It's Just Lola

by Dixiane Hallaj

  Enrique’s voice rose slightly in volume. “There has never been a bastard in the Herrera family, and there never will be.” He opened the bible to the page where the births and deaths were recorded.

  “Enriqueta Yolanda Maria Herrera, born November 28, 1892,” he read. He picked up a pen. “Died February 1, 1908,” he read as he wrote. He looked up briefly, then turned his eyes back to the page. “Lola Isabel Victoria Herrera, born February 5, 1894. Died February 1, 1908.”

  Lola couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t move. They were going to die today! Was Papa going to kill them? She looked at her sister. Enriqueta’s face was as white as paper.

  Their father slammed the bible shut, causing Lola to jump. “As of today you are no longer part of the Herrera family. I will allow you to remain in this house for one week to prepare yourselves. In exactly one week you will leave, taking only what you can carry.”

  Lola took a ragged breath. He wasn’t going to kill them. She stared at her father; he looked like a stranger—an older man she’d never seen before. Standing behind him, with a hand on the back of his chair, was Jacoba with a triumphant smile on her face.

  El Patrón stood up, clearly dismissing them. It took several seconds before Lola could gather her wits enough to take her sister’s hand and turn to leave the library.

  “Vayan con Dios. Go with God,” their father said softly. Lola did not dare turn back to answer.

  VI. February 1908: Lola turns 14

  “What’s to become of us?” asked Enriqueta when they reached their rooms. Tears were running down her still pale face, and her hands were once again wringing the skirt of her dress. Lola wondered the same thing, but she was determined to reassure her sister.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll manage. It’s lucky we grew up at a time when women can live on their own.” She grabbed Enriqueta’s hands and pulled her down next to her on the settee. “This isn’t what either one of us imagined our life would be, but we can’t change it now. You can’t make an egg from an omelet, so we’d better start doing the best we can. Why don’t you start a list of what we’ll take?” She got paper and pencil and gave them to Enriqueta. “We’ll pack only sensible clothing. There’s no sense trekking for miles carrying a ball gown—unless of course we expect to be rescued by a handsome prince.”

  “Lola, how can you be so...so...immature? Do you have any idea how far it is to the city?” She snatched up the paper and pencil and wrote one word in large block letters. FOOD. “There’s your list. If we can even carry enough food to get us to the city, we’ll be lucky.” She threw the paper and pencil down and started crying again.

  “Don’t cry, Enriqueta.” Lola sat down and put her arm around her sister. “There are lots of things we can do to make our own way.”

  “Like what?”

  “We’re really good at sewing. City women want new fashions every year, and they need lots of dresses. We can crochet and knit, so we can make shawls and baby things, not just for our babies, but to sell. We can read and write. There are always people who need letters written. I bet a lot of women would rather have another woman write their letters than a man. We’re good with numbers; we know some music; we know a little French. Maybe someone will hire us to take care of their children. Of course no one will hire you if you’re still crying by the time we reach the city.” At last she got the desired effect—a weak smile from Enriqueta.

  Pilar came with hot tea and a package. “Juan brought you some good sturdy cotton material for dresses you can wear as you grow into motherhood.”

  “Please thank Juan for us,” said Enriqueta. She took her tea to the table on the verandah.

  “Papa didn’t find Rudolfo, did he?” asked Lola quietly.

  “No, he didn’t find him—which is one reason he’s so angry. He hates to miss his hunt. However, Rudolfo won’t be welcomed if he tries to go home.”

  “So Señor Alvarez knows...about us? If we’re carrying his grandchildren, do you think he might let us go there to live?”

  “No, child. Your father could never admit to another plantation owner what happened to you. He only said Rudolfo stole his best mare, but Rudolfo had already been disinherited in favor of his younger brother long before he came here.”

  “Rudolfo was the oldest son? But he said...”

  “He said a lot of things,” said Pilar.

  “How could we have been so gullible? We believed every word he told us. Our own stupidity caused it,” said Lola.

  “Not stupidity, Lamb, innocence. Rudolfo even fooled your father. Not only has he lost his two beloved daughters, but he was duped by the same man—a bitter pill to swallow.”

  Lola snorted. “It is probably the pain in his pride that hurts the most.”

  “Oh, Lamb, never doubt your father’s love. He believes that he has to do whatever is necessary to uphold the honor of his house. It was the way he was raised. Honor is everything.”

  “Even before love?”

  “Denying you his love hurts you and it hurts him. Besmirching the name of Herrera hurts the entire clan—here and in Spain. His own father set him the example.”

  The following week flew by in a kaleidoscope of emotional ups and downs as the girls alternated between extreme sadness over leaving the only home they had ever known and nervous excitement over going to the city to live. They even had a small cake on Lola’s birthday.

  The night before the two were to leave their home, Pilar brought each of them a small leather pouch with what seemed to the girls to be a lot of money. The girls were very reluctant to take Pilar’s money. They knew she got paid almost nothing since her room and board were provided.

  “You’re going to need this far more than I do. You’ll need to buy food while you get settled and find a way to live. You’ll need things for your little ones when they arrive. If it makes you feel better, consider it a loan. However, I consider it a gift.” With Pilar’s help they packed what they could carry and there were tearful farewells since no one would be allowed to see them off in the morning. Rosa and Dolores came by for a few minutes of leave-taking.

  Roberto brought buckets of hot water for baths. Who knows, Pilar said, when they would be able to bathe properly again. Pilar talked about how dirty the city was, but the girls smiled at each other when she looked away. They had been to the city to see Juana off after her wedding. They had stayed at a hotel, and both girls remembered the luxury of running water flowing right into a bathroom near their room.

  The next morning they were up as the sun began to lighten the sky. They dressed quickly, picked up the bundles they had packed, and slipped out the door. Lola shivered and wondered if it was from the nervous anticipation or the chill morning air.

  “I just saw Papa watching us from the parlor window,” Enriqueta said.

  Lola turned to look back at the house. There was no one at the window.

  The girls walked along at a good pace and cheered each other with their fantasies of city life. After a couple of hours, Lola began glancing behind them.

  “Pilar said that Juan would catch up with us. If he doesn’t come by the time we top the next hill we’ll stop and rest.” Enriqueta nodded. Although their pace slowed considerably, they walked on.

  “What if Papa doesn’t let Juan come?”

  “Don’t worry, Enriqueta. We’ll do what we have to do—keep walking. We’ll look for fruit, and at night we’ll make a leaf bed and sleep. Tomorrow we’ll walk some more, until we reach the city. Maybe we’ll see someone who’ll take us in for the night.” They walked on.

  They gradually ran out of things to say. Nothing was able to distract them from their tired feet and empty stomachs. They reached the spot Lola had indicated as a spot to rest, and dug through their bundles for food. They ate bread and cheese and sat until Lola said the sooner they got up, the sooner they would get somewhere—maybe not the city but somewhere. Enriqueta smiled and admitted they couldn’t very well stay in the middle of nowhere. They walked on.

  By midaf
ternoon they were both hungry and thirsty. “Do you really think Juan’s coming?” asked Enriqueta.

  “Yes. Pilar said he’d come so he’s coming.”

  “But he was supposed to catch up to us hours ago.”

  “Something must’ve delayed him. Who knows? Maybe one of the horses threw a shoe, or maybe a wheel got stuck…”

  “Or maybe Papa said he couldn’t come,” said Enriqueta.

  “Or maybe he’s just around the bend.” The two girls grinned as they heard the sound of hooves and the rattle of a wagon approaching from the direction they had come.

  “Thank God you’re here, Juan. We expected you hours ago.”

  “Sorry. I had trouble getting the wagon loaded.” He helped the two girls into the wagon and handed them the food and drink Pilar had sent with him. They ate gratefully, and Lola was pleased to see color return to Enriqueta’s cheeks. Enriqueta yawned and was soon fast asleep with her head in Lola’s lap.

  “What went wrong this morning?” Lola asked, more to make conversation than out of any desire to hear the answer.

  As Juan talked Lola was surprised by how well he spoke. The story came out in flawless Spanish that almost painted pictures of the actions in her head. His storytelling was so good that she would have been listening with bated breath even if the story had been about strangers instead of her own family.

  Juan had harnessed the horses to the wagon as soon as it got properly light. He loaded the wagon as usual with whatever was being sent to market that day. Then he drove around to the back of the house and waited. Pilar was to bring out a wicker chest and place it under the produce.

  All had gone according to plan until Juan stepped down to help load the chest and trod on the tail of the striped cat that always followed Pilar until the morning milking. The cat yowled and startled the horses, which reared and neighed loudly. Juan grabbed the harness and quieted the horses a bit too late.

  Juan and Pilar had just loaded the chest when Jacoba came running out with her hair flying behind her, wearing a nightdress with only a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She began screaming that Juan and Pilar were stealing from the house. She was wild in her anger and triumphant that all her suspicions had been confirmed. She refused to let them move from the spot where they stood. She said they would have to stand there until someone could be sent to bring el patrón.

  The stable hands said he had taken his stallion out as the sun rose. They searched all of his normal haunts in vain. It was hours before he reappeared. All that time Jacoba refused to move or let either Juan or Pilar move.

  “When your father came galloping up to the house, his face was pale, and I’m sure he thought there was some terrible accident that occasioned the frantic call for his presence. He was enraged when he saw the tableau. His voice shook with anger as he told her it was unspeakable for her to be outside in her nightdress. She paid no attention at first and kept on screaming about thievery.”

  Lola shivered as she thought of anyone ignoring her father’s anger.

  “He gripped her arm so tight his knuckles turned as white as his face. He drew his face very close to hers, and told her quietly that if she had paid attention to her true duties and watched his children as closely as she watched his vegetables they would still have both. His final words were that there would be no more talk of thievery and with that he shoved her toward the house.

  “So that’s why I was very late coming for you.”

  The two rode in silence for a time.

  Riding through the tunnel of tall trees, Lola felt far from the real world. Her thoughts wandered over the recent events in a dreamlike sense of unreality. If Jacoba had really bewitched her father, then perhaps the spell has worn off—like the spell Rudolfo used on her, which was more about fancy talk than witchcraft.

  “I wonder if he’ll ever forgive us,” she said quietly.

  “He already has. He knew very well that the chest was full of things that will ease your life somewhat—and he purposely left the house so it could be spirited away by Pilar.” Lola nodded and became lost in her own thoughts about her father and what was happening. The long hours of walking were finally catching up to her, and she soon slumped against Juan as her eyes closed in sleep.

  ~ ~ ~

  Enriqueta stirred and Lola opened her eyes. She sat erect, embarrassed that she had been leaning on Juan. Enriqueta’s voice startled her.

  “Have I been asleep long? Are we almost there?” The sun was low on the horizon.

  “Almost,” said Juan.

  The two girls watched as the outskirts of the city flowed past their wagon. Chickens, dogs and dirty half-naked children seemed to be roaming at will around yards cluttered with bits and pieces of equipment and flapping clothes hung out to dry.

  The Cholo village on their plantation looked far more prosperous than what they were seeing. As they drove deeper and deeper into the city, the dwellings became closer and closer together and looked more and more depressing. Lola’s mouth felt dry. She had a sinking feeling that this was going to be far different from their fantasies.

  “It’s too late to go to the market today. I’ll get a better price at dawn tomorrow, even if the produce is not as fresh,” said Juan. “However, I’ll go to the station first to check for messages.

  “Cover your heads with your shawls and sit still and quiet. No one must recognize you.” They nodded and drew up their shawls. They had no wish to attract attention. Juan glanced sideways at them and laughed. “You still look like young ladies being driven to town. Look tired and hungry.”

  Enriqueta grinned at him. “The hungry part is easy.” The humor of the situation evaporated quickly when Juan went into the station, leaving them alone in the wagon with instructions to yell if someone tried to climb aboard or take anything. They let their shawls hang loose to shadow their downturned faces and clasped hands, hardly daring to breathe.

  “Hey, muchachas!” A couple of teenage boys paused as they walked past the wagon. “You got any tomatoes?” one called out to them.

  “The tomatoes are sitting in the seat,” laughed the other. They took a step closer. Lola let go of Enriqueta’s hands and reached behind the seat. She felt the warm softness of a ripe tomato in her hand.

  “Show me your pretty face, little tomato,” said the boy nearest Lola. He stepped even closer and tugged on her shawl. Lola was close enough that she just leaned over and pushed the tomato into the boy’s face. The boy stepped back with an oath.

  “Did you want a tomato?” She reached for another tomato and felt Enriqueta’s hand brush hers. A tomato flew past her face as Enriqueta threw hers at the other boy.

  To Lola’s relief, she heard a familiar laugh.

  “You boys better go home and let your mothers wash your faces,” laughed Juan.

  “Sorry, but the boys wanted tomatoes,” said Lola.

  “You girls’ll do all right,” chuckled Juan as he tucked a small packet under the seat. “But you should be careful. If they’d decided to fight back, you’d have been in trouble.”

  “Then we’d’ve hollered,” said Lola.

  “Pay attention to the route,” he instructed them as he clucked the horses into motion. “If you ever need anything, leave a message with the stationmaster and I’ll get it within a week.” The girls paid close attention and pointed out various landmarks to each other remember.

  As the wagon rattled over the rough streets, Juan explained that he was taking them to the house of his cousin, an honest God-fearing working man. His wife was kind and kept a clean house. They had agreed to keep the girls in their own home—at least until the babies came and they were recovered from childbirth.

  “There’s one more thing.” Juan cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “My cousin’s not a rich man. He’ll do his best, and will make room for you in his house however…” His voice trailed off and he looked from one girl to the other.

  “Yes?” prompted Lola.

  “You’ll have to work while you l
ive there. He can’t afford to support you—even in the poor manner that his family lives.” Juan’s face showed surprise as his words were greeted with laughter from the girls.

  “Of course we’ll work. We can’t live as useless parasites.”

  Juan was clearly relieved. “My cousin has a contract to supply uniforms for the army, and he’s in need of people who can sew.”

  “That’s perfect,” said Enriqueta.

  “I don’t know if we can sew uniforms,” said Lola. “We don’t even know what they should look like.” She looked up at Juan from under her lashes and added, “Your soldiers would look pretty funny in the things we know how to sew.”

  “With gold braid on the generals’ ball gowns, please,” Enriqueta said, making them all laugh so hard a couple of passersby turned to stare.

  “Don’t worry, Señorita Lola, the material will already be cut before you get it.” He frowned and shook his head. “I should’ve said ‘Don’t worry, Lola.’ From now on you’re my cousin’s girls.” His face broke into a broad white-toothed smile. “You must call me Tío Juan.”

  They had an uncle in far-off Spain, but Lola had no feelings for the man she’d never seen. What she felt for Juan must be the feeling one would have for an uncle. She trusted him implicitly, and she would happily have called him father, had the circumstances been different.

  “How can we be your cousin’s daughters if we’re going to your cousin’s house?” asked Enriqueta.

  “A man may have many cousins—so many that they may not all know each other. The cousin that you came from was a housemaid on another plantation and the owner… Vague hints of wrongdoing are sufficient to explain your condition.” Juan pointed to his left.

  “See that? It’s the cathedral. You can see the spires from almost anywhere in the city. Remember the route from the cathedral to the station, and you can find your way from anywhere in the city.”