Isabel's Texas Two-Step (4 page)

T
he sun had set by the time we landed in San Antonio. People were laughing and joking as they left the plane. Even Aunt Lourdes looked more relaxed.
Must be the Texas air,
I thought. I smiled as I checked that I had put everything back in my bag. I hoped Elena Maria was in a better mood too, and would let me use her cell phone now.

But Elena and her friends were still totally wrapped up in their own world at baggage claim. Jill complained about how hot the airport was. Lauren was disappointed that she didn't see any cowboys around. Scott and Andrew put on their sunglasses and acted like they were a pair of cool dudes from the big city. I noticed that a lot of people—regular people—were walking around in cowboy boots. I really wanted a pair…ones with bluebirds on them.

“What's that music piped in overhead?” Scott asked. “It sounds like we should all be holding hands and skipping in a circle or something.”

“It's not that at all,” Elena Maria answered sharply. “It's Mexican ranch-style music.”

“That's a polka! My Polish cousins dance to it all the time,” Jill said, laughing.

“No way that's Polish,” Scott said. “They're singing in Spanish.”

“Well, whatever it is, I like it,” Andrew said. He grabbed Jill by the hands and twirled her. “Get used to it, Jill. I hear there's a lot of dancing at kinzy kinzy whatevers.”

“Keen-seh-ah-niera!” I piped up.

“And I'm having a band,” Elena Maria explained in a haughty voice. “At least there better be one, that plays a lot of hip-hop and soul and funk.”

Ugh. One more second of
quinceañera
talk would make me cuckoo. And anyway, I really wanted to let the BSG know that I was in Texas! “Elena, can I please use your cell phone now to text my friends?” I asked.

“Okay.”

I was about to take the phone, but all of a sudden we heard a loud whoop. It was my cousin Anthony, the oldest of my Uncle Hector and Aunt Inez's three boys.

“If it ain't the Bostonians! Welcome to Texas, y'all!” His voice boomed throughout the terminal.

“Tony! It's been so long!” Elena ran up to him. The two hugged like they were old friends. This was news to me, but then, she had been to Texas more times than I had.

He was tall. Dark. And from the goo-goo eyes Jill and Lauren were making at him, I could tell they thought he
was way handsome. This wasn't the Anthony I remembered. Back then, he was goofy-looking.

When he saw my mother and aunt, he cut through Elena Maria's friends, leaving Jill and Lauren with stars in their eyes and Scott and Andrew looking a little intimidated by this handsome Texas cowboy.

“Tía Lourdes! Tía Esperanza! You ladies look hot!” He gave them big bear hugs. Tony was taller than everybody. His energy seemed to put more color in my mother's cheeks. Then he turned to me.

“Is this
la chiquita
? My little
prima
Isabel? Give your cousin Tony a big
abrazo
, little girl!” And before I knew it, he scooped me up. Whoa! Nobody had actually picked me up in years! These Texas boys were enthusiastic. I grinned from ear to ear.

After all the introductions, Tony said his mom had a big dinner waiting for us at the ranch. Since my stomach was growling, that was welcome news to me. I wondered how we were all going to fit in one vehicle, but when we got outside he pointed to a big, shiny, black Suburban SUV, the kind with three rows of seats and little TVs hanging from the ceiling. All the girls hurried to get a seat. “You're not going to believe the inside,” Jill shouted to the boys, who were struggling to get all the luggage into the back of the car or lashed onto the roof.

“My mother is so excited about your
quinceañera
, Elena,” Tony explained after we got on the road. “She and Dad are thrilled you're letting them do this for you. You know, my mother, she's always wanted a girl of her own.
Guess me and Fonzie and Rico weren't cute enough.” He laughed.

Elena Maria was silent. There was something about his words “letting them do this for you” that made her clam up. The awkward silence was broken by Lauren.

“Fonzie? Rico? Who're they?”

“Didn't Elena Maria tell you? Those are nicknames for my younger brothers, Alfonso and Ricardo. Don't tell them I told you, though.”

Jill and Lauren exchanged sly looks. “We won't.” They giggled in unison. I got the feeling that my cousins might be in for some girl trouble.

Sandwiched between Scott and Andrew in the far back row, I couldn't really see out the windows, but the scenery must have been interesting because both boys had their faces pressed against the glass. Meanwhile, Tony continued to act like our tour guide.

“We're heading due west of San Antonio. I think you Boston folks will find
Rancho Los Mitotes
very comfortable, with everything you need. Mama's set it up so that the guys'll stay with us in the north wing, and the girls and the two
tías
in the south.”

Jill and Lauren grinned and looked at each other. I knew exactly what they were thinking. “Wings” equaled mansion! Mansion equaled swimming pools and princess-style bedrooms. I had to admit, I was excited too.

“Tell my friends more about your place, Tony,” Elena Maria said, practically glowing.

“Oh, Elly-belle. That can wait. Believe me, you're all
going to hear a lot more about our place than you'll ever want to know.”

“Come on! Tell them. They're going to go absolutely nuts.” She turned to her friends. “You are going to
love
this place.”

Tony laughed, cleared his throat, and told a story he'd obviously told many times.

“We moved there when Rico was still tiny, about five years old. You know, big ears, missing teeth. He was a yuuugly little thing.”

Boys,
I thought.

My mom asked Tony to go on with his story. Tony beeped his horn at a big Cadillac emblazoned with a longhorn steer hood ornament and then continued. “We used to have a tiny ranch, just about a hundred acres further south from here, until we discovered a small pocket of natural gas on the property. My dad immediately sold it when we found this place. It's called
Rancho Los Mitotes. Mitotes
is a Spanish word for dances. Wait, maybe it's an Indian word. Anyway, it was used to describe the parties that the local people had a long time ago. They'd have feasts and drink and dance and do all sorts of festive things. Supposedly, our land was such a place where the Coahuiltecan people would gather.”

“Kwo-weel-whaaat?” Andy piped up.

“It's pronounced ‘kwo-weel-tek-ahn.' They were peaceful, and they sometimes lived side by side with the Spanish at the missions. We've never found artifacts or anything that proves they were there, but we know this ranch was
established in the late 1800s. It already had its name by the time we came along, so there might be something to the rumor that it was a special place for the Coahuiltecans.

“Our ranch is unique in that, at the north end, the terrain is Hill Country, with a bunch of live oaks and small hills, and to the south, it's mostly flat land—scrub, cactus, mesquite, stuff like that.”

Scott leaned over and high-fived Andrew. I guessed they both thought they would be riding the range like old-time cowboys or something. The thought of all these city slickers dressed in chaps and hats appealed to my ridiculous side. I saw a cartoon in the making.

“Antonio,” my mother said in Spanish, “tell them about the cattle operation.”

“Sure, Tía. We've had a small cattle ranching business for about six years now. We specialize in Brahmans, and when you see them, you might find them a little strange-looking. But the beef is tasty and our cattle are known as the best around. We also have some Charolais, Red Angus, Herefords, and oh, I almost forgot—Elly-belle, you're going to like this—we've got a few longhorn steers now. They're really cool.”

“Oh, no. I don't like that at all!” Elena Maria protested. “The last time I was there, I almost got chased down by a big, mean cow! I don't like cows with horns.”

“Well, then you're really going to like our newest additions, the mini Hereford.”

“Can you ride them?” Lauren asked.

I smacked my forehead. “Even I know you can't ride
a cow!” Elena Maria put her finger up to her mouth. That was her signal to tell me not to embarrass her friends. I was beginning to think that I might not get anything right with my sister this week.

Tony thought about this. “Well, I guess you can, but they won't go very far. They just sorta stand around and…chew cud.” Tony looked at my mother. “Tía Esperanza, my father is going to ask you if you'd like to serve barbecue at the fiesta. He's famous for his barbecue.”

Lauren and Jill let out a collective gasp. “We love barbecue!”

“Yum,” Elena Maria exclaimed. “Sounds great, Tony!”

“Tony,” I yelled from the backseat. “Is that natural swimming hole, the cavern or whatever it's called, still there?”

“The
tinaja
? Yes, it is, but if you want to go swimming, we've now got something better—a great, big, new swimming pool!”

My mother gasped. “
Ay
, Antonio. I'll bet that was your mother's idea.”

“You got that right, Tía. Mom has wanted one for so long that Dad had one installed last Mother's Day. She never liked the
tinaja.
But I liked it. In the swimming hole, the water's always cool and most of the time, clean.

“Isabel,” he yelled to the backseat. “We've had a lot of rain this spring, but the waterfall isn't running yet.”

I clearly remembered the
tinaja
. It had this cool limestone outcropping that formed a half dome over the pool.
When I was little it looked to me like the kind of place where fairies and talking animals would have tea parties.

The city was far behind us, and the night sky was filled with stars. Soon everybody grew quiet. The twinkling sky stretched before us.

Andrew broke the silence. “Wow. I can't believe how many stars are out tonight.”

“Dude,” Tony said proudly, “you're deep in the heart of Texas!”

M
om and Aunt Lourdes spoke quietly in Spanish with Tony as we drove toward open country. Tony's command of Spanish made him sound like a native Mexican speaker. I loved hearing the musical sounds.

“I hope everybody's hungry! Fidencia and Enrique, our
cocineros
—that's cooks—have been cooking all day. And here we are,” he said, turning off the highway. He brought the Suburban to a full stop and clicked a button. Like “open sesame,” I saw a big iron gate, illuminated in the headlights, swing open.

“Look at Tony,” Elena Maria whispered. “He's still such a kid.”

“He's such a
cute
kid,” Lauren cooed.

“Lauren, put your eyeballs back into their sockets,” Andrew teased.

We were still laughing when we pulled up to the main house. A small crowd had gathered to welcome us. I saw my Uncle Hector and Aunt Inez, and a guy I guessed
was my cousin Alfonso, who was clowning around with a younger boy who had to be his little brother, Ricardo. Standing next to them was a very short and plump couple. The
cocineros,
I thought. Better steer clear of them—they looked as serious as if they were at cooking school, about to take the biggest test of their lives!

Everybody stumbled out of the car with a lot of commotion. I heard a deep gasp. “Just look here,” a lively female voice said. It was Aunt Inez. She pushed through the group, grasped both my hands, and bent over to put her face in mine. “
Mira esta muchachita. ¡Que hermosa!
This can't be the little rag doll named Isabel! You were just a tiny thing when I last saw you.”

All of a sudden I was lost in her warm hug, trying to breathe through her flowery perfume. I couldn't help myself. I started to cough.

“Just look at that hair, those beautiful eyes. Isabel, you're the spitting image of your father,” she said. I had not remembered much about Aunt Inez at all. Now I didn't see how I could have forgotten her! She wore her thick, black hair in a tight bun, with blue eye makeup and lots of shiny silver jewelry. She was pretty but a little overdone, in my opinion. My friend Maeve would have loved her.

She let me go as abruptly as she had cornered me. “Speaking of which, when does Jorge arrive? We have to ensure that he learns the waltz for Elena Maria's
entrada
. Though I doubt he'll have any trouble. What a
bailador
!”

“What does
bailador
mean?” Jill whispered to Elena Maria.

“It means ‘dancer,' my dear,” Aunt Inez explained. “And I think in the dictionary it will have Jorge's picture next to the definition!”

Everyone laughed and started moving into the house. “Hey, Elena, do you want to…” I started, but trailed off. She was chatting to Jill, not even listening to me. Would my sister even remember I was here? I hung back, not sure what to do next.

“Hi, Isabel.”

My cousin Ricardo, hands in his pants pockets, was shuffling one foot against the floor, head hanging down. He shyly looked up. We hadn't seen each other in almost eight years. I didn't remember him looking so…goofy.

“Ricardo?”

“Yehhhh,” he answered. I searched for something familiar about him. When did he sprout such a thick mop on his head? Why such thick eyeglasses? There it was—the ears—peeking through his crop of hair.

“Do you remember me?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” I said. More silence. I fidgeted with my bag.

“Are you hungry? Let's go eat,” he said finally.

“Okay,” I answered, instantly relieved. Food was becoming a priority! I didn't like the sandwich on the plane, so I was starving.

The Saddest Princess

The dining room had the longest table I'd ever seen, and it was all set for a delicious dinner. The salsa was
already on the table. Yum! I couldn't wait to dip into that. Salsa was one of my favorite snacks—the hotter, the better. At least six more people could have joined us after everybody sat down. Fidencia proudly ladled out scoops of steaming red rice, and at one end of the table, Uncle Hector sliced a huge barbecued brisket. Aunt Inez rattled off a list of completed arrangements.

“The menu is planned, the flowers ordered, and your cousin Miguel, Esperanza—the priest—will lead us in a simple ceremony behind the old barn.”

“Behind the barn? Won't it be a little…stinky?” Elena Maria asked as she wrinkled her nose.

“Elena!” my mother gasped.

But Tía Inez just chuckled. “No, don't worry, dear. We use the old barn for storing tools and your uncle keeps an office in there. I've been landscaping the area by the southwest corner for years, because you can see beautiful sunsets from there. There is also a gorgeous, huge, and ancient live oak. Take a look at it tomorrow morning. I think you'll agree that it's a perfect site.”

She turned back to my mother and Aunt Lourdes and said in an excited voice, “We commissioned a local family to make some benches and a water fountain out of
faux bois
. This particular family's work has become incredibly popular in this area.”

My mother's eyebrows rose. Aunt Lourdes looked away.

“It's perfect! Only the best for my dear niece,” Aunt Inez continued. She gazed at Elena Maria. “I've been
dreaming about your
quinceañera
for years,
mi amorcita. ¡Ay!
I have no daughters, but I'm fortunate, thanks to God, to have plenty of nieces. Elena, I hope you are the first of many who will have their
quince
here.”

My sister glowed under my aunt's enthusiasm. She stood and walked to Aunt Inez, wrapped her arms around her neck and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You're the best, Tía.”

Was that a tear coming from Aunt Inez's eye? What was that sneaky glance between my mom and Aunt Lourdes about? Jill and Lauren looked like they were in the presence of a saint. Aunt Inez and Elena Maria were having a love fest.

When dinner was over, Aunt Inez stood up and announced the sleeping arrangements. She asked her sons to show Scott and Andrew to their rooms, and told the girls and Mom and Aunt Lourdes to follow her. She rattled off some instructions in Spanish to Fidencia, who nodded and walked toward me. I could see that all of Elena Maria's friends were really impressed. And Elena—she was so proud. As she walked away from the table, she tossed her long hair over her shoulder and said to Scott, “Isn't this a beautiful home?”

At first I was annoyed with my sister, thinking she was going to make my parents feel bad because they couldn't provide such a beautiful space for their daughter's
quince
. But then I remembered something my father said after I won an art competition in third grade. The girl who came in second was crying, and I wanted to give her my award
to make her feel better. My dad said, “Everyone needs their time in the sun. Isabel, this is yours. Please enjoy it. Your little friend will have her time.” I figured that the whole
quinceañera
was Elena Maria's time in the sun. I would just have to be patient with her party drama.

“
Venga, niña
,” Fidencia said, grabbing my elbow.

Once again, I was confused. “But…,” I said, in English, trying to catch Mom's eye. But Aunt Lourdes was already whisking her away.

“
Sí, sí,
” Fidencia said sweetly. I didn't leave my chair.

Aunt Inez said, “Isabel, we have a bed for you in the old nursery, next to our housekeeper, Mercedes's, room. It is so charming. I just know you will just love it. I will be there soon to get you settled.”

Enrique stood nearby, ready to wheel my suitcase. It felt weird to be escorted to a room that was so far away from everybody else. The two cooks walked on either side of me. I was beginning to feel like a lonely princess being led to a solitary tower. Enrique wouldn't even let me roll my own luggage. I liked carrying my own stuff. It always made me feel like I could manage.

I followed Fidencia up some stairs to the second floor, then came to the end of a long hall that turned into another short flight of stairs. I heard a radio blasting more of the accordion music from a nearby room as we turned the corner.

“
¿Esa música, que es?
” I managed to ask.

“Eh?” Fidencia answered. I guessed my accent sounded funny to her.

“The music.
La música. ¿Que es
—?”

“Ah!
La música
,” she said. She ducked into the room and spoke in Spanish to whomever was inside. The radio shut off instantly. I peeked inside and saw an attractive woman standing over an ironing board. She was probably Mercedes, the housekeeper my aunt had referred to earlier. She looked nice, and I gave her a little wave.

Fidencia hummed until we reached a door. Enrique reached in his pocket and pulled out a key to unlock it. Then they said good night and left.

The room was small, but it was very pretty and “charming,” as Aunt Inez said, in a quiet, spare kind of way. It reminded me a bit of the Tower back at Charlotte's house in Brookline because it was a strange shape. Three of the white walls had tall, narrow windows, hidden by closed wooden shutters. A kid-size bed covered with a beautiful quilt was pushed against one wall. Next to the bed was a small, painted wooden table. On top of the table was a pink candle in a glass container and a pretty white lamp in the shape of a cookie jar.

I took out a family photo I'd tucked into my sketchpad and laid it against the lamp. I felt a little settled now, but still I wondered where in the house my mom was staying.

Suddenly Aunt Inez bustled in. “Isabel, you can put your clothes in the chest of drawers. There is a bathroom at the other end of the hall. I think you'll be quite comfortable here, dear.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek.

As she turned to walk out the door, I asked, “Tía? Where are Mom and Aunt Lourdes?”

She looked at me for a second before answering. “They're downstairs on the opposite side of the house. Your mother should not be climbing stairs, you know, and Lourdes needs to be near her, just in case. Mercedes is right next door if you need anything.”
Need anything?
Did Aunt Inez remember that my Spanish needed work? How was I supposed to talk to Mercedes?

I nodded, even though what she said made no sense to me. “Tía, is there a computer I might use?”

“Computer!
¡Muchacha!
It's much too late for that. We have a busy day tomorrow. We must shop for some items for the honor court. It's bedtime for you, my dear.”

Bedtime? It couldn't be later than nine o'clock! I was surprised by how bossy my aunt was. Even more than Aunt Lourdes. I hoped bossy wasn't some gene that ran in the family.

She gave me another swift kiss good night and mumbled some blessings in Spanish in my ear. “Get some sleep.”

“I want to say good night to Mom.”

“Your mother is already asleep. She's had such a long day. Now the best thing you can do for her is go to bed yourself.” She left, closing the door behind her.

Oooookay. I almost felt like crying. There was no TV and I had nothing to read; I had only my sketchpad. But I didn't feel particularly creative. I kicked off my shoes and put on my slippers.

With nothing else to do, I started to unpack and soon heard voices coming from the room next door. I stuck my
head out the door. It was Ricardo, talking in Spanish to Mercedes.

“Isabel, they put you way over here?” he said when he saw me. “That's so bogus. There's a party going on in the billiards room.”

“Your mom told me to go to sleep.” I wasn't sure I wanted to hang out with Ricardo. He seemed to think he was all that, and I didn't want to get in trouble with my Aunt Inez.

“Get outta here. It's way too early, Izzy. Come on, I'll show you around,” he said, like he was king of the castle or something.

I hesitated.

“Don't worry, my mom really won't care. She likes a party. The grown-ups have all gone to their side of the house, anyway. Come on!” Sides of the house? A billiards room? This place really was a castle!

I followed him through hallways filled with beautiful Mexican-style rugs. Soon we were in front of a huge door that Ricardo said was the entrance to the
sala.
He opened the door and flipped on switches to various lights. “You like art, right, Isabel? Check this out.”

I was almost speechless. The room was right out of a decorating magazine. If my friends Maeve and Katani, the two BSG who most loved style and fashion, were here, they would have been swooning.

The room was bathed in a soft light and there were several sitting areas—long leather sofas and deep, plushy velvet chairs in a dark red at one end, a beautifully carved
gaming table and Spanish-style leather bucket chairs at the other. But what I really noticed was the art. My fingers start to tingle. Inspiration was everywhere. There was a stunning bronze statue of a cowboy on horseback, a collection of old silver spurs in a glass cabinet, ornate Victorian lamps with smoky stained-glass shades. I felt like I was in a museum.

When I looked up at the dark wood walls my heart skipped a beat. The massive painting before me looked familiar: a very happy man in a bright blue suit, holding a watermelon slice on his lap. The background was an eye-popping hot pink.

“It's an early Rufino Tamayo,” Ricardo rattled off, like he was repeating something he'd heard his mom say a million times. “And that's an original Diego Rivera over there.”

I spun around. Diego Rivera, the husband of my absolute favorite artist, Frida Kahlo! I walked over to get a closer look. The picture was of a little girl in a polka-dot skirt receiving a bundle of golden flowers from a woman seated on the floor, wearing Indian clothing. The girl looked shy, the woman sad. I held my breath. I had never been that close to the work of such a famous artist before. I knew better than to reach out and touch it.