“Apparently women do not bring a dowry with them into marriage in your society,” said Lola. “My father’s a wealthy man, Señor. Mehmet received a respectable amount of money from his father-in-law. We’ve been investing that money into areas that wouldn’t conflict with the trade of his employer, and it has grown steadily. Mehmet took all of our money to invest in automobiles. He decided he would also invest some Constantinople money as well. He said the Company had been good to him for many years, and he owed them a share. Listing the entire shipment under one name probably made the paperwork easier.”
“How can I tell...”
“Come, I’ll show you all the documentation you need to show exactly what my husband has done with your capital.” Lola took out the two ledger books and explained to him how the accounting was done. She produced receipts and invoices for each transaction and before long the man was bowing his way out of the door, apologizing profusely, with one book and a small packet of other papers. Lola said he was welcome to take the trunk of papers that pertained to business before the marriage.
Later that night when Concha and the children were asleep, Enriqueta sat with Lola. “I was so proud of you today. I could never have been so calm—or so persuasive. I didn’t know you had it in you to lie so convincingly.”
“Lie? I didn’t lie. It was all true. My father is wealthy, and Mehmet’s father-in-law did give him a large gift when he left Turkey, which we invested, and it grew and paid for the automobiles—all true. Is it my fault he has two fathers-in-law?” The sisters shared a subdued laugh.
“Mehmet will laugh at this when he gets home.”
“Please, Lola, you’re too smart to do this to yourself. Mehmet can’t have survived if his ship went down.”
Lola shook her head. “Cargo ships may get blown off course by a storm, but they’re too big to sink.”
Enriqueta put her arms around her sister. “Lola, any ship can sink.”
“Mehmet and I are truly joined by our marriage. I swore to share his life with him always. He let me share his business—a concept that is even more foreign to his culture than our own. We are as one person. I’d know inside if something had happened to him—I’d feel it in my heart. Perhaps my heart would even stop beating if his stopped. He can’t be dead. It’s a mistake.”
The next morning Enriqueta had already left the house when Lola came out of her room with Yousef. Concha said she was running errands. Tía Francisca came to visit and stayed for hours playing with the children, but Lola felt that she was watching her more than the children. Lola plied her needle automatically, putting the finishing touches on a dress, but her mind was thousands of miles away.
Enriqueta came home just in time for the evening meal. After the house got quiet, she knocked softly on Lola’s bedroom door before entering. Lola looked up from her book.
“Lola, I must talk to you.” Enriqueta held a small packet of papers as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Come and look at these, please.”
“Of course.”
“I went to the office of the Constantinople Trading Company today.” Enriqueta ignored Lola’s frown. “I told the manager that since they had been allowed to take away papers that impacted their business, I should be able to take away papers that impact your life. He couldn’t let me have the papers, but he let me have them photographed.” She took a photograph out of the packet. “This is a clipping from the San Francisco newspaper reporting the sinking of the ship. The last radio communication from the ship said they were in a fierce storm and had sustained severe damage to the steering mechanism. They were taking on water and the cargo had broken loose.” Enriqueta removed another photograph. “This is a letter from the ship owners, announcing the loss of the ship and listing the cargo that was under the name of Constantinople Trading Company.”
“Something must’ve happened to make Mehmet miss the ship. Maybe he had an accident as he was going to the pier. Maybe he was in a hospital.”
Enriqueta hugged her sister as she blinked back tears. “This is the last paper. It’s the list of passengers—and here is Mehmet Osman.”
“Maybe they thought he was on board. They must’ve been busy.”
“Lola, look how short the list is. It was a cargo vessel with very few passengers. They probably all took their meals together. What you say is so very unlikely.”
“But possible.”
“I don’t think so.” Enriqueta rose and kissed her sister on the top of her head. “Please be sensible. Just think about it.”
The next morning Lola appeared at breakfast with dark circles under her eyes. “Enriqueta, have you ever been to the cathedral?”
“No. I haven’t been inside a church since we left home.”
“Neither have I. Will you come with me?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I was thinking all night, and I can’t find the answer in my heart. I was so sure that Mehmet was alive, but I don’t know what to think now. I don’t know if God will answer, but I’m going to pray for guidance.”
“I’ll be glad to go and pray with you.”
In spite of her swirling emotions, Lola was filled with wonder and awe as they entered the cathedral. She’d never attended any church other than the small one in the village or the family chapel. She held Enriqueta’s hand as they walked slowly up the center aisle, admiring the statues and the lifelike paintings on the Stations of the Cross. The morning sun was coming through the magnificent stained glass windows on one side of the church, and the effect was stunning. Lola hesitated to approach the altar and slid into a pew before reaching it.
“Do you think He’ll listen?” she whispered to Enriqueta.
“He listens to everyone, even sinners.” The girls knelt in prayer.
“What am I praying for?” whispered Enriqueta.
“For a sign. I need a sign that Mehmet is no longer with us.”
“What kind of sign?”
“How do I know?”
The two bowed their heads again. After a short while, Enriqueta sat back and rubbed her knees. “I’d never have made it as a nun,” she whispered. “I can pray sitting as well as kneeling.”
“Enriqueta, can we go and light a candle?”
Lola walked toward the altar with Enriqueta right behind her. She put a coin in a slot and lit a candle. She glanced toward the statue of the crucifixion above the altar and stepped closer for a better look. The figure on the cross looked so lifelike and familiar. She had to get closer. “NOOoo.” She screamed, but there was no sound. She grabbed the altar rail and sank to her knees, not because she wanted to kneel, but because her legs would no longer hold her weight. She clutched the rail tighter as the floor began to tilt, and darkness threatened to swallow her.
“Lola—” She heard Enriqueta’s voice echo through the cathedral. There were running footsteps.
“Are you all right?” It was a male voice.
“I think she fainted, Father.”
Lola struggled to bring the world back into focus. “I saw him.” She wasn’t sure she was speaking aloud. Enriqueta and an old priest were bending over her. “I saw him,” she repeated.
Enriqueta and the priest helped Lola to the parish house. As they walked, Enriqueta told the priest why she and Lola were there.
“Surely as a sailor’s wife she would have accepted the fact that her husband faced the prospect of death at sea every time he left port.”
“Her husband was a merchant, not a sailor,” said Enriqueta. “His death was sudden and unexpected.”
“I see, a merchant in charge of business far away?”
“Yes, Father, he’d just bought a large shipment of automobiles to sell in Peru.”
“What made your sister collapse?”
“I saw him,” said Lola, having recovered enough to speak. “I was looking at the figure of Jesus Christ on the cross above the altar. When I looked closer, it was the face of my husband looking down on me.”
“God brought you to me in your hour of
sorrow, and I’ll do what I can to help you, my child.” The priest took Lola’s hand. “Your vision of your husband’s face on the cross was a gift from God—a private miracle. You are truly blessed to receive such a gift. I believe God led you to the cathedral to be our patroness. God allowed you to see your husband on the cross to show you that he was sacrificed so that his money would no longer be dedicated to the accumulation of wealth, but to the greater good of our mother the Church.” He paused and patted Lola’s hand. “Your husband is hanging on the cross in agony, waiting for your good deeds to release him to join Our Heavenly Father.” He paused again. “The fact that God let your husband take the place of His Son on the cross shows how your beloved husband is suffering as he waits for you to help him find his heavenly peace with prayer and charity.”
Lola thanked the priest for his wisdom, and the sisters began their walk home. As soon as the door closed behind them, Lola rolled her eyes and said, “What a fool.”
“Lola, don’t be blasphemous.”
“I’m not. It’s the priest I’m talking about. The Church stopped selling indulgences centuries ago. What would that fool have said had he known that every penny we had went down with that ship—or that his ‘truly blessed’ miracle receiver had a child out of wedlock—or that Mehmet wasn’t a Christian?”
“You shouldn’t talk that way. God will punish you for not believing.”
“But I do believe—now more than ever. How could I not believe after receiving such a clear sign? Mehmet’s in heaven because he was a good man—regardless of the name he put on his religion. God wouldn’t have given me a sign if he didn’t have Mehmet with him in heaven.”
“Lola, I’m relieved to see you accept Mehmet’s death so calmly. I loved Mehmet as a brother, and I mourn him deeply, but I was very worried about you.”
“I’m not calm. I just hurt so bad inside that I can hardly breathe. No tears can wash away that hurt.”
~ ~ ~
“Lola, why are you sleeping on the settee?”
“I can’t sleep on the bed we once shared now that he’s gone.”
“Give it time, Lola. You can sleep with me until you feel better.”
Lola began sleeping with Enriqueta, but she often got up in the night and moved to the settee, afraid her restlessness would keep her sister awake. At the end of each day she felt a small sense of triumph that she had lived through one more day. Life became focused on getting through the day, and each morning defined life as another day. She dressed in black, not because she was supposed to, but because it was the only way she could express her sorrow.
One morning she left the house before dawn, leaving a short note. She walked to the cathedral, and searched her memory for the way to the station. This should be the day Juan came to town. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to see Juan. Maybe she wanted to share her grief; maybe she wanted someone to tell her that life would go on—that the pain would go away.
The elderly gentleman at the information desk knew Juan and expected him soon. Lola sat to wait, letting her mind wander as she watched the people around her.
“Señorita Lola, how nice to see you.” Lola was pulled from her reverie by the familiar voice.
“Oh, Juan.” She grasped his hand. There was so much to tell him, but she was speechless. “Oh, Juan,” she said again, and suddenly she was sobbing uncontrollably.
Juan sat and let her cry. He produced a large snowy white handkerchief from somewhere and Lola took it gratefully. She tried several times to talk, but the wracking sobs were relentless. After what seemed like a small eternity, the sobs slowed enough for Juan to get a glass of water for her.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said after she drank the water and was breathing almost normally. Lola nodded and started at the end. She told first of her husband’s death and her desolation at his loss. Gradually she told the story of their marriage.
“I knew he was a good man,” Juan said solemnly.
“You knew him?” Lola was astonished.
“He traced me through the cousin that sewed uniforms. He wanted to know more about you. He assured me his intentions were honorable and I believed him. I said I had known you all your life and would vouch for your good character. He knew you had a child, and was concerned that perhaps there was a husband somewhere that would prevent you from marriage. It worried me to say there wasn’t one, because I feared he might think you were something you weren’t, but he took it as good news. He then said he wanted to contact your father and ask for your hand. Of course that was impossible. I adopted you as a niece again, and gave him my permission to court you.” Juan smiled. “I’m glad that my judgment of him was not mistaken.”
“He was wonderful, Juan. Now that he’s gone I feel like a tree that’s been cut down and thrown into the river. Even when Enriqueta and I first came to the city I didn’t feel so lost. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep in my bed. Everything I see reminds me of when I was happy. It hurts me to live—my soul is in pain.”
“I’m so sorry, Señorita Lola. No, now it’s Señora…”
“Señora Osman.” Lola tried to smile.
“I’m pleased you came. Can you come again next week? I’d like to talk more but, as you know, the produce doesn’t stay fresh very long. Please, come again next week.”
“Yes, I’d like that. I feel better now that I’ve spoken to you.” They walked toward the door of the station. “This was the first time I could cry. Thank you, Juan.”
Lola waited until nighttime to tell Enriqueta what had happened. At Enriqueta’s insistence she practically recited the entire conversation, which brought on the tears again, and Enriqueta wept with her.
The week that followed was better than the last. Lola still slept on the settee, but she had fewer dreams of watching Mehmet drowning and calling for her. She looked forward to seeing Juan again. He had anchored her for that week at least.
The next week Enriqueta asked to accompany Lola to see Juan. They took Yousef with them and left the girls in Concha’s care. Juan greeted Enriqueta warmly and admired Yousef. Then he gave Lola a letter, asking her to read it while he waited.
My Dearest Daughter Lola,
I was grieved to hear of your recent loss. Please accept my deepest condolences. It would please me greatly if you and your children would come to live with us. The house would be more pleasant with the sounds of children to bring life to it once more.
Hoping you will find it in your heart to fill my house and my heart with the joys of family, I remain,
Enrique Herrera
Lola read the letter through twice before speaking.
“Juan, do you know what’s in the letter?”
“Your father shared his intentions with me.”
Lola passed the letter to Enriqueta.
Enriqueta finished reading and smiled at her sister. “You should go, Lola. It would be good for you and the children.”
“No. That house isn’t good for children. It’s a cold unpleasant place—and remember how miserable we were the last time we were separated.”
“Don’t be silly, Lola. We were children then.”
“Enriqueta, we’d both be miserable. You’d be all alone, and—”
“No, Lola. I’ll never be alone again. I have Blanca who gives me great joy, and Concha to help me with the sewing, and Tía Francisca to run to for advice.”
“...and I’d be dining with Jacoba and Father every evening.”
Juan shifted his feet. “Remember, it was your father who invited you.” Lola stared at the note.
Enriqueta took her hand, and her voice was almost a whisper. “Face it, Lola, you’re too miserable to help with the sewing, and you can’t even sleep in your own bed. You need to heal.”
Late that afternoon Lola found herself once more bouncing along on the wagon seat next to Juan with a wicker chest of belongings behind them. She held Yousef and amused Estela with little stories about what they saw along the way.
By the time they entered the tunn
el of green that Lola remembered, it was dark. Juan lit two lanterns and hung them on the front of the wagon. The children fell asleep and Lola’s mind turned to the plantation. She had been a child when she left, full of dreams and fancies. Now she was a grieving widow. Thankful for the darkness, she let her tears trickle down her face. She would turn seventeen next month and the best part of her life was already behind her.
“Juan,” she said after a long silence, “why did my father call me daughter again, but not Enriqueta?”
“You’re a married woman, or you were a married woman who is now a widow. Your sister is unmarried and has a child.”
“That’s not fair; Estela came to me the same way Blanca came to her.”
Juan shook his head. “Fair means playing by the rules. These are the rules in your father’s world.”
“My father’s world? We all live in the same world.”
“Not really.”
Minutes passed before Lola nodded. “Juan, is Jacoba still as mean?”
“Your father doesn’t tolerate her being unkind. You’ll probably get along well enough.”
“I’m sure I will. It’s funny to remember how terrified we were of her as children. Her job was to teach us dressmaking and hand work, not to be our friend. I still don’t like the way she did it, but she did it well. If she hadn’t been such a good teacher, we’d never have been able to leave your cousin’s place.”
“Lola, be careful. You described Jacoba as mean, but I have reason to believe it is much more serious. Jacoba’s not what she seems.”
It's Just Lola Page 16
