“But how would a dowry change the fact that men, as you say, are intimidated by me?”
She stood. “Well, it would just motivate them to pursue you. They’ll see that you’re interested in having a family, a house of your own. Right now, people in town think you’re perfectly content praying all day and communicating with the Virgin. They don’t know there’s a side of you who longs to be loved and have children.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t let your life be just about that. You can have so much more, Catalina. You deserve more.”
How could I explain the effect my sister’s words had on me? I knew Angélica was slick as a cat—I’d always known—and yet, I couldn’t resist her. I was simply one more pawn in the long list of people who couldn’t deny Angélica any of her wishes.
CHAPTER 10
Puri April 1920
The cedar floors creaked with every one of my steps down the staircase. I followed the voices coming from one of the rooms and opened the door. The entire family was seated around an oval table, a fine Italian Gobelin tapestry displayed across the wall. Martin was also there and a new face, a young priest (my brother?), at one end of the table. Even the cockatoo had a spot on the back of Angélica’s chair.
“Don Cristóbal, I’m glad you could make it,” said Angélica from the other end. She’d changed into a black sequin dress and a matching hat with a long feather, which held the bird’s attention.
“Good evening,” I said to all. I was getting better at lowering the range of my voice without having to clear my throat every two minutes.
It was a warm night, with mosquitoes being shooed away from a tray of crab legs and boiled shrimp. My sisters’ fans followed the motions of their tireless wrists. I could already tell I wouldn’t be able to sleep under this heat. The air was so dense I could almost touch it and Cristóbal’s shirt was glued to my back. Good thing I’d cut my hair so short.
“Don Cristóbal,” Angélica said. “This is my brother, Padre Alberto.”
“Delighted,” he said, setting his glass of water down.
I nodded in return. He stared at me. Too intently. He was a lean man with lengthy arms, like mine, and sunken hazel eyes. He gave an aura of ease that contrasted with Angélica’s constant fidgeting.
I took a seat in an empty spot across from Catalina and Martin. To my left was Angélica’s husband, Laurent, and to my right, the priest. Laurent served me a glass of wine. It seemed I had interrupted a conversation and the silence in the room was making me nervous. I inadvertently touched my chin to make sure my beard was still in place.
Martin was also staring—did he live here, too? I found his presence unnerving, knowing he carried a gun with him. The only one who didn’t seem threatening was Catalina, who watched me with a kind smile as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin.
Maybe I should’ve stayed in Vinces. Or maybe I should have hired someone to protect me as I stormed into the hacienda to claim my inheritance. But where in this remote land would I find this someone? Certainly not in the newspaper.
“Quiere cacao, quiere cacao,” the cockatoo recited.
It took me a minute to understand what she was saying.
“Here, Ramona, but be quiet, dear, we have guests.” Angélica picked some kind of bean from a tiny bowl by her plate and fed it to the bird.
“Quiere cacao, quiere cacao.”
Wants cacao? Yes, that’s what she’d said. Angélica was feeding her cacao beans. As hard to find and expensive as they were in Spain and this woman wasted them on a bird.
“Angélica, honestly, does Ramona have to be with you even at dinnertime?” Catalina said.
Angélica frowned. “Nobody asked your opinion.”
“Come on, hermanas, be nice. Our brother-in-law is here,” the priest said.
Brother-in-law? Oh, yes. Me.
“Don Cristóbal,” Alberto said, “I’m looking forward to learning about your country. I’ve always wanted to go to Spain. It must be so different.”
“It is,” I said, “Andalucía is a lot drier.”
“Is it true there are fortress cities all around?”
“Some.”
“And windmills, like in Don Quijote?” Alberto said.
“Yes, and rows and rows of olive trees.”
“Fascinating,” he said.
“If you like olives,” Catalina said, grimacing.
“Father used to love them,” Angélica said with a distant voice. “He always teased Catalina that it was better that she didn’t like them because they were so expensive and hard to have shipped to this part of the world. We usually get them from Perú.”
I didn’t comment. Not that I didn’t want to hear about my father, but to learn about these cozy moments between him and my sisters bothered me. It reminded me of everything I’d missed.
I pulled crab meat from one of the legs. Another advantage of being a man was that you could eat with your hands and nobody looked at you twice. My sisters, on the other hand, had to use forks and knives to remove what little meat they could from the carcass.
Martin brought up the subject of the city’s celebrations coming up.
“You should stay, Don Cristóbal,” Catalina said. “There are a lot of amusing activities during that week.”
“What’s the celebration for?” I asked.
“The foundation of Vinces,” Martin said.
I wasn’t in the mood for celebrations, honestly, but my husband would’ve probably enjoyed this colloquial tradition. Plus, it could buy me some time. “I suppose it could be inspirational for my book,” I said.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Laurent pitched in. “It’s all very archaic if you ask me.”
“Archaic or not,” Martin said, “it would be a good opportunity to mingle with foreign buyers.”
“I agree,” I said, unable to suppress my opinion; this was going to be my business, too.
Martin gazed at me.
“You know what would bring some cachet to the festivities?” Laurent told his wife. “A regatta.”
“A regatta?” Martin said. “How is that going to sell cacao beans?”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to bring in foreign buyers? Regattas are the fad in Europe.”