The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (51 page)

The house was packed up. Belongings that could be carried were in one of the salons and ready to go, but all other possessions, including family heirlooms and antiquities, were left to the hands of fate. It was late in the afternoon when Ramón, Carlos’s father, appeared at the door. Ernesto let out a sigh of relief. His arrival from Valencia had been expected, and the reply from Rawlings had come back. The message sent from sea to the port authority under Francisco’s name was short but sweet to Ernesto’s eyes:

Rawlings’s
ship
will
dock
in
Gandía
tomorrow
morning.
It
will
wait
for
four
hours,
no
longer.
I
will
meet
you
at
the
docks,
0700
hrs.

Your
friend,

Francisco

Ernesto sat in his conservatory and pondered his next move. His first objective was to get Marta out of the convent. She was taking the veil tomorrow. He, Celia, and María were supposed to attend the ceremony, and that was when they would take her. For days, he’d toyed with the idea of bringing forward his plans, going to the convent under some pretext of family business and getting Marta out any way he could, but the mother superior would never have given him access; only when she took the veil would they be invited in. He poured some coffee into his cup and screwed up his face. It was cold.

His plans for Marta had to be brought forward, as the ship was now coming sooner than planned. He would not be able get to the convent and back in time for its departure, and he could not risk the life of his wife and other daughter on the road to the convent, where militant republican checkpoints had been set up every two kilometres or so.

He spoke now to Ramón, who was waiting for instructions. The decision was made quickly: they would leave within the hour. Ramón, in possession of a Communist Party membership card, would drive the old battered truck used to ferry workers from different parts of the orange groves. They would take the old inland road, barely used now, and travel over the mountains skirting the town of Játiva until they reached Cocentaina and the convent. They would collect Marta, kicking and screaming no doubt, and he would use force if necessary. Ramón’s youngest son was ordered to leave at five in the morning with the women and was told not to stop until he reached Gandía. There they would meet Francisco, who would be instrumental in getting them on the ship.

Ernesto cupped the brandy glass and stared at the mountains burnt red from the setting sun. He was running away; loyalty and trust had disappeared. He was no longer master of La Glorieta or of its people. They would come and pillage his house, his family’s treasures, and its proud traditions. An era had ended. The people had spoken.

“Where is Don Ernesto?”

Ernesto jumped at the sound of Ramón’s voice and ran into the hallway. Ramón rushed towards him and then stopped suddenly. His eyes, wide with panic, darted around the hallway and refused to meet Ernesto’s face.

“Don Ernesto, sir, I…”

“What is it, man? Speak up,” Ernesto said, trying to keep some measure of calm.

“Don Ernesto, the news is not good. You have run out of time. They’re coming.”

“Who’s coming?”

“A mob mostly, but government Asaltos are with them… and some men and women from the village.”

“Damn… damn!” Ernesto spat, thinking about Marta. “Where are they now?”

“About fifteen minutes away. The main road, down by the east groves. There’re about thirty of them; they’re armed with guns, and some are carrying gasoline. They killed the Guardía Civil, and they know there’s no going back now. They want blood, your blood. You will all have to leave right now. Sir, you cannot delay any longer. The whole countryside is crawling with militia, as far inland as Játiva. They have taken over the province.”

Ernesto stood open-mouthed, struck dumb. The moment he’d been dreading had finally arrived. He had to remain calm. He had to think, but there was no time to think.

“Ramón, get the truck round to the front. I’ll get the women. Hurry, Ramon! We have very little time!”

Ernesto realised that there would be no time to get to the convent for Marta—no time for anything except a hasty departure towards the coast. To go inland with the four women would be sheer folly. He ran his fingers through his hair.

“Ramón, promise me you’ll get to Marta, that you’ll get her to the docks somehow. Promise me!”

“Padrone, you know I will.”

Ernesto ran upstairs and stood in the centre of the first floor landing shouting for his wife, daughter, aunt Marie, and Rosa The four women appeared at the salon door together, where they had been taking an afternoon beverage. Ernesto wasted no time and spoke with authority.

“Get your things quickly and I mean quickly. We’re leaving right now. Do you all understand?” The four women nodded and then scattered to their rooms for last minute necessities”

Minutes later, Ernesto greeted them at the front door. The women carried a small bag each. Nobody spoke, but he could tell that their fear mirrored his.

“We have to go now,” Ernesto told them with a calmness he didn’t feel.

“Marta?” Celia asked, staring at Ernesto as though it were the first time she’d ever seen him.

Ernesto drew her close and stroked her hair. “There’s no time, darling. Ramón will go for her as soon as we’ve left. I’ll tell George Rawlings to wait off shore for a few hours longer, and she’ll meet us on board… We have to be positive.”

“Positive!” Celia shouted angrily. “How can we be positive? There are men coming here to kill us. They’re not coming for a cup of tea, you know, and what if Ramón can’t get to her? What then, Ernesto?”

“He will, darling. If anyone can, he can. You must believe that. You’ve been so brave; don’t give up now.”

Aunt Marie hurried Celia to the waiting truck without another word. María led her Auntie Rosa, who, in her dreamlike state, couldn’t quite understand what was going on. Ernesto watched Celia hesitate at the door of the truck. She stood anchored to the spot with disobedient feet that would not move an inch, and he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Let’s get going before these people overrun us,” he told her sternly. “We’re no good to our daughter if we’re dead.”

“I won’t leave without Marta. Do not make me do it.” She was sobbing now. “We can’t leave our daughter behind. We can’t!”

“Mother, get in the truck,” María told her.

Aunt Marie tried to push Celia from behind. Having been through evacuations before, she knew that speed was everything.

“Celia, get in, will you? Ernesto’s right. We’ll all be killed, and what will Marta do then?”

“God will protect her. She is safe in God’s arms.” Rosa, already on the truck, then told her.

Ernesto looked again at Celia’s frightened face. She knew they were right, he thought. Defeat was written in her eyes. The masses would kill them. Memories of the past were not in the minds of the young peasants or republican assault guards, and they were the enemy of the republic now, whether they liked it or not.

“Come on, darling, we must leave now.”

“But we can’t,” she said almost as a whisper. “We can’t leave her…”

Ernesto pulled her to him and encircled her with his arms. His heart was breaking too, but he had to get her to leave before it was too late.

“Darling, please. Marta is in a safe place at the moment. We are not.”

“Promise me, Ernesto; promise me on your life that my daughter will get out of that convent alive.”

Ernesto nodded. He was lying to her. He couldn’t promise. He couldn’t even promise that they would survive the night!

María stared blindly out of the truck’s dirty windows. There was nothing to say and no more to be done. They were refugees now, huddling together with no more than the clothes on their backs and the four small bags filled with the most personal and important belongings. Ramón stood passively, watching her. She opened the window and stuck her head out, and Ramón stared into her eyes with his own unfathomable expression.

She looked at the house and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of jasmine from the bushes that climbed its walls, and that’s when a moment of clarity hit her. Carlos, her home, and her sister needed her. She opened her eyes and looked at her father, who had also been watching her.

“I’m staying,” she heard herself say, opening the door of the truck to get out.

Celia grabbed María by the arm and screamed, “Get back in the truck! Get in now!”

María jumped out and swung the door closed behind her. Looking at her mother’s ashen face, guilt flooded her mind, but the more she thought about what she was doing, the more she knew she was doing the right thing. Somehow she had always known that this moment would come.

“No, Mother, I’m not going. I’m going to stay. Ramón will look after me, won’t you, Ramón?”

He nodded.

“They won’t hurt me, not while I’m with Ramón.”

“Please, María, get in. You must come with us, please,” Celia begged. Her voice was now soft and weak.

“No, Mother. I’m sorry, but I’ve thought about this. I won’t leave my country. This is my home, and if Ramón can convince the mob that’s coming that I’m with them, that I can be of use to them, that La Glorieta is theirs, maybe they won’t burn it to the ground like they have poor Doña Isabella’s house. These are my people, and they know me. I’ve worked with them in the fields my whole life. They trust me.”

Celia was blinded by tears. She pulled on Ernesto’s sleeve and tried to push him out of the truck after their daughter, but he was strangely quiet, accepting even.

“Don’t allow this, please, Ernesto… God no!” she cried again, watching helplessly as María put distance between herself and the truck. Ernesto held Celia and stared at his daughter’s face.

“Are you sure?” he asked her.

“This is the work of the devil!” Rosa cried, clutching her rosary beads to her breast. “The devil and the communists. They’ll kill us all! And we’ll be martyrs in the eyes of God!”

“Oh, shut up, you stupid woman!” Aunt Marie told her sternly. “For once, just keep your holier-than-thou mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you.”

“She is one of us!” Ramón shouted to them all, shocking them all into silence. “Don’t worry about her. We’ll keep her safe. She has nothing to fear. I give you my word, Señor Martinéz.”

María stood in the doorway, watching the lights of the truck fade into the darkness as the distant torchlights of the mob grew brighter. She hadn’t even kissed her family goodbye or told them how much she loved them all. Her mother had left, a broken woman, held tightly in the arms of her father, a deeply saddened man, yet all she could think about was that she was happy. She was happy! It was as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. All she’d heard during the last couple of weeks was talk of leaving, and she’d been dreading the moment. But now that heavy weight of dread had gone.

She went inside the house and sat on the marble floor, trying to banish her mother’s tear-stained face from her mind. There were many reasons why she’d decided to stay, she thought, looking around her and feeling slightly dazed still. She had to keep the house intact. She had to get her sister back. And she knew in her heart that this was where she belonged, at La Glorieta and with Carlos. They were her destiny.

During the night, columns of republican Asaltos and army soldiers, still loyal to the government, took over the house. They arrived in transport vehicles, ambulances, and open trucks filled with guns and ammunition. They carried boxes full of victuals, papers, and medical equipment, making it abundantly clear that La Glorieta had been, possibly weeks earlier, earmarked as a republican base. Its purpose was clear in that it had a strategic position in the mountains that led westwards to the Madrid highway, southwards towards the rebel held regions, and north to Cataluña. Her home was an important foothold for the republicans, and María instinctively knew then that they would more than likely be staying for the duration of the conflict.

María wandered onto the patio area just before dawn on the second day of occupation. It was quiet and peaceful save for a scattering of Asaltos who slept with backs against the walls. The peasants who’d accompanied the assault guards had not been surprised to see her there. Some had spoken to her, and she had detected neither malice nor revenge in their voices. Ramón’s influence went far and beyond any thoughts of revenge they might have, and apart from that, she herself had thought at the time that some were even glad she’d stayed.

Ramón had remained by her side throughout the invasion and had found the earliest opportunity to take her in front of the new master of the hacienda, Captain Raúl Marsal. The captain was a relatively young man who had immediately understood her desire to remain in her home. However, their conversation had been brief, lasting only a couple of minutes. María was told only that she was not to interfere in any way with the running of the newest republican headquarters, that she must not, for the time being, leave its boundaries, adding that she would be allowed to remain only if a useful position could be found for her. She had complied with his wishes; she had no desire to take charge of anything.

She walked back into the house and passed the small pockets of soldiers who were setting up communication posts and surgical rooms. She shivered at the sight of the rooms, once filled with fine art, luxurious couches, and rugs, being turned into cold clinical spaces that would undoubtedly be filled with pain and blood over the next few months. She sat on the bottom step of the winding staircase and tried to put her new priorities in order.

María’s first objective had nothing to do with the house or her father’s land. With the madness over, at least for the moment, her first mission now was to get Marta out of the convent. Ramón would leave for Cocentaina as soon as Carlos returned; his arrival was imminent, Ramón had informed her earlier. María had asked Ramón to go for Marta moments after her parent’s departure, but he had refused to leave her alone. Sadly, she concluded, the ship would be long gone, and even George Rawlings, who loved her family as they loved him, would not, could not, wait another day for Marta, who was now to be brought straight back to La Glorieta. That was as far as she had gotten with her plan.