Roots of Indifferences

by Terri Ragsdale

  Why think of religion now? Don Federico thought. Religion has not helped matters at all. As a matter of fact, it had been the religion that had taught the Mexican-Americans to be humble and silent. Never were people so dreadfully superstitious and church-fueled, for fear of losing their souls. But the man had brought out the evil in himself—fighting the good and verses of evil. But evil did exist, and it surfaced commonly every day. How the silence of the night tormented his soul. He had so many unanswered questions!

  It was early morning before he got any sleep. But in his sleep, he dreamed that he was lost in an unknown land. A foreign land—wilderness—strange people, his father's ghostly presence, instructing him not to listen to what people were telling him, to go by his own conscience and instinct.

  CHAPTER 3

  Two days had come and gone, and the following morning was full of noisy activity. Every small child from Spanish Acres who could scream or yell had walked under Don Federico's upstairs bedroom window. Every dog in the vicinity and even Blanca's bell kept clamoring, ringing as the children played. Just listen to the noise, thought Don Federico, walking over to the window, looking down and realizing that he must have overslept. He wondered where the loud pounding was coming from earlier that had actually woken him.

  Downstairs, coming from the parlor he heard the music from Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata drifting throughout the upstairs balcony. Victoria's playing of her piano was sweet to his ears, even though she played the same tune over and over again, trying to perfect it. Quickly dressing, he hurried downstairs and met Mamá Maria coming halfway up.

  Maria, the head servant, was more like his mother than a servant. She was a friend who had been with the family since before he was born at Spanish Acres. She had nursed him with patience and love, cared for him throughout his manhood, given him advice, and continued to be loyal, knowing, yet keeping, many of the family's hush-hush secrets. She was a mixture of Mexican and Indian blood, born on a rancho close to Mission, Texas. Mamá Maria came from a starving family of ten children., often Don Federico's father had taken a business trip to Mission, where he discovered them and took pity on them. He gave them money and brought the young Maria to Spanish Acres to serve the family.

  Mamá Maria was a short, broad-hipped, heavy-set, dark-skinned woman with high cheekbones reflecting her Indian heritage. She took care of the household needs, from the kitchen to linens. She knew every inch, every step, every nook and cranny in the large hacienda, which had over twenty guest bedrooms. Nothing escaped her piercing eyes. Burdened by past calamities and sickness, she walked with a limp because of arthritis in her hips and knees, her heavy steps hammering the tile floors.

  Maria had been married to Manuel for over fifty years, never bearing him any children. While she saw to the needs inside the hacienda and gave orders, Manuel did everything outside from carrying mesquite wood for the open-kitchen stoves, to performing odd jobs, and running errands for everyone. He also kept the grounds clean and watered the gardens for the vines to bloom, and to please Doña Francisca.

  "Ay! Hijo," she said affectionately. "You slept late this morning," speaking in her half-English and half-Spanish lingo. "I brought you some black coffee."

  "Gracias, Mamá Maria, and, yes, I did sleep late—had trouble sleeping." Don Federico glanced at his pocket watch, knowing that clocks obeyed no rules in Spanish Acres. "Rough night!" he answered, taking the cup from her hand. "I hear Victoria playing her piano. Where is everybody this morning?" he asked, as they both made their way to the dining room for his breakfast.

  "Señora Adela left early this morning, and la Señora Doña Francisca went to check on some of the children who are sick from empacho in Spanish Quarters. Fred is playing outside and Carlos is in the kitchen with Manuel. Los vaqueros had breakfast real early this morning and left with Roy to round up the cattle." She then took a deep breath and said, "Dios mío, everyone is frightened."

  "We are too far from the border and there is no need to worry," Don Federico said in a calm, reassuring voice.

  "Ay! Hijo! Of course not," she said to please him, but not so sure herself. She clasped her hands over her large breasts and then wiped her hands on her red striped gingham apron.

  "Good! Now, tell me how the Mexican girl is doing this morning. What's her condition today? Is she getting any better? Has she eaten anything?" He was full of concern.

  "The girl ate a little warm atole, oatmeal. Olivia is sitting and watching her at this moment." Mamá Maria's speech slowed and began to reveal more confidence.

  "That's good! That's one good thing that has happened this morning. I'll have to talk to her about what happened out in the resaca and get a clearer picture of what took place. I'll wait until she's feeling better and wants to talk. Don Federico abruptly changed the tone of the conversation. "Have Manuel get the mules and wagon ready. I'm going to Harlingen to get some supplies. I'll also need to take care of a matter with Mr. Hanson from the Texas Rangers. And I'll need to get things for Victoria's fiesta coming up in the next couple of months. The money that we get from selling the cattle will help in the celebration."

  "Be careful with the Rinche," cautioned the old servant. "So many cruel stories are being told by the vaqueros how he hates the Mexican people." She paused for a minute, thinking, but kept walking. "Anything to do with Soledad, or the dead gringa?" she questioned.

  "No.," he said calmly, not wanting her to become a concern. "We have got to have things arranged before we take Victoria to school in Mexico." His voice became more authoritative. "I don't want anyone talking about Soledad's incident or the dead gringa. We know that there is a dead body out in the brasada, but there's nothing we can do about it. I don't want any of the women gossiping. I have already told Señor Esquibel to keep his cowhands quiet until I investigate the matter more fully. I'm going to probe ol' Hanson's thoughts and pulse, and maybe he'll mention something about any incident happening the days before. I also need to discuss my father's gold mine in Monterrey and see what Hanson plans to do about the working conditions since we became partners. I need to know what Hanson's responsibility is in helping to run the gold mine. Frankly, I think it's too much of a bother if you ask me."

  "Si," replied Mamá Maria attentively, nodding her head, as she ordered the kitchen helper to bring in Don Federico's breakfast as soon as possible. "I'll get Manuel and have him get the mule team ready. He must be already out in the barn." She hurried outside.

  Ophelia came in with a basket of corn tortillas, a plate of fried eggs, fried potatoes, mashed beans and strips of pork bacon, and placed them at Don Federico's place at the head of the large mahogany table. Already there was a big pitcher of fresh orange juice from the citrus orchards outside. Olivia entered the kitchen, coming from Soledad's room with a tray of dirty dishes.

  "What was all the pounding this morning?" Don Federico questioned one of the ladies as he started to eat his food. "Sounded like someone was using a hammer on one of the buildings, and so early!" He looked up at Olivia and waited for an answer. She hesitated, brought her hands to her mouth and burst out laughing.

  Ophelia began laughing too and related the story to Don Federico. "Last night, the vaqueros were telling ghost, spirit, and demon stories from around this area. And poor Pablo—you know how he believes everything you tell him, and how scared he gets. He went to the outhouse after eating, and while sitting in the privy, one of the barn cats meowed and began scratching the outhouse door. Well! Poor old Pablo forgot what he was doing and stormed out, taking the door and all—with his pants down around his ankles, wailing and yelling. Everyone laughed so hard that they had to use the latrine themselves. Pablo must not have slept at all because early this morning he found a hammer and was trying to fix the hinges on the door. He was so embarrassed; he left to see about rounding up the herd without eating any breakfast."

  "Well! Did he get it fixed?"

  "No!" replied Ophelia, laughing. "It's slanting sideways, and it screeches every time you open the door
." Both women exited into the kitchen chuckling.

  "Damn!" said Don Federico, “I’ll get Manuel to fix the damn shithouse door."

  The music from the sonata stopped and Victoria appeared from the parlor. "Did I hear you talking about me? Papá! I hope it's not important."

  "Yes, Hija," answered Don Federico. "We are starting to make plans for your future." He continued talking while eating his breakfast. "Going to school in Monterrey will take a lot of planning from your mother and me, and your mother insists that the convent school for young girls in Monterrey is better at training you in manners and in social behavior, to be a lady of refinement like your mother. Your mother and I feel better since your grandmother and grandfather live in Monterrey and close to the convent. Your future in-laws, the Del Calderónes, can come to see you while you're there too. You will need to grow up as a social lady and learn how to act in society. Here in Spanish Acres, things are done too liberally. After all, once you finish your courses and studies we'll have to make other plans. Your wedding to Ricardo will take much planning."

  "Why can't I pick my own husband?" Victoria argued. "In this new century, women are starting to decide for themselves who they will marry," she stated defiantly, stroking her long, dark hair and breaking into a coy smile, testing her father.

  "Foolishness and nonsense!" thundered Don Federico, failing to see the humor, and in no mood for sarcasm. "You are talking unintelligently. You have been promised to marry Ricardo. We have always wanted the best for you and what is best for your future. He comes from one of the finest families in Monterrey with high social ties, good blood, and he can give you a comfortable living.” Don Federico hurried to finish his food.

  Victoria rebelled, defying her father’s immutable word that was law. "He's too old for me!”

  "The Del Calderónes have been planning your wedding for a long time and are looking forward to the event. They have been social acquaintances of your mother's family for years. Yes, I agree, he is much older than you are, but in marriage, it doesn't make any difference when he's stable in property and money. We can not change the promise."

  Frustrated, Don Federico began to explain his reasoning. "Do you want to be an old maid? Just look at Ophelia and Olivia! Poor old maids that my father took pity on them so many years ago. Do you want to live like them? You need to get an education, get married, have children—that's the cycle of life. Women have no rights in anything, except household duties and taking orders from their husbands. I don't want to hear any more of this foolishness."

  Victoria countered his declaration. "I don't want to live in Mexico! And besides, I don't want to take orders from a strange husband that I don't even know!"

  "As long as you live in this household, you'll do as we say! And let this be the last time you speak that way and talk in that tone again, young lady! How dare you question our orders! Is that understood? All of a sudden women are starting to question things and are thinking for themselves—they want liberation—bullshit!"

  Victoria stood as in a trance, the teasing quickly ended. Stubbornly resisting her father's harsh demands, she squeezedd her hands so hard they were sweating. Such nonsense! She thought. Why couldn't she find her own husband? And besides, she could not stand the famous Del Calderónes—so overbearing, so demanding, thinking that they were so rich that they could buy any young bride and be able to control her. Marrying a man she did not love, because it was planned through family traditions was ridiculous. Arranged marriages were nonsense!

  She was going to be sixteen soon and felt she was old enough to say what was really on her mind. Could women not think for themselves? She had an intelligent mind, and besides, women got married for love. Already Victoria had the physical attributes of a full-grown woman. She was tall and slender, with a small waist and full, rounded breasts. Her long, dark-brown hair had a tint of gold from the sun and the hours she had spent outdoors. Her features were delicate, with a small nose, a delicate, sensual mouth, and sparkling hazel eyes. The workers and vaqueros in the hacienda called her by her nickname, La Borrada.

  On the edge of tears, she stared at her father without saying a word, red-faced, feeling humiliated, knowing that no matter what she did, it was never good enough. However, Fred, her younger brother, could do no wrong because he was a boy. Her father viewed her as less, a woman who had no rights. His commands were law, and on Spanish Acres, you did what he said. She had no other choice. She was trapped.

  It was at that moment that Roy and Fred walked into the dining room. With tears running down her face, Victoria glared at Roy and Fred, then turned, brushed her cheeks, and walked away.

  "Whoa—Wa's a goin' on?" Roy asked, sensing the tension. He had walked in on a family dispute.

  "Have we got all the cattle rounded up?" questioned Don Federico, angrily changing the subject. His priority now was getting the cattle loaded in the train's boxcars and on their way to San Antonio. "The sooner we get them loaded and shipped the better! We must have at least a thousand head. We need to hurry because the sky this morning looks like we might get some weather."

  "Al-reedy started," said Roy. "I left ol' Miguel Garcia and de others roundin' up all of 'em. By mañana we ought to be in good shape, patrón! We gits a good load o' cattle this time."

  "Well done! Good!" responded Don Federico, delighted with the progress. He wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin as he finished his breakfast and stood up. "Roy!" he commanded, "you and Fred get ready. We're heading to Harlingen and getting some supplies. We're low on bag balm for the cattle, coal oil, tobacco for de-worming the horses, and I need to do some bartering with the beef for other supplies. Fred, get yourself ready, and you better wear your riding hat. I thought you would like to come with Roy and me to get away from the ranch for a while, and maybe it will keep you out of trouble."

  Fred was only ten but looked older than his years. The future depended on this prodigy child, and only the best was expected of him when he grew up. Extremely tall for his age, he was already five foot, six inches, with beautiful brown hair and gray eyes. Thin as a post and full of nervous vitality, he was smart as a whip, but his awkward gait appeared clumsy, and mischievous, he was always getting into trouble. He pulled pranks on everyone he could get a laugh out of, and he loved to search for the mysterious things in nature. He was fascinated with animals, humans, plants, and anything that lived—anything that was warm and breathing. He loved life as a whole, with all its curious fascinations, and especially horses, which he called, "God's work of art."

  "What's keeping Manuel and the wagon?" Don Federico wondered aloud, looking at his pocket watch and pacing back and forth from the dining room to the kitchen. An hour had already passed since he had commanded the wagon and mules. Not having enough sleep had made his disposition most undesirable. His word was law, and he insisted everything is done in order. "That Manuel gets slower by the minute!" he hollered. "You'd think he was pulling a wagon full of rocks."

  Being quick and restless, Fred hurried out to the stable and peeked through a small opening between the cracks in the wood. He could see Manuel singing and take several sips of tequila from one of his many hidden bottles he stored in all corners of the stable where he worked.

  As usual, Manuel's stomach hung out of his pants, his shirt was undone, and his shoes untied. His graying hair, what little was left, stood straight up, wildly pointing in all directions. Preparing this wagon was a tedious job to Manuel, but with a smile on his face, he accepted the task. It was all in a day's work. With one hand he would scratch himself and then rub his head, while the other hand stayed glued to the bottle.

  Fred being Fred, he could not resist being the mischievous, little devil that he was. Sneaking in behind Manuel without being noticed, he pretended to be Don Federico. He lowered his voice in a deep growl and yelled out as loud as he could, "Man-uel!"

  "Ay! Ay! Ay!" cried Manuel as the tequila sprayed in all directions, down his face, his stomach and onto the front of his pants. Trying to juggle the
bottle with both hands and catch his breath, he was not fast enough—the bottle hit the floor with a crash. Pieces of glass flew everywhere.

  Fred laughed so loud he could be heard by all who were in the outdoor kitchen.

  "What's taking so long?" demanded Don Federico, striding toward the barn. "What's so funny?"

  Fred moved quickly and, with his feet, began covering the broken pieces of glass with the straw that lay on the barn floor.

  Glaring at Manuel, Don Federico noticed the wagon waiting outside and could smell the tequila. "What are you two up to? What's so funny?" he questioned.

  Using his quick wit, Fred replied, "Manuel has been running around all morning with the fly of his trousers unbuttoned and exposing himself."

  Manuel moved outside and wagged his head and began moving faster, adjusting the harness to get the team of mules ready. He fastened the whiffletree to the wagon, while his eyes fixed on Don Federico, with a guilty smile exposing what few teeth he had left. He said, "I'm getting too old and sometimes I forget to put it in!"

  "Well, Manuel," replied Don Federico, "we’ve got many loose women here, and they would surely take advantage of your condition." He was trying hard to keep his composure, repressing a grin, and then joined in with a hearty laugh, which was a rare occurrence. "You being such a desirable hombre could get you in trouble with Mamá Maria,” he teased.

  Roy already sat on his horse, waiting at the entrance of the stable, and caught the drift from Manuel. Why! Dat ol' coot, he thought. He's been at it again...a drinkin'. He could smell the strong odor of liquor yards away.

  "Sí Jefe! The wagon is ready," said Manuel finally, as he rambled on with a thousand unnecessary explanations about a chubasco coming. He could feel it in his ol' bones. He could smell it in the wind. And from the way the birds were flying this morning, a storm was brewing in the Gulf.