Passing the library on her way from the attic, Maria decided to stop in and see if her father had recovered from the invasion of his sanctuary by the excited children. Don Hernando was still shuffling his papers back into place, but he did not seem rattled. He looked up at his daughter and smiling asked. “And how is our silent guest? Did those hellions frighten him to death?”
Maria returned his smile. “Our guest is awake, Poppa. And we know his name - Lemuel Hawkins.”
The smile left her father’s face. “He is English?,” he asked. He said English as if it a synonym for pirate, which in the minds of Spaniards of his age it was.
“Father, we don’t know a thing about him yet. Why should a pirate be here? We are over a hundred miles from Puerto Seguro.”
“He could be running from something or someone. You can’t trust the English. They steal and murder. I want the door locked and a man on guard.”
“Father, father. He is so weak he cannot stand up. He is harmless.”
“How do you he is? What do you know about English pirates? Ask poor Rosa what English pirates do to our brave sailors. The door must be locked. I do not want the children wandering in there.”
“Calm yourself, Father,” said Maria growing irritable. “Do not upset Rosa with wild talk about pirates. This is nonsense. She been tending to poor Lemuel. Do you think she could not recognize a sailor? Look at his hands, his face. He has not been to sea. Get control of yourself.”
Don Hernando slumped in his chair. “I am sorry, my daughter. I am an old fool, afraid of shadows. When the young man is strong enough to walk, please bring him to me. I should like to welcome our guest to our home.”
“It’s fine father. I will tell Lemuel that you would like to see him and bring him to you as soon as he is able. Perhaps soon you will be able to go and see him.”
Don Hernando pursed his lips and looked away.
“I must go and find Mrs. O’Brien,” said Maria, rising to leave.
Her father looked up and her and said, “You should lock the door so the children don’t bother him. You could leave a key with him so does not feel like a prisoner.”
Maria nodded and smiled at her father, “That is an excellent idea, Poppa. Four of them were spying on him through the key hole just now.”
Don Hernando shook his head. “Is there a rule that the O’Brien’s will not break?,” he laughed.
“They tell me that their proud spirits chafe under authority,” Maria said grateful that her father’s good humor had returned.
Maria left her father to return to his papers and headed toward the kitchen. She found the place oddly empty. Instead on Mrs. O’Brien at the head of a three-generational cluster of O’Brien’s, there was only Lucinda preparing ginger cakes and a bundle on the mat by stove that turned out to be Mariel and Cid, the ginger cat. It looked as if the two had been wrestling and fell asleep in mid-bout.
“Hello, Lucinda. I suppose you heard the news about our guest?
“I did. Mariel and Declan were yelling so loudly I imagine everyone knows.” said Lucinda. “Is he well?”
“Better. Rosa is with him now. She’ll be able to tell us more. But we do know his name - Lemuel Hawkins.”
“Lemuel Hawkins. A English hermit. How strange.”
“A what? What hermit are you talking about?,” asked Maria puzzled by this turn in the conversation.
“Nothing, Miss. My mind was wandering. It is nothing,” answered Lucinda swiftly and then she pounded her fists into the dough. Before Maria could respond. Rosa coolly said, “How can I help you, Miss?”
Maria was confused by the unexpected shift the conversation. She wondered if she’d offended Lucinda somehow. “I was looking for your mother,” Maria said cautiously.
“She went to see Pau to get some beef bones for the soup,” answered Lucinda. “I sent sent Declan to tell her about the guest.”
“Fine. Thank you, Lucinda. I believe I’ll go and meet her,” said Maria carefully. She couldn’t imagine why the usually friendly Lucinda had turned so formal. Maria nodded goodbye to Lucinda, who returned her nod without looking her in the eyes.
Maria left the kitchen and followed the gravel walk across the yard toward Pau’s butchering shed. She could not help but glance at the newly raked section of the yard. She was pleased to see that the blood had nearly faded. The were storm clouds in the distance, low and heavy over the grass. Tomorrow the stains should be gone.
On the other side of the path, the slight rise that marked the hole were they buried poor Eugusto had subsided somewhat, but only slightly. She had hoped to save the badger for her studies and eventually dissect him, but out of respect for Lemuel it was decided that burial was more appropriate. She had argued that she likely would never get another chance to study a badger, but she relented in the face of Mrs’ O’Brien’s terrible moral force.
Leaving the protection of the fenced yard, Maria realized the storm was blowing in quickly. Her dress whipped around her legs threatening to trip her. She clutched the loose material in her hand as she hurried along the gravel path to the butchering shed. The tall grass, bent double by the coming storm, slashed across the path. Maria wished that she’d changed into her work clothes, but she knew it upset her father to see her around the house in the her pants, work shirt, and boots. He was so understanding otherwise, she relented to his wishes. She did not often do so.
As she drew nearer to the shed, Maria could see young Declan throwing rocks at the water barrel. The dull thumps of the rocks against the thick slats of the half-full barrel sounded like distant thunder. Every so often a resounding clang indicated that he’d hit one of the cooper bands. Maria called a greeting and when Declan turned to her he was scowling.
“What’s the matter, Declan?” Maria asked him. He’d been so excited when he reported that Lemuel was awake, she couldn’t imagine why he was now so upset.
The boy jerked his head toward the shed, and spat out,”They made me wait outside. Like I was a baby. Finn said it was grown-up talk and he’s only a little older’n me.”
Maria gave him what she hoped was an understanding smile. “Don’t worry, Declan. I’m sure there are grown-ups in there who’d rather be out here throwing rocks.”
Declan glared at her, a rock balanced in one hand, his other hand on his hip. He cocked his head to hammer home the point that her efforts to placate him at failed utterly. Maria stepped past him toward the forbidden door and ruffled his hair. Declan shook his head, his frustration rising to new heights. His next rock slammed into the water barrel with an echoing thud. A small spout of water leapt up and was caught by the rising wind.
A window in the shed flew open and Miguel’s head leaned out. “Declan!,” he called loudly. “Leave that damn water barrel alone!” He jerked his head inside and slammed the window.
Declan was certain he could hear Finn sniggering. Unable to contain his fury and indignation, the young boy coiled, wheeled, and threw a rock as far as he could into the grass, then stalked away kicking angrily piece of gravel that dared raise it’s head above the hard packed path.
Maria entered the shed as Miguel was closing the window. She had expected to find Mrs. O’Brien and Pau, and was taken aback to see the small shed filled with men. Mrs. O’Brien turned to her, her face usually pleasant face serious. “Did you need something, Miss?,” she asked.
Maria felt that she was in the way, that she had interrupted something.
“I wanted to tell you that our guest is awake. Would you like to come see him?,” Maria asked tenatively.
“Yes, Miss, of course. Declan brought the message. I was just finishing up here and then I was going to go and see the poor man.”
Maria’s eye’s had adjusted to the gloom of the shed. Nine men were crowded in the small space, packed in around drying sausages, hanging game, and the hog carcass Pau was draining. The men were sitting on crates, squatting on the hard packed dirt floor, and leaning against the walls. All the O’Brien men were there, along with in-laws and cousins. Something had happened.
“What’s wrong?,” Maria asked Mrs. O’Brien.
Pau answered. He was Mrs. O’Brien’s eldest son. Pau was a quiet man, but Maria could see that the other men were waiting for him to speak.
Pau spoke softly, but his deep voiced filled the smoky shed. “Kevin’s mule was killed and they burned downed Jose’s house.” He spoke in a flat, measured tone. “It was Cupido’s friends.”
“Kevin! Jose! Your house!,” Maria cried out in shock and sought out the men among the shadowy figures.
“It’s alright. Miss Maria.” said Jose. “No one was hurt. We saved a few things. The cowards rode off with my wife and children inside.”
“Where are Rachel and the children?”
“They are with us,” said Pau. “They will be fine.”
Kevin was standing near Maria. She reached out and and grabbed his arm. “Do you know killed your mule?,” she asked.
“Cupido’s friends walked into the field where my son was plowing. I was in the barn seeing to the cows. They pushed my boy down and kicked him. They put a pistol to my mule’s head and blew his brains out. Yes, I know who killed my mule.” He spoke without expression, staring straight ahead. A man Maria recognized, but who’s name she did not know stepped out he gloom and put his arm around Kevin’s shoulders. He looked firmly in Maria’s eyes and she stepped away, not wanting to impose on Kevin’s humiliation.
Maria stepped over to Pau and asked, “Do you have any evidence that Cupido’s crowd did this?”
“Cupido’s cousin in a colonel at the garrison. His family owns most of the land. What good is evidence?,” answered Pau bitterly.
“But my father ....” Maria’s voice trailed off. She realized her father could do nothing against Cupido’s family. Then She remembered Cupido’s broken ribs and broken nose. Kevin and Jose had helped carry him home on the night she shot him.
In the growing silence Maria realized that she had interrupted these men. Something was going on, some decision was being reached. She wasn’t sure what to say or do. She wanted to help Kevin and Jose, but she didn’t want to insult them. They had not asked for help. She knew they would not ask her. They would turn to their family.
When Mrs. O’Brien spoke, Maria was startled. The power of Pau’s unaccustomed speech and made Maria forget her presence. But when she spoke, Mrs.O’Brien seemed to be reading Maria’s mind.
“Some will say that these things were done by good friends in revenge for Cupido’s injuries. God knows he’s not man enough to extract his own revenge. And what revenge! Killing an animal, beating a child, burning a hose. Cowards!
I will tell you why the boys beat Cupido, Miss Maria. They beat him because he shot the hermit who never hurt anyone. He pulled a pistol here, on your father’s land, and shot an innocent man. They were here to protect from that swine. Many times the coward has disrespected your house, your father, and yourself. Enough. O’Brien’s do not allow such things to be done to them.”
In the charged silence left in the wake of Mrs. O’Brien’s words, Maria looked around the shed at the hardened faces. There was no fear in those faces, and no mercy. Mrs’ O’Brien’s face was flush with indignation. In her right hand, she gripped a clean beef shank bone like an axe.
Maria turned over Mrs. O’Brien’s “them” in her mind. She had never thought of her father and herself as part of the O’Brien’s. The O’Brien’s were there, they always had been. She had grown up with them, but she always felt a tiny distance, a small but discernible distinction between the Valenzuela’s and the O’Brien’s.
She wasn’t certain what the “them” meant, she’d have to work that out, but she did know that out here in the grass, you needed family and friends, especially if Cupido and his friends were out for revenge. She looked around at the determined faces of the O’Brien’s. “So,” thought Maria, “I am part of the O’Brien’s. Good.” Maria was no coward, either.
No comments:
Post a Comment