything about Abuelito?”
“He’s had a bit of a cough that he just can’t shake, but otherwise, he’s fine,” she assures me. “René sold half the herd. It was the best he could do, and perhaps it’s best they didn’t sell them all. If we go back, the remaining cattle will be there for us to start again.”
“If.” She said, “if.”
“I’ll leave the cross with the Iglesia de la Paz, Church of Peace, as we discussed,” Papá adds. “Father Roberto will be more than surprised.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mariposa Wings
December 4, 1911
I’m early as usual and pass the time under my favorite orange tree picking long-stemmed clovers and tying them in
to a ring. My fifteenth birthday is six months away, so I resist the urge to put it on my head like a crown and pretend I’m a princess. Growing up means having less fun. At least, I think it does. I’ll have to ask Elsa, since she’s already fifteen and a half.
The sun emerges from behind a cloud. I lift my face to the sky, close my eyes and feel the warmth soak into my face and body.
“Can I sit with you?” The creamy light glistens behind Selim’s dark silhouette.
“Oh, I did not see you come,” I exclaim. “You can sit.” I pat the grass beside me.
He plunks down and settles in cross-legged. He smells of soap and something vaguely earthy and sweet. Ahhh, I close my eyes and take it in. Does he always smell this good?
“Evangelina?”
“I sorry! You say something?” Stop smelling him and start listening to him!
“Um, yes. I said I haven’t been to school lately. You might have noticed.” His curly black hair pops out from under an old, scuffed up cowboy hat.
“Yes, I notice.” I say, nonchalantly imagining how his hair would feel if I ran my fingers through it.
“I was working at the mill. They lost three of their men to railroad jobs. I came here to tell you . . . to let you know . . . I won’t be coming to school anymore.”
Please, no!
“I’ve been coming here for almost two years, and there isn’t much more for me to learn. The savings we brought with us is gone. To be honest, I’ve only been coming the past few months to see you.”
I clamp my jaw and hold my breath so my chin won’t wobble.
“Evangelina?” He shifts his body, so we’re face to face.
“Yes?”
“I want to keeping seeing you. Do you understand? I want to know you better.”
My insides feel wiggly and strange and wonderful, but my tongue is paralyzed.
“So, what do you say?”
Phew! He rescued me from having to come up with something.
“Can we . . . spend more time together? I want us to be close. Do you understand what I’m asking?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He lays his warm hand on top of my cool one.
The school bell rings abruptly. The sounds of noisy children fill the air. Where did they come from?
“When will I see you?” he asks.
“I do not know,” is all I can manage. My brain is nothing but mush!
“I will come here every school day at eleven o’clock until I get regular work. Meet me across the street at the flat rock where we went on your first day here.” He points across the road. “We’ll have lunch together.”
“Yes, I be there,” I reply.
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He lifts the clover crown gingerly and places it on my head. “I pronounce you my ‘Princess Evangelina.’” He lightly kisses the top of my hand and runs off. His long strides carry him farther and farther until he disappears into the horizon.
Rosemary does her best to ignore me, which is fine, because at least she doesn’t go out of her way to be rude like before. After all, she and everyone else knows she’s part Mexican, so it’s possible we’re related! Wouldn’t that be funny?
“Hi, cousin!” I said to her as we passed in class the day after the Town Hall meeting.
She stared straight ahead and stomped off. That’s all I ever said about it. I could have teased her more. That’s what she would have done to me, if it were the other way around, but that’s not the kind of person my parents raised. But sometimes, on the inside and only on the inside, I gloat. I revel in the memory of that Town Hall meeting, my friendship with Doctor Taylor and my brief moment of bravery. I can’t be a good Catholic girl every moment of every day, can I?
Missus Abbott won’t look in my direction, even when I raise my hand. I work hard and learn, despite her. But today, I admit, is an exception. I cannot stop thinking about Selim and what might be. What might be. What might be. I like the sound of that. I imagine his hand on mine. I imagine him squeezing my hand and touching my cheek. I imagine his full lips on mine. ¡Híjole! Is it right to dream about something . . . something, so, forbidden? What would my parents think of my friendship with a Lebanese boy? In Mexico, it would be a definite “no.” In Mexico, even I wouldn’t have considered it. But here, to my own surprise, I’m considering it. I’m more than considering it. I want it more than words can say.
I don’t go to Missus Clayton’s class in the afternoon anymore. After the Town Hall meeting, no one showed up, so they canceled the Americanization Program. I’m grateful I no longer have to listen to her teach me how to become “a neat and efficient house servant or skilled manual laborer.”
Doctor Taylor’s medical practice is my afternoon class now, three days a week. More foreigners come to his office than before, some even from the next town over. I interpret for the Spanish speakers, and Doctor Taylor pays me an extra dollar, although plenty of patients don’t pay him with money. They give him things, including a top hat, a saddle, chickens, bales of hay for Tillie, firewood, loaves of bread, eggs, spices, jugs of honey, bolts of fabric and other odds and ends. One man paid him with a bottle of expensive whiskey. The doctor trades some of it to the Seneca General Store and gets cash in return. Everything else he uses.
Today, I sweep, mop, dust and fold laundry. I like helping around the doctor’s house. Besides, his mother can’t do much herself after falling and breaking her wrist. At first she barked orders at me and slammed doors when I was around, but now, we talk a little. Bringing her pan de dulce or biscochitos helps. Last Saturday I made a special trip to take her meatball soup with zucchini, corn, tomatoes, potatoes and a rich, spiced broth. Good food softens hearts, Abuelito always says.
With the housecleaning done and Doctor Taylor on a house call, I head home for Domingo’s birthday dinner.
The family sits at the kitchen table, moved just for tonight into the living room to celebrate Domingo’s fifth birthday. White candles glow on each side of one of Tía’s painted vases filled with cheerful geranium flowers.
“The arroz con pollo was delicious, Tía,” Enrique says, patting his stomach, “but I ate too much of it.”
“I hope you have room for praline candy,” Tía says over her shoulder as she steps into the kitchen. “Your Mamá made it, so you know it’s good.”
“Oh,” Enrique groans, “I suppose I can make room for just one, or maybe two, possibly three.”
Tía, Elsa and I clear the dishes away. Mamá picks up the platter with the candy and carries it to the living room. We trail behind her and launch into the birthday song.
Estas son, las mañanitas, que cantaba el Rey David, a las muchachas bonitas, se las cantamos a ti. Despierta mi bien, despierta, mira que ya amaneció. Ya los pajarillos cantan, la luna ya se metió.
Qué linda está . . .
“¡Feliz cumpleaños, Domingo! Happy Birthday, Domingo!” Papá and Tomás shout from the kitchen. They must have snuck in the back door!
“Mamá!” Tomás runs to Mamá and throws his arms around her. “I missed you!” He rubs his face back and forth in her hair.
“Oh, I missed you so much, m’ijo. I don’t ever want us to be apart again, ever. Thank God, you are well. Let me look at you.” Tears stream down her face.
She sets him down, kneels, puts her hands on his shoulders and looks him over. “You’re so thin, my little one! Do you feel all right?”
“Yes, Mamá. I can’t run or I get out of breath. But the doctor said I’ll be able to run fast as lightning again someday. See?” His boney knees pump up and down as he runs in place. “Is that candy?” he squeals, pointing to the platter on the table.
“Here, m’ijo,” Tía says, passing the platter to him. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m your tía Cristina, and this is your tío Mario. What a sweet angel face you have! We’re so glad you made it here safely.”
“Tomás! Tomás! Come here!” I nearly shout. “I can’t wait another second!”
“See, Evan
gelina, see? I’m okay now!” He turns in a circle and bites into his sweet treat, sending candy crumbs all over the floor. “Francisca took good care of me.”
“Thank the Lord!” Mamá exclaims.
Enrique rumples Tomás’ hair. “How is Abuelito?”
“He is fine, but not the rancho.” Tomás frowns at Papá.
Mamá’s smile evaporates. “Adán? What does he mean?”
“I was going to tell you later. Maybe I should wait until after dessert?” he suggests.
“Adán, tell me now.”
Papá squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before he begins. “It was quite a shock when I arrived. They set the place on fire, and there was almost nothing left. The house, the barn, all of it, and they took the remaining cattle and goats, all the animals except Álvaro. He was with Francisca and René.” Papá runs his fingers across his forehead, his gaze unfocused and distant.
“What?!” My brain reels. “That can’t be!” I put my hand over my eyes. Our home! We were supposed to go back home!
“Who did it? The villistas?” Enrique asks.
“Yes, m’ijo, a week before I arrived, soldiers tore the town apart just as we feared. And it wasn’t just Mariposa. The neighboring towns suffered the same fate. When Pancho Villa runs out of money, he funds his army by robbing trains, stealing livestock and ransacking every town he crosses. That man is destroying Mexico at the same time that he’s trying to save it.”
“What about the rest of the family? Please say they’re safe!” Elsa implores.
“René’s mother passed away even before the villistas came through, God rest her soul . . . but we knew it was coming. Francisca, René and the rest of his family are all well.”
I tap Papá on the shoulder softly. “And Abuelito?”
“He is . . .” he pauses, “. . . your Abuelito is safe. He’s had a terrible cough for over a month. Francisca sent word to Doctor Gonzales to stop by and check on him. Your abuelito’s slowing down, but he is seventy-three years old. It was extremely hard leaving him, but he sends his love and prayers and asked us all not to worry about him.”
Evangelina Takes Flight Page 15