Just Another Girl on the Road

by S. Kensington

  “One night there was a singer. She was so beautiful; dark-haired with large, black eyes. I asked my friends, ‘Who is this dark-haired woman?’ Her name was Maria. I found out she was married to another fisherman and had a young daughter, Gabriella. But a few years previously, he had been lost at sea, and there had been no word of him. I fell in love with Maria, as only a young man far from home can do. She sang the fado. Her voice was so pure, so clear; heavy with saudade. She’d learned it growing up in Porto, before immigrating with her husband.”

  “A-mah sang fado.”

  “Yes.” He shrugged. “Perhaps I was trying to recreate the past with your mother. When at last the church declared her husband legally dead, we married. Gabriella was young and barely remembered her own father; she accepted me easily. We had five wonderful years together before—”

  Katrinka interrupted. “My book! Gabriella was the child with the book. The one who left it behind when she went away.”

  “Yes.”

  Katrinka sat back trying to absorb it all. “Papa, were there… did you have children?”

  “Two years after we were married, Maria gave birth to a boy. There were complications, and he died. She was unable to conceive after that.”

  Katrinka reached out and took her father’s hand. How that must have hurt him. He had always wanted a son.

  “Then came the war. The merchant ships had very little protection. There were never enough ships, never enough supplies getting through. I kept busy. It was dangerous work. After the war, I returned to Coronado. She was gone.”

  His words were stark, but she felt the anguish in them.

  He continued, “They told me her husband had returned, and they had moved back to San Pedro. I was enraged, like a man who is crazy. I refused to believe it. I went up there to confront her.”

  “What happened?”

  “Her husband, Renato, had been working in a town up the coast, where he’d been found drifting alone in a small dinghy. He had no memory of the shipwreck and recalled very little about himself. The doctors said it was a rare form of amnesia. He lived that way for many years, until one day it all came back to him.

  “He began his search for Maria and eventually found her. The courts reinstated the marriage. Ours of course, was declared void, both in the eyes of the law and of the church.”

  He turned to Katrinka, his face twisted in grief. “But never, never for one moment, did I accept it. Maria… she could not deny him. It was painful for her. Gabriella did not handle it well. When she was fifteen, she ran away.”

  Katrinka squeezed her father’s hand. “How terrible for you all.”

  “I turned my back on my previous life, on everything I had loved. I returned to Portugal, rebuilt Le Flâneur, and then set out for the Far East. I knew some people working the rubber trade, and later pearls. There was good work there, for a fast boat and small crew. Later, I met your mother. It was when she found Maria’s letters that we had our serious row.”

  Katrinka sat back, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. She thought of her mother and that final time in Porto, preparing for the last adventure. What had she known? It seemed to her now that there had been a forced gaiety, a hard set to her mother’s eyes.

  “Papa, when we left for Lascaux, did A-mah know? Had you spoken to her about it?”

  “Yes. I told her what I knew and that I would be going back after the war, to see if anything remained. I felt I had to tell her in case she needed to make any decisions about her own life. I always loved your mother, but she was not the kind to be settled with one man.”

  “She never mentioned it.”

  “Your mother was private about many things.”

  “And you as well,” she reproached. “Oh, Papa, you never spoke of it. You never told me.”

  “No, I thought it was over. There was no need.”

  “So, you are going back?”

  “Yes. Maria is widowed now and recuperating from an illness. Don’t you see? I have to try.”

  They were quiet for some time, both with their own thoughts.

  “Papa?”

  He answered absently, “Yes, filhinha?”

  “Do Maria and Gabriella know about me?”

  “No. Maria and I have not been in communication since the Great War.”

  “Then will there be difficulty with—”

  “Of course not. Please do not worry; everything will be fine.”

  Katrinka gazed out across the water, watching the setting sun turn the skies a brilliant pink. It was heartbreakingly beautiful. Why couldn’t she just stay on Le Flâneur and keep sailing into that sunset forever?

  * * *

  Although overjoyed to have Remi back, Maria was not so happy to find he now had a daughter of his own. And Maria was allergic to dogs. She could not abide the hair. She pointed this out to Katrinka a few days after her tearful reunion with Remi. Katrinka, Rolf, and her father had come to visit them in their bungalow on Elm Street.

  “He cannot stay here. You will put him outside.” Maria looked as though she wanted to put Katrinka out as well.

  Katrinka had never heard of such a thing and was not sympathetic. Also, she was shocked to meet Gabriella. She had envisioned a young woman of about her age, but Gabriella was in her late thirties and tall, with pale skin and warm, brown eyes. They sparkled when she laughed, and she laughed frequently. She had long, thick hair that she wore woven into a braid that wrapped around her head, and there were touches of gray at her temples.

  She rolled her eyes at her mother and gave Katrinka a smile, saying, “Come. We will take the despised animal for a walk.”

  * * *

  Remi stood in the screened doorway, watching the two women as they turned down the lane, Rolf running in tight circles around them. Taking Maria’s elbow, he guided her to the sofa in the front room.

  She saw the expression on his face. “What is it, Remi?”

  “We have spoken of this the other night. You know that I love you and I want to marry you. I am prepared to be a good husband, one who stays. I am prepared to give up my ship. Gabriella will be a daughter to me. But there is one thing you will do, to make this work.”

  She seemed anxious now. “Yes, Remi?”

  “My daughter, Katrinka.”

  Maria’s eyes hardened.

  Remi pulled her around, bringing his face close to hers. “I love her, make no mistake. I would lay down my life for that child. I do not need to tell you of her upbringing, what she has endured in her short life. But I will tell you this. You will learn to love her, or you will damn well act like you love her, or it is over between us. It is over between us now.”

  Maria gasped. “Minha querida—”

  “You will love her. Her own mother did not know how. I will not deal with this another time.”

  “What do you tell me?” she demanded. “A mother does not know how to love her child? What kind of a woman—”

  “And I loved her mother. We will not talk of this again.”

  Maria fell silent. When she finally replied, she seemed to be weighing each word carefully. “Remi, my love, the two wars have hardened you, but your heart remains loyal. When I turned you away, you found another. You loved this woman, and she bore your child. Well, she is dead now, may God rest her soul, and you have suffered as much as I. You are right. It is better to let it go.”

  Amparo would not have admitted it to anyone, but it was pleasant to be back with a woman who knew when to agree and hold her tongue.

  * * *

  Gabriella and Katrinka strolled together along the beach in the warm sunshine. Like colorful flowers, splashes of brightly colored umbrellas dotted the sand. A small troop of Girl Scouts were hiking along the shoreline, and the aroma of roasting sausages drifted up from a family’s birthday celebration.

  After making a short deto
ur to the sausage roast and getting shooed away, Rolf ran off to attack the waves, only to be knocked down by the first surge. Astonished, he bobbed to the surface. He scrambled back up the sand to shake his fur, which now stood out in small spikes all over his body. Keeping his eye out for the women seated on a bench, he launched another assault into the waves.

  Gabriella was telling Katrinka about her daughter. “Marissa was only seven when she died. She contracted diphtheria. She would have been about your age now, I think. I had her very young.”

  “And the father?” asked Katrinka.

  “He was a musician, and he traveled. I never saw him again after our few months together. There was no way to search for him. I was on my own then. I had no money and nowhere to go. I had run away from home a few years earlier.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “There were many reasons. I missed Papa—your papa—so much when he left.”

  Katrinka hadn’t thought of that. “Did you call him ‘Papa’?”

  “Yes, but it must be different now. I will use another name if you like.”

  Katrinka remembered looking dismayed when Gabriella had addressed her father by that term, and wondered if the woman had noticed.

  “It was not so easy when my own father came back,” Gabriella said.

  “He must have seemed a complete stranger to you.”

  “That is it exactly! I didn’t even remember him. When your father went away to war, I thought it was something I’d done. Then my own father returned. I was expected to love him—a newcomer and an intruder. I believe my mother felt the same. Sometimes, when my father was at work, she would shut herself up in her room. I could hear her crying.”

  Katrinka was stricken. “I am so sorry.”

  Gabriella sighed. “It was a very long time ago. Things will be better now.” She smiled. “Enough of this. Tell me about yourself. You lived with the gypsies? What was it like to live on a boat? I cannot imagine—”

  Katrinka interrupted, taking the woman’s hand. “He is your father too. You must call him Papa. I insist you call him Papa. He will have two daughters now. It will please him, and he will feel cherished. We will be sisters. I have always dreamed of having a sister.”

  Gabriella’s eyes filled with tears as she gave Katrinka’s hand a squeeze. “And I as well.”

  Turning to the ocean, they watched Rolf’s frantic paddling efforts to keep afloat. Gabriella laughed. “Do you think we could teach your Rolf to surf?”

  * * *

  It was late evening when they made their way back to the bungalow; Katrinka carrying the exhausted dog. She’d tried to clean him up as best she could. His damp fur had a sour odor, and the women sat in rocking chairs on the veranda until it dried. Gabriella brought out a small bowl of water for Rolf, and a pitcher of cold water and bowl of oranges for them.

  Sipping the cool liquid, Katrinka sat back, surveying the scene with deep satisfaction. If she should ever have a home, it would have a small veranda just like this, decorated with seashells, glass fishing floats, and rocking chairs. Maria had painted the lattice and wooden planks a dusky-cream color. Brightly braided hemp rugs were scattered across the deck, and scarlet geraniums sat in pots on the steps. She closed her eyes, listening to the distant thrum of waves and smelling the tangy scent of orange peel in her lap.

  Conversation dwindled. Rolf was dry, and the pitcher emptied. The two women rose and went inside. The front room was dark, and the bedroom door was closed. Sounds of muted laughter came from within. Gabriella smiled, and Katrinka did too. It had been such a long time since she’d heard her papa laugh.

  * * *

  The next day, Katrinka and her father settled into rooms at the Cherokee Roses Boarding House with Rolf. Many military wives and their children were living on the island now, and they were lucky to find vacancies.

  There was an edgy truce between Maria and Katrinka that lasted the entire first week. On Saturday night, Katrinka was invited to a dinner with her father, Gabriella, and Maria. They had been too busy all week to have any kind of a schedule, but on Wednesday, Maria firmly announced that she was, ‘preparing a dinner’. Katrinka was to come. She could leave Rolf in the hallway if he behaved and kept his hairs to himself.

  Katrinka arrived early to help set up. Gabriella and her father were in the front room, looking at pictures in an old photo album. She found Maria in the kitchen, leaning over a large pot, her hair tied back, and a blue-checked apron spread across her large breasts. The kitchen was full of spicy smells and was warm from the oven. Impulsively, Katrinka skipped over, giving the woman an affectionate hug.

  “It smells good in here, Maria.”

  Maria hid a smile, and pushed her toward the table and a cutting board. She poured Katrinka a glass of port. “Your father tells me we both share a love of good Porto wine. I always cook better with a glass. Drink this, and you can be of help.”

  Katrinka picked up the knife and began chopping vegetables, while Maria watched critically.

  “No, it is better to slice like this, watch me.” She took the knife from Katrinka’s fingers, then sucked in her breath. “What happened to your hands?”

  Startled, Katrinka looked down. She had forgotten the red marks and jagged, pink lines. The infection was gone, but the scarring had yet to fade. She hastily put them in her lap. “It was while I was at college. We were having a campfire, and I fumbled with the cooking dish.”

  She could see that Maria did not believe her, but the woman said nothing. Instead, she demonstrated with the knife, quickly making a pile of wafer-thin carrots. “My own daughter does not care for cooking. Is it a wonder there is no man?”

  Maria turned back to the stove, lifting lids to release delicate aromas, and explaining the ingredients and preparation for each. Katrinka came over to observe, hovering at her elbow.

  Maria gave her a sharp look. “You are much too thin. I will make you my Feijoada Transmontana, and then you will see what Portuguese food is.”

  Katrinka returned to the table to chop potatoes. “We had two cooks on the ship; Hipolito and Gil. They prepared our meals.”

  Maria turned from her pots and folded both arms across her breasts. She nodded at Katrinka. “You will come here in the evenings, and I will show you how to prepare real dinners. We have our Victory gardens. If you are patient and wait in the lines, you can get what you need at the market, with ration cards. You will soon fatten up.”

  From then on, Katrinka was in Maria’s kitchen most evenings, listening to her endless instruction and advice, as well as the history behind each dish. Maria supervised, showing her exactly the way to grind seasoning, releasing its flavor into the sauce, and how to make a broth from bones, using every bit of their rationed meat, for her Cozido à Portuguesa. Gabriella would offer help, but mostly she would sit at the table, chatting about her day at work, and what she had seen.

  During these times, Remi was banished from the kitchen. Rolf was now allowed access to the front room, so he and the dog would retreat there. Remi liked to listen to the Burns and Allen Radio Show, and his laughter drifted back into the kitchen. On hearing his laughter, the three women who loved him would share a smile.

  * * *

  Gabriella might not have been handy in the kitchen, but she was a great planner. She planned breakfasts and dining out. She planned picnics to the park and bicycling trips around the bay. It was as though she were in a desperate race to make up for all the lost years. Katrinka and her father let themselves be caught up in it. Katrinka marveled at the change in her papa. He was like a young man: laughing, telling them funny stories of the past, and teasing Maria.

  One afternoon, Gabriella brought out brochures for Big Bear Mountain and the walking trails. “I thought we could go camping in the fall, when the leaves change color. We could go hiking, and perhaps do some horseback riding. Do you ride?” she asked.

&
nbsp; “Yes, I enjoy it. We had riding classes at school in Switzerland.”

  “Then we must all go at Thanksgiving. I will arrange it.”

  Katrinka was doubtful. “I don’t know if we can plan that far ahead. We might be gone by then, or—”

  “Gone?” Gabriella’s eyes widened. “But wherever would you go? What do you mean ‘gone’?”

  Katrinka stared, as the realization hit. This was journey’s end. There would be no more voyages, no more running away to Emerson in far-flung ports. Her father was already talking of selling Le Flâneur.

  She did not reply. She turned and stumbled out the doorway.

  Gabriella’s eyes followed her, with a troubled gaze.

  * * *

  As the days became warmer, Katrinka’s sense of restlessness grew. Then, in early May, came the announcement of VE Day in Europe. But Coronado was quiet. There were many family members still fighting in the Pacific, and several more declared missing in action or held captive in prison camps. Instead of celebrations, churches held quiet services marking the date, and remembering those who were never coming back.

  Even with the ending of the European war, goods were still scarce, and the need for ration books continued. But the War Production Board rescinded the Coronado brownout order and almost immediately, the city began planning recreational events. The Yacht Club held a gala opening with a special sailing race. A new outside cinema called ‘Movies Under the Stars’ opened. Patrons would come to sit on the long, wooden benches with popcorn and sodas, and watch films.

  Katrinka and Gabriella went to see The Clock one evening, starring Judy Garland and Robert Walker. Katrinka loved movies, but seeing them had been rare events in her life. As the picture began, she and Gabriella settled on the bench with their popcorn. Rolf lay at their feet, catching any stray kernels that chanced to fall.

  It was a war movie of course, set in New York City. Garland and Walker meet while he is on a forty-eight-hour leave. During their tour of the city together, they fall in love. But they are separated in a subway station crowd, and lose one another. Walker realizes he doesn’t even know her last name, or where she lives.