‘Don’t be too sure of that.’ The reply came so quickly that it silenced Luisa for a moment; and then she said slowly, ‘Well, that being so we could be of like mind and beat him at his own game.’
‘What would you do?’ Tilly’s question was flat.
‘Well, I would go over to the little Cardenas and I’d introduce myself, and I’d be nice to Leonilde; then I would take the child by the hand and bring it over here, up the front steps and into his very presence. And something more, I would indicate that I had known they were coming.’
Tilly moved her head slowly. ‘No, no; I . . . I don’t think I’d be able to do that, Luisa. And what would Matthew say anyway?’
‘Well, it would take the wind out of their sails, and it would show that old devil straightaway whose side you were on. And if I’m any judge of men it would make Matthew become a better slave than either One, Two, Three or Four.’
As they stared at each other Tilly’s mind raced. It would be a wonderful retaliation if only she could do it. Was she strong enough to carry it out? No, not on her own she wasn’t; perhaps with Luisa by her side. She said, ‘You know I know no Spanish, do . . . do they speak English?’
‘No, very little, just a word here and there. Spanish yes, but little English. But I tell you what, I’ll come and interpret for you. What do you say?’ There was a look of devilish glee in Luisa’s eyes that was almost frightening and for a moment longer Tilly hesitated, for she sensed that Luisa was anticipating a personal triumph through the failure of her father’s plan. But what did it matter as long as she herself beat the man.
Getting to her feet, she said, ‘Right. Right, Luisa. Let’s go . . . ’
The Mexicans had unloaded the cart and taken the household goods into the last empty cabin when Tilly and Luisa arrived at the door. The two men, the young woman and the child were all in the room. It was strange, Tilly thought immediately, that the father looked very like Alvero Portes, with the same shaped features, the same stance; but the son wasn’t half the size and, unlike that of his father, his body was podgy. The father was a man in his late fifties and the son appeared to be in his early thirties; but the young woman . . . the girl, for she still looked a girl, was small and dark complexioned . . . and beautiful, yet her face was utterly without expression. Looking into the eyes was like looking into a void.
And the child by her side? It was nothing like her except in its smallness, for it was tiny, with straight black Indian hair; its skin was dark; the eyes deep-set; the upper lip was short, the mouth thin; the nose was like a brown button; and yet the whole combination of features presented a strange effect that went beyond beauty. Tilly found herself searching the face for some resemblance to Matthew, but there wasn’t a feature she could recognise.
That they were all amazed to see Luisa and Tilly was clear, and it was Luisa who first spoke.
It seemed that her words were a greeting, for the two men bowed their heads towards her and answered briefly; and seconds later, the girl, too inclined her head.
Now Luisa was talking and what she was saying was certainly having an impression on the father for he kept looking from her to Tilly.
When Luisa paused the man began to speak, his words seeming to tumble out of his mouth. He pointed first to his daughter and then to the child, and then out through the open door.
Again Luisa was speaking, but this time she had preceded her words with the man’s name ‘José Cardenas’, and she wagged her finger towards his face and her speech now was rapid as she pointed to the child, then to Tilly again. When she stopped and there was silence in the room, Tilly, speaking softly, asked, ‘What are you saying?’ and in clipped English now but without taking her eyes from the old man Luisa said, ‘I told them that the big boss had sent for them in order that you should see the child and take it into your family.’
‘What!’
‘Be quiet! It’s the best thing you can do if you want rid of them; if not you’ll have them on your doorstep for the rest of your life here. Do you want that?’ Her eyes had not moved from José Cardenas. ‘Do you?’
‘No, no. But to take the child, that’s an admission. And Matthew . . . ’
‘Well, have it your own way. But as I said they’ll be under your nose and Father’ll make the most of it. Oh yes, mark my words, he’ll make the most of it. You won’t be able to stand it.’
‘But I can’t just walk out with the child.’
‘Yes, you can; all this old devil wants is money. I might as well tell you he’s as surprised as you are at this minute. He didn’t know Matthew was married. It puts a different complexion on things; they’re Catholics. Well, what do you say?’
Tilly gulped in her throat, paused for a long moment, then said, ‘Go ahead.’
Luisa went ahead, and Tilly could not make out one word of what was being said except that Luisa and the old man repeated ‘pesos’ again and again. There was some kind of bargaining going on. Then for the first time the son spoke, only to be practically jumped on by Luisa who, swinging round to him, wagged her whole hand in his face, then pointed towards the doorway and, using both hands now, made a sweeping movement as if she was sending them all back along the road. This seemed to have an effect, at least on the father, for he spoke to his son now, and the man said nothing more but stood looking sullenly down towards his feet.
During all this the young girl had neither moved nor taken her eyes off Tilly, but when her father spoke to her she looked down on the child and seemingly without any qualms pushed her forward towards Luisa, who, taking the child’s hands, smiled at her and spoke to her gently.
Her eyes wide, her lips apart, the child looked from Luisa to Tilly; and then she smiled, and the smile seemed to transform all her small features into a central light that shone out of her eyes, and when she held her hand upwards Tilly took it.
There was a great restriction in her throat; she had the greatest desire to draw the child to her. She turned and looked at the mother of the child. The vacant look had gone but there was no sign of regret on her face; in fact, Tilly had a momentary impression that she was glad to let the child go.
Outside, Luisa turned and once more began to speak in rapid Spanish, this time gesticulating between the wagons and the pieces of furniture in the cabin; then, the child between them, they moved across the open ground towards the main gate of the ranch; and as they went Luisa said, ‘Tell Matthew, I want a hundred pesos. I’ll take it to them; he mustn’t see that at all. They’ll be gone in the morning.’
‘Oh! Luisa.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Well, don’t bother; keep your spittle for the next few minutes, you’re going to need it to loosen your tongue. Now I’ve gone as far as I can go, the rest is up to you. When you take her in there you’ll be confronted by a very surprised man, if you ask me; but I know one thing, Father won’t believe what he’s seeing. Well you’re on your own now. Shooting it out with the Indians is going to be nothing to it.’
As Luisa relinquished her hold on the child Tilly looked at her and she experienced a feeling of resentment for she knew that Luisa was enjoying this business, and that she had pushed her into something which in a way was going to alter their lives almost as much as a separation would have done. Yet no, no; a separation was unthinkable. But here she was saddled with a child, a half-caste child, and it had all happened within the space of minutes. Were the consequences ahead worth the triumph she would achieve over Alvero Portes?
She muttered, ‘How . . . how old is she?’
‘Oh, she . . . well, she’ll be coming up for four, give a month or two.’
‘What!’ Tilly gazed down on the child. ‘She looks no more than two, if that.’
‘It’s the way they’re made. Some of them are like suet puddings, others like elves. It all depends which part they come from. Leonilde and her brother weren’t from the same mother, that’s for sure.’ And on this Luisa walked away from her.
The child caught her attention by saying ‘Josefina’. Slowly she nodded down towards it and said, ‘Yes, yes,’ and the child started to skip by her side. And this action touched some chord in Tilly for she could see herself hitching and skipping whilst holding on to her grandmother’s hand, and her grandmother chiding her, saying, ‘Stop it! bairn; you’ll wear your shoes out.’ But this child was barefoot; its small brown feet were dust-covered, and its toes seemed to grip the ground with each step.
What had she done? What had she done? She would never be able to communicate with the little thing. Oh! Luisa. Luisa.
Once again all activity in the yard seemed to stop at the sight of the young boss’ wife leading by the hand Leonilde’s child and making straight for the ranch house.
Mack stopped on his way to the corral. He was walking between two horses, his arms outstretched gripping their halters, and he stared at her open-mouthed; as also did Doug Scott, and Numbers One and Three and Ma One who had come out to empty some slops. They all became still and she walked through them as if in a dream of the past with her old friends surrounding her, but they being without life.
When the child found difficulty in negotiating the steps to the verandah she bent down and whisked it up into her arms, and like this she entered the long room and came face to face with Alvero Portes and her husband.
Of the two, it was Matthew who showed the more astonishment. Alvero Portes was adept in hiding his true feelings, yet even he gaped at the woman before him, tall and slim, with the dark shabbily dressed bundle poised on her arm, and for a moment he might have been seeing an apparition, something that his mind told him could not possibly be there. But she was there and he could see in her eyes the light of battle, a battle indeed already won. His voice was unlike the suave tones he usually allowed to escape his lips as he said, ‘What is the meaning of this? Why have you brought this child here?’
Tilly purposely raised her eyebrows and stretched her face questioningly before saying, ‘Oh, am I mistaken? Was it not your intention that we should take the child?’
Alvero Portes forgot himself so far as to turn and look helplessly at Matthew; then he said, ‘It was certainly not my intention, madam; and I would thank you to take her out of this room.’
‘But she, I understand, is my husband’s daughter.’ She turned and looked straight at Matthew and she felt an overwhelming feeling of pity for him because her words had created a look on his face that she had never seen before. It was as if in this instant she was bringing him low, humiliating him . . . But she was doing battle, and so she turned her attention again to the old man, saying now, ‘You claim Matthew as your nephew, then this child is in some way related to you. Isn’t that so?’
‘How dare you?’
‘I dare.’ Her voice now was as harsh as his and she repeated, ‘I dare, Mr Portes, because I am aware of your intention in bringing the child’s mother back here.’
‘I had nothing to do with their return.’
‘You lie and you know you lie. I have known for some time of your intention.’ Now she was lying and lying so well she could almost believe her own statements. ‘In fact, I have been waiting for a small cavalcade to put in an appearance. Well now’— she turned her attention to Matthew, who was looking at her in the most odd way, but a recognisable odd way for there was something about his expression that touched on that of the children in the village when they had called her witch, and she inhaled deeply before she said in a tone she attempted to make airy, ‘I shall need a hundred pesos to pay for the child. Your uncle was quite willing to pay them for coming and staying, so it is only right that we should pay them for going.’
‘Madam, you have gone too far.’
‘Then, sir, I feel I am level with you and your tactics.’
They stared at each other, and for a moment Alvero Portes seemed lost for words. Then pointing to the child, he said, ‘That’ – he did not even add the word child – ‘cannot be allowed to remain under my roof.’
‘I have no intention of allowing the child to stay under your roof, sir; nor are we staying under it. As from today we shall take up our abode in the new house.’
‘It is unfinished, you can’t.’
He was looking from her to Matthew now.
‘There is one room habitable and the cooking range is in, we shall survive quite happily.’ She now turned and looked at Matthew, and, her tone lowering, she said, ‘Will you accompany me, Matthew, we have things to do?’
Not one word had he uttered during the whole scene, and even now he could say nothing. He glanced at Portes and for the first time he saw a break in the polished armour: the old man was shaking his head. It was a pleading gesture but he ignored it and, turning, he followed his wife out along the corridor and into their room.
Katie was there with Willy, and immediately Tilly put the child down on to the floor Willy went towards her; but when Josefina, in real fright at seeing this eager strange white face so close to hers, backed from him he grabbed at her. She struck out at him as she screamed, and when he joined his scream to hers pandemonium reigned for a moment until Katie, astonishment causing her mouth to gape, grabbed their hands and cried, ‘Come on. Come on.’ At the door she stopped and, looking from the child to Tilly, she said, ‘It’s all right to take her upstairs?’
‘Yes, yes.’
The door closed on the cries of the children and she was left alone facing Matthew . . .
Standing apart, they stared at each other, neither of them speaking or moving, and when his head drooped forward and he muttered her name she made no response, not until his hand came on to her arm, when as if she had been struck by a spark she jerked herself from him, saying, ‘No, no; not yet.’ And she backed from him before turning and going towards a chair that was placed near the window. Here she sat down and dropped her head on to her hand; and like this she stayed for a full minute fighting to dissolve the great lump of pain in her chest, the pain of jealousy. She was jealous of the fact that he had held the body of that slight dark beautiful girl in his arms, and that that holding had produced the child up above whilst here was she who had lain in his arms and experienced his loving night after night but as yet had shown no sign of producing visible evidence of it.
When the tears burst through her long-drawn-out moan he was at her side on his knees before her, his arms around her waist, his head buried in her lap, his voice muttering her name over and over. ‘I’m sorry, my love, I’m sorry. Oh, Tilly darling, I’m sorry.’
It was some time before she found her voice. Her hands were on his head now stroking him. He still had his face buried in her lap and he did not raise it until she said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I couldn’t. And . . . and then at the time of its happening it seemed nothing. She . . . she was with others.’ He lifted his head fully now. ‘I’m not making excuses but it is true. Cardenas uses her. Then she is with child and he comes and says I’m responsible. It all happened in the first year I was here. Uncle paid him off and he left. I never saw the child until . . . until today. Tilly’ – he was now gripping her hands – ‘do you know what you’ve done, what you are doing?’
‘Yes; it was either that or having her hanging over my head for the rest of our time here.’
‘Did you know about it beforehand, really, for you didn’t seem . . . ?’
‘No, no, I knew nothing until yesterday. Luisa warned me something was coming and . . . ’
He knelt back from her. ‘You’ve made this decision just today?’
‘It was made for me, Luisa did it.’
He nodded his head slowly now. ‘Luisa would; she was making her ammunition for someone else to fire.’
‘Don’t blame her; I . . . I think this is the right thing we are doing.’
He was holding her again, their faces close. ‘You still love me?’
She nodd
ed, ‘Yes, but I’m experiencing jealousy for the first time.’
‘Oh my dear, my dearest, that’s ridiculous. Jealous of Leonilde? Oh, I tell you, she was just a . . . ’
She put her fingers on his lips now as she said softly, ‘Don’t say it, there is the child.’
‘But Tilly’ – he was now on his feet looking down at her – ‘I don’t really know whether it’s mine or not, in fact I have my doubts. I looked at her. There’s no resemblance; she’s . . . she’s real Mexican Indian.’
Tilly Trotter Wed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy) Page 26
