Roots of Indifferences

by Terri Ragsdale

  Returning, Victoria would ride in quietly, take her horse to the stables, and unsaddle, then creep through the side entrance of the house and up the cement stairs to her bedroom. Luck was with her, and nobody suspected her clandestine, adventurous, escapade; not even the dogs gave out a whimper.

  Doña Adela, who was an excellent and patient teacher, was very generous. She gave Victoria a deck of old cards she had stored from years past and was able to teach Victoria the principals of card reading. She also showed her oil herb potions and how to protect herself from enemies that would infringe on her nature. Victoria was smart and intelligent and picked up things quickly. Doña Adela also taught her how to use her "third eye," which was unknown at that time, to use her mental awareness spiritually for the betterment of mankind. With that teaching, came "visualization," a method of seeing things in the spirit form to manifest conditions, create movements, and objects.

  The old Bruja was captivating and full of knowledge and wonders. One of the things that stayed on Victoria's mind perhaps more than anything was the power of the moon. Doña Adela introduced Victoria to the Old Farmer's Almanac. From the flimsy booklet, she showed her the meaning of the signs. "The new moon is powerful," she would say. "It brings in the newness, and you can ask wishes that you want to come to you, pertaining to the placement of certain signs at the time. All you have is to ask out loud, or make a ritual. The full moon is meant to make wishes go away and you can burn your wishes then." The teaching and studying of the moon was very intriguing, and to Victoria, it was like discovering a mysterious secret. Within the short period of time, before they left for Monterrey, Victoria felt comfortable enough to do a reading. She would spend hours at a time in her bedroom, sometimes after midnight, fascinated and intrigued, studying the cards, without getting caught.

  CHAPTER 13

  In the wee hours of the morning on December the eighteenth, Don Federico, Fred, and little Carlos, with the help of Manuel, loaded up the six-passenger’ Cadillac coach and set off with Victoria and Felicia for the depot at Mercedes City. There, they would meet Tía Emma, who would join them on the trip. The train would carry them as far as Mission, where they would spend the night, then travel south to the town of Madero, and finally to Reynosa, taking a Mexican train to the city of Monterrey, Mexico.

  Already Emma was waiting impatiently for them at the train station, wearing a large feathered hat, matching pink parasol, and gloves that coordinated with her fancy full-length dress, with dozens of trunks and luggage sitting on the pavement. Her two maids stood by as Emma walked back and forth in her tight pink shoes, looking like overstuffed pork. "What took you so long?" she said to the group, stomping her foot and waving her hands and parasol. She never greeted Don Federico, and she never acknowledged Felicia's presence. "The train is leaving in an hour. And I thought nobody was going to show up in time!"

  The mood changed dramatically, quickly becoming tense, as Don Federico confronted Emma. "No need getting your feathers all ruffled up! It takes longer to drive from my place than yours. You can practically walk to the depot, live blocks away," he answered back. "What a way to start a trip," he mumbled to himself, his face flushed. He didn't care, since he had never liked her anyway, only tolerated her because of Francisca.

  Manuel laughed, showing his uneven teeth, and helped unload the trunks and luggage. He was glad he was returning to Spanish Acres, knowing that the two-day trip was not going to be a pleasant one for Don Federico and Emma.

  By mid-afternoon, the train had arrived in the town of McAllen. It was evident that most of the surrounding land was being cleared for the construction of new homes, using lumber shipped from Fort Brownsville.

  Traveling straight west and within several hours, they passed the old town of Mission. Citrus trees by the thousands stood erect in the sun, loaded with fruit. The old Franciscan fathers brought the seeds to the location of the small old Church of the Lady of Guadalupe. It was in this same church that Don Federico's three children were baptized.

  The passengers on the train would glance at graves along the side of the railroad tracks, indicating that some poor soul had either been murdered or killed on the spot. Wreaths of dried flowers hung on the homemade crosses, faded by the burning heat of the sun. Emma, who sat in front of Don Federico with her maids, was always making comments. She would automatically cross herself saying, "Poor souls.”

  Don Federico, in a fit of frenzy, would shift his position in the uncomfortable seat, cross his legs and roll his eyes, not wanting to comment on Emma's hypocritical remarks.

  It was late at night when they reached a Ranchito on the other side of Mission, the location that had made news and stirred up much controversy among the Mexican natives who lived close to the border in the late 1870s. It was during the Cortina and Guevas War that many Mexicans had died under the leadership of Leander H. McNelly, head of the Texas Rangers at that time. The comment was that "many a chili-pepper" was killed, according to the saying of the white men, who laughed about it. A time of great turmoil, it was called the "Terrible Seventies."

  This side of Fort Ringgold, the travelers stayed with the old, prestigious family of Del la Torres, Emma's friends, when she had first lived there and had married Judge Howard Ale. The family was anxiously waiting for them at the Mission train depot with their buggies and received them joyously.

  The following morning, they left early, thanking the family for their gracious hospitality and accommodations. Then two of their drivers drove them in two large buggies south into the old town of Madero and into Mexico. Crossing the Rio Grande River by a large ferry, people of both nationalities were passing back and forth. On the American side were Texas Rangers, watching the border for any arising problems. All of the Rangers were wearing Stetson hats, heavy boots, and pistols on both hips.

  On the Mexican side, the region instantly appeared depressed. They viewed a drab jumble of whitewashed, box-shaped houses, with flat roofs, and windows at rude right angles with no screens, but with heavy iron bars to prevent intruders. There were thousands of dilapidated jacales and other ramshackle living quarters; others were plain wooden huts built next to the cobblestone sidewalk, or clinging to the sides of narrow ravines, so close that any strong flood would wash them away.

  Old people sat next to the dusty sidewalks and at the train depot, with faces that were lost in time, wearing wretched, ragged clothes, begging for alms. Busy vendors in the dirty streets were selling soft drinks made of fruits; others were selling cheeses and homemade foods. Young girls could be seen with babies in their arms, looking old before their time—hard, swarthy faces covered with black rebozos. Barefoot children in tattered clothes ran through the filthy puddles of stagnant water, begging and selling trinkets. Flies were everywhere. Mounted soldiers rode by looking weary with dull, dusty uniforms and armed to the teeth with ammunition.

  These were people who for centuries had been asleep, caught in a socialistic world, and struggled now that their souls were awakening from their stupor. Comments among the travelers getting onto the train in Reynosa stirred in whispers. "Be careful of the Federalists. The Díaz regime is hard and cruel, if they become suspicious."

  There was little doubt, in spite of the bad treatment the Mexican people got in Texas, they were lucky compared to the peasants living under these deplorable conditions. A sickening sensation overcame them as they surveyed the degraded region, even though nobody said a word.

  Inside the train was packed with people of all ages sitting in the aisles, others with three or four children and babes in arms. Luckily, Don Federico found three empty seats, as the rest sat behind him and the two boys. The swaying of the train and the loud clatter of the wheels made it impossible to hear anything anyone was saying. Behind Victoria and Felicia were three men who had indulged too much or were being very patriotic—two sang heart-pulsing ballads, their lips flapping like clothes on the line during the windy March season. The other hombre looked like a worn-out old shoe. Many muttered and proteste
d the conditions of the close quarters. There was a distasteful smell of moldy body sweat.

  The very poor peasants sat to the back and carried everything they possessed, with chickens, birds in cages, or goats, and occasionally one could hear a small pig squeal.

  Once in awhile, the train would screech its brakes and force everyone forward in their seats, as their hearts leaped into their throats. Victoria and Felicia would trade looks and giggle out loud, causing Don Federico to turn and check on them.

  The train rolled and clattered in urgency. The landscape swelled away and softly touched from the horizon to horizon—sandy, grayish ground with barren patches of mesquite and cactus in some dense areas. The land that always lacked water looked lonely and dry; only the mesquite, the sharp-thorned coma, the black chaparral, and the rat-tailed tasajillo could survive in this desolate region.

  By mid-afternoon, they had reached Monterrey. It had been a seven-hour ride. Monterrey was a beautiful, sleepy city that sat in the rich mineral country, surrounded by the high mountainous Sierras. It was the Pittsburgh of Mexico, having the biggest steel plants south of the border. Most of the industries were run by rich investors from the United States. The huge smelters supplied steel, by train and by ship, to all parts of the world. High above loomed the mountain called Saddle Mountain, El Sierro de la Silla, a rugged peak whose hump resembled a gigantic camel. The weary travelers delighted in the breathtaking scenery and the lighter air.

  The majority of the houses that they could see were made of adobe and stucco. It seemed like a different world altogether. Streets were narrow and crossed at right angles, with a huge plaza and a fountain in the middle of the city. They marveled at the large, gold-embellished cathedral, from which peasants were coming and going, making their yearly pilgrimage, as it was getting close to time for the Posadas.

  Outside the train depot, servants patiently waited for them, one in a large black carriage, the other with a buggy to accommodate their trunks and luggage. It was already getting late in the afternoon, and they felt the rays of the pale, setting the sun caress them. The carriage took them up the mountainous path to the mansion of the Hinojosa's estates, a long and wearisome trip, even though the leather seats were plush and comfortable.

  Don Federico looked tired and, up to this point, had very little to say. He studied the countryside dotted with cypress and sabino trees common to the region. High in the mountains were the Aztec pinos, which were dominant in the Sierras. Fields of corn, the most important crop of Mexico, grew in small areas against the mountainside throughout the fertile land.

  His thoughts were lost in a hellish nightmare. First and foremost, he and his children were anxious to see Doña Francisca. Where was the Federal Marshal who was supposed to get in touch with him before he left? What was Hanson's plan? And if Hanson was going to get rid of him, how was he going to do it? He knew that the old devil's malicious plan would involve something of a surprise. He also wondered about Juan. Had he gotten his act together? Did he get the individual who was supposed to do the job, and on time?

  The carriage moved slowly through a landscape of beautifully trimmed pinos that curved past the iron gates and under a beautiful iron carved archway opening onto the magnificent grounds of what heaven must look like. Yards away peasants stood ready to greet them on the sidewalk under the stucco porch in their white pants and shirts. They all went diligently to work, unloading the trunks, packages, and luggage, separating them to each room that each individual was going to occupy.

  Doña Gloria Hinojosa greeted and kissed everyone. "Welcome, welcome," she kept repeating. "Juana! Please hurry and see that the tables are set out on the patio. We'll be eating very shortly. Make sure that Don Federico's bedroom is ready. I want him to stay in the family guest room with all of the windows looking over the acreage. He'll love it!"

  The white-haired servant nodded formally and went on her way through long corridors of colorful Mexican tile. She clapped her hands and gave out instructions to the rest of the servants. The whole area came alive, with people giggling and chattering as they embraced each other.

  Don Federico instantly asked about his wife. Fred and Carlos were right behind him. "Is she well? Is Doña Francisca feeling better? Where is she?"

  "Ah! Yes," replied Señora Hinojosa, looking very happy. She turned around and, without finishing her statement, was surprised to see her daughter standing in the middle of the winding stairs, with her arms wide open. She was wearing a long white gown and sash. Her hair was down at her sides, and she looked like an angel, but very pale. "Hija!" cried, Doña Hinojosa. "You shouldn't have gotten up out of bed."

  Don Federico wasted no time. He rushed up the stairs and kissed her. She embraced him. "I have missed you terribly," he whispered to her, with tear-filled eyes.

  "You have no idea how much I missed you and the family. Where is Victoria, the children?"

  "Mamá!" cried all three as they rushed to her side and hugged her. "Mother, I have missed you," replied Fred.

  "Me, too!" answered little Carlos with his head cuddled against his mother's leg.

  "When are you coming home, Mamá?" asked Victoria. "You are looking well, and pretty like always." All of the children asked her questions, but Doña Francisca did not answer, as they were interrupted by La Señora Hinojosa.

  "Come!" she yelled, clapping her hands." The food is getting cold. Lets us all go out onto the patio. Dinner is being served, and I know that all of you are hungry. Come! Francisca, you can talk to your children out in the patio," said her mother, from below the stairway. "José has been gone all day, trading some bulls with the neighboring haciendas. He should return any minute now," she said. The two boys ran out into the patio, and Victoria and Felicia followed. Emma's maids went to their quarters.

  Downstairs, Emma hugged Doña Francisca. "You are looking well!" she said. "Let's go out into the patio where we can talk and eat. I'm starving to death!"

  Don Federico, who was walking on Doña Francisca's left side holding her hand, spoke out. "I'll bet you are!" he said, rolling his eyes and making a face.

  "Querido, don't be that way," replied Doña Francisca, and she hugged him again.

  Out in the patio, the scenery was open and beautiful. Here was peace and tranquility in the open countryside of Monterrey, overlooking the tall majestic mountains, a living paradise where the air was lighter and clearer. All rooms, long halls, and corridors of the mansion surrounded and opened onto the patio. Several stucco stairways from the outside led to the sleeping quarters upstairs. Many water fountains were situated around the courtyard, with cupid statues spurting water that flowed like a waterfall down into ponds with colorful Mexican tile set around the edge. The ponds were filled with goldfish swimming and yellow water lilies on the surface exploding into full bloom. Tall palm and bananas trees reached the ceiling of the large, arched doorways. Papaya plants were all around the corner arches. There were other plants and many flowers: jasmine vines and gardenia bushes that filled the halls with exotic fragrance; large colorful hibiscus; bougainvillea vines in bright maroon, pink, and white that reached the top of the upstairs corridors. Clay pots stood on the colorful Mexican tile at every entrance, containing different varieties of small, hanging flowers. Wooden and iron cages hung from the ceiling on the open archways, with talking parrots and other tropical birds chattering away among themselves.

  At the end of the hallways and far back from the big house were the many living quarters of servants, vaqueros and the several majordomos who ran the hacienda. Next to the quarters were the open kitchens, with huge adobe ovens and earthen pots. The women were singing, and while some were busy grinding the soft corn nixtamal in their metates, others clapped it into the dough. Beside the open kitchen were large lavaderos, laundry tubs that served the peasants for doing their washing, laundry, and bathing.

  The land sloped down toward the distant horizon, with huge stables of horses, and corrals where the prized bull was kept. On both sides of the mansion we
re rows of citrus orchards, brightening the scenery with colorful orange and yellow mangoes, guava, and avocado trees in a forestry of green. Rows of grapevines full of luscious varieties of the fruit could be seen in the distance.

  A large glass table had been set out under a pagoda erected on the cobblestones. Large kerosene lanterns and fire poles were set around the luxurious setting and the finest glassware shine in the burning lights. Twenty servants hovered around the tables, surrounding the family with an array of food: arroz con pollo; hot homemade corn tortillas piled in baskets and wrapped in white linen, chile; and mole. Black beans were fried and served in large cut-glass bowls with tortilla chips and sliced jicama; chayotes, Mexican squash, had been boiled and mixed with garlic and other spices and blended with fresh butter; salsa was made with fresh tomatoes and spicy red chilies; two-inch cuts of boiled red beefsteaks; cuts of freshly cooked fish soaked in tangy sweet sauce; slices of fresh papaya was served like the cantaloupe in Texas and the mango fruit. Fruit juice of the guava tree was served cold and refreshing to the two girls. Don Federico and Emma were served red wine.

  Doña Francisca ate very little, picking at some of the fish and a slice of fruit. She stayed as long as she was able since the cold night was harmful to her frail lungs. The excitement of seeing her husband and children was overwhelming. She began coughing and held a handkerchief to her mouth. She then excused herself, feeling embarrassment, as servants helped her to the upstairs bedroom.

  Later in the evening little children from the hacienda dressed in colorful costumes came and sang songs of the little Christ Jesus, for it was the Posada season. Don Federico, Emma, Gloria, and the two girls gave each child some money as a token of goodwill for the coming season and for prosperity to all. Several workers with guitars sang around the patio for entertainment.

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