It's Just Lola (24 page)

“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. 
Y
ou
’
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 amuse
d
Estela with little stories about what
they saw along the way.

By the time they entered the tunnel 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.
”

“
M
y father’s world?  We all live in the same world.”

“Not
really
.” 

M
inutes 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.”

“
Then
what is she
,
a witch
?”
  A smile tugged at Lola’s lips.

There was no humor in Juan’s voice.
  “
I
don’t think so, although others do.  I was referring to her
sneaky way of doing things.  Maybe underhanded is a better word.”

“We used to call her the pit viper, so ‘sneaky’ sounds better.”

“This is
n
’
t a joke
. 
She was seen more than once
talking with Rudolfo in the orchard, and I
once saw her coming out of Rudolfo’s rooms.
  And there may be worse—much worse. 
D
on’t underestimate Jacoba
; s
he
’
s cunning and
ruthless.”

It might be superstition and tall tales, but it still made Lola shudder
and h
o
ld Yousef a little tighter.

A
soft wave of sadness passed over Lola as she watched Yousef’s dark curls bent over his blocks and Estela playing with the old dolls that had sat on her own bed for years.  How Mehmet would have adored watching his children grow up.  Lola would always feel pain at his loss, but she had the children to love and her work to keep her occupied.  When she had asked her father if she could be helpful, she had been unprepared for the enthusiasm of his reaction.  Now she was working in the office of the distillery again taking care of the books for the plantation.

“Mama, look how pretty the dolly is in her new dress.”

“Such a pretty dolly for such a pretty girl,” said Lola, hugging her daughter.

“Such a pretty bastard,” said Estela sweetly.

“What?  Estela, where did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“What you just said—about such a pretty…”

Estela laughed.  “Abuela Jacoba says I’m such a pretty bastard, but you said such a pretty
girl
.  You got it wrong.”

Lola drew Estela to her and hugged her tight.  “No, Sweetheart, I said it right.  You are such a pretty girl.  I don’t ever want to hear the other word again.  It’s not a nice word and ladies don’t say that.”  Lola winced inwardly as she heard the once hated words come out of her mouth. 

“Why does Abuela Jacoba say it?”

“Sometimes old people forget what is proper.  Besides, Jacoba’s not really your grandmother.  Your real grandmother died when I was a little girl.  She was very beautiful.”

“If Abuela Jacoba isn’t my grandmother, why do I call her Grandmother Jacoba?”

“Because it pleases her, and nice people do things to make others happy, like when I tickle you because it makes you laugh.”  Estela was soon squealing in glee as her mother pretended to attack her.  Yousef came running to get in on the fun.

After the evening meal Lola sipped her coffee and declined the liqueur.  The conversational demands on Lola were minimal, and she waited for her father to indicate they should retire to the library for their daily business discussion.  Lola enjoyed her evenings with her father, but she knew that Jacoba deeply resented not being included in their evening talks. 

The set of her father’s shoulders relaxed as they closed the library door, and he began their nightly “business meeting” with his ritual question, “How were things a
t
the distillery today?”  She gave a short report, knowing he was not listening. 

Enrique poured himself a drink and sat in the big chair across from her, extending his legs in front of him and staring at the toes of his boots.  He looked tired and his boots lacked the high polish she always associated with him.  It saddened her to see him taking less care of his appearance.  She did not look forward to this conversation.

“Father, I realized this morning that I’m now quite at peace.  I still mourn Mehmet, but I’m no longer tormented by his loss.”

“You’ll always mourn him on some level, but I’m glad you’re more peaceful.”

“I want to thank you for giving me a haven in which to heal, but it’s time I returned to the city.”

“Lola,” he began, “God graced me with beautiful intelligent daughters.  Beauty and brains are a rare and priceless combination.  You, however, have the extra spark of curiosity, a love of learning that sets you apart.”  He swallowed the last of the whiskey in his glass and sat up straight.  “I’m glad to have you back in my life.” 

Lola felt a lump in her throat.  In the months she had been back, this was the first time he had even alluded to the fact that she had ever left.  What she heard in his simple statement was not an apology, and she knew it was not meant to be one—yet it voiced a world of regret and sadness.  Now that she had children of her own, she knew how much her father’s decision must have cost him.

“Papa, please don’t make this more difficult.  I have to go.”

“You just said you were at peace here.  Rosa, Dolores and Pilar adore your children, and Jacoba seems to like the idea of being the grandmother.  You’ve brought the house back to life.  Why do you want to leave?”  The lump in her throat grew painfully large, but Juan’s words echoed in her mind.

“I just told you.  I’m ready to face the world again.” 

“Let’s not beat around the bush.  We both know you wouldn’t have started doing the accounting again if you were planning to leave so soon.”

Lola had not intended to say anything to her father that could be seen as an attack on his wife, but she changed her mind.  She owed him an honest answer.  She reported what Estela had said.  “I can’t protect her from this while we live in the same house.”  Emotions that would once have been hidden flowed across Enrique’s face.  Lola felt an echo of his pain and sorrow.

“I will speak to Jacoba.”

“Please, Papa, don’t let her know what I said.” 

“Are you afraid of Jacoba?”

Lola looked down, not willing to meet her father’s steady gaze.  Her father was silent for a minute, and Lola worried that he was going to press her for an answer. 

“Very well,” said Enrique, “I’ll get a girl from the village to help with the children.” 

“Thank you.”  She would find a way to isolate her children from Jacoba.

Two days later Marta came to Lola’s office at the distillery.  Marta had done very well at the village school, and she had helped raise her younger siblings when her mother got sick.  Lola liked her at once.  In her weekly letter to Enriqueta, Lola said it would be nice to have a woman to talk to sometimes.  Their older sisters had been neither friendly nor welcoming.  Juan left a long letter for Enriqueta at the station every week and brought the shorter answers.  Enriqueta’s letters were full of amusing anecdotes about Blanca, and news of their friends.  The dressmaking clientele was growing, and they now had another girl living with them who did the laundry, cleaning, and some cooking.  Concha was doing more and more sewing.

One day when Lola returned from work, Rosa told her there would be a guest at dinner and El Patrón wanted the children to join them.  Lola dressed Estela in a freshly starched dress while Marta valiantly tried to get Yousef to stand still long enough to get his hair under control. Lola laughingly allowed Marta to pile her long hair on top of her head.  She led her children to the drawing room with a feeling of anticipation.  Guests were rare on the plantation. 

“Lola, may I present James
Atkins
?”  Lola extended her hand to the thin carefully dressed man whose face showed he spent much time in the sun, but without tanning.  “Señor
Atkins
, this is my youngest daughter, Señora Osman.”  As he bowed formally over her hand, she noticed that his light hair blended into gray on the sides.  “Señor
Atkins
will be staying in the apartment above the distillery for a while.”

Then Jacoba made her entrance, and Lola’s teeth clenched as she recognized her mother’s ruby necklace accentuated by a low-cut dress.  Dinner was announced and the guest offered his arm to Lola as they moved toward the dining room. 

“Where are you from, Señor
Atkins
?” asked Lola.

“I’m from England, but I’ve been living in Central and South America for many years and I’m probably more at home here than I would be in England after such a long absence.”

“What brought you to Peru?”

“I’m an engineer.  I came to South America to work on the Panama Canal.”  Lola was thrilled to meet someone who had actually worked on the famous project.  “Have you heard of it?” he asked, mildly surprised.

“Of course,” laughed Lola.  “We live a rather isolated life, but we’re still in touch with the world beyond.  I read the newspapers every week when my father is through with them.  Strange that we haven’t heard that work on the Canal is finished.”

“It isn’t, but my role with it finished some time ago.  Now I’m what I call an itinerate engineer.  I’ve been involved in road building in Ecuador, and I’ve worked on private rail lines in Colombia and Ecuador.”

“Which is why he’s here,” said Enrique.  “Now if you ladies will excuse us, we’ll retire to the library.”  He rose and James followed suit. 

The next morning, Lola looked up from her work when a man’s voice said, “Good morning, Señora Osman.”  James tipped his hat.  “I look forward to seeing you and your lovely children again at dinner this evening.”

“Yes, Señor
Atkins
, we’ll be there.”  He nodded, leaving with a quick stride.

Lola continued her work with a smile on her face.  It was nice to have someone new to relieve the tedium of the evening conversation. 

“Does your wife mind when you go on extended business trips, Señor
Atkins
?” Lola asked that evening at dinner.

“Unfortunately, I never married.  My work has always taken too much of my time and energy for me to think about settling down to have a family.”

“That
is
unfortunate.”

“And what about you?  Is your husband away on business?”

“My husband did a great deal of travelling until…”  Lola’s words caught in her throat.  She swallowed, blinked, and continued, “…until his ship went down in a storm.”

“I’m so sorry, Señora, how insensitive of me to ask.”  Lola protested that he had no way of knowing that she was a widow, but he was quiet for the remainder of the meal.  Three days later Enrique sent word that the children could eat upstairs with Marta.  That piqued Lola’s curiosity, but it was not until the coffee was served that her father cleared his throat for attention.

“I’m pleased to announce that Señor
Atkins
has completed his initial survey and decided my project to construct a private rail line connecting us with the city is feasible.”

Lola was astonished.  “A private railroad?”

“Why would we want a railroad?” asked Jacoba.  “It would cost a fortune and what would we do with it?  Anyone who wants to visit us either comes in a carriage or on horseback.  It sounds ridiculous.”

“Do we produce enough to justify a train?” asked Lola. 

Enrique ignored his wife’s comment and looked at Lola.  “You’re right; we don’t send enough to the city to justify a train—now.  However, Victoria also sends produce to market, and so do Amelia and Ernestina, and
so does every landowner between here and the city.
”  He sat back with a smile on his face. 

“But if everyone used the train, all the produce would go to the market the same day.  Won’t that put too much on the market and make the price too low?” she asked.  “And how do you know they’d want a train?  Jacoba’s probably right that it’ll be frightfully expensive.”

“You’re asking the right questions, Lola, but you’re not thinking big enough.  If we get a carload of goods to the city in the morning, we can attach it to a larger train, and it’ll be in Lima the same day—still fresh.  We can leave the local market to the small farmers.  We have many hectares of unused land we could cultivate once we are no longer dependent on the local market.  That was why I started the distillery—to have something that could be shipped long distances.  Now my liqueur is not only distributed throughout South America, but in Europe and North America as well.”

“Not to be contrary, Father, but why can’t we just load our goods on a train when we take them to the city?  I still don’t understand.”

“It’s all about time.  Trains to Lima don’t stay at our station long enough for us to load our goods.  With our own car, we merely switch it to another train and it’s on its way before we could even reach town with a wagon.”

“I see...”

“The other question you asked was about the landowners wanting a train.  That’s where you ladies come into the plan.”  Jacoba’s face lost its petulant expression, and she smiled expectantly.  Lola was wary.  “We’ll start with your sisters.  We’ll invite their families for a dinner next week to present the plan to them and get their support.  The next step will be to convince the other landowners.

“Jacoba, will you arrange the dinner?  Make it Saturday so they can attend mass with us before leaving the next morning.

“Lola, make sure there are rooms ready for them to stay overnight.”  Lola breathed a sigh of relief.  She would not have to work with Jacoba.  Getting the rooms ready was easy; she just had to tell Rosa and Marta.

Enrique pushed his chair back and asked Lola to join the men in the library. There was a large chart of the area on the table.  The boundaries of various landholdings were drawn, and the names of the owners were printed neatly on each parcel. 

Atkins
’s finger followed a dark line across the map as he spoke.  “This is the least expensive way to run the track.  It runs parallel to the existing road and minimizes the need to clear additional land.  I assume there’s an agreement already in place that gives access to the road and perhaps that could be widened to include the tracks.”

“Why does it stop here, at the edge of our property?” asked Lola.  “That’s a long way from the producing fields and the distillery, so we still need to load wagons and load and unload everything twice.”

“The distillery’s too close to the house and the stables.  The train would be too noisy and unsightly any closer.”