Michener, James A. (31 page)

He made another move to enter the house, but this time Don Ramon pressed the door shut and left him standing in the street.

After the most careful calculation, Don Ramon decided against showing Trinidad the letters, for he felt they would only exacerbate her already tense emotions, but when he read them a second time and felt the warmth revealed in them, the obvious sincerity of a family that had gone to great lengths to have them translated into good Spanish by some official in New Orleans, he felt obliged to share them with her. So, though fearful that such reawakening of her interest in D'Ambreuze throw her again into depression, he decided to give them to her when she arrived home, but Trinidad did not arrive home in the ordinary sense of that word; she roared home like a child of eight at the end of a successful game, shouting: 'Grandfather! Amalia told me that letters from Rene-Claude have arrived!'

Don Ramon did not know what to say, for he had too many things he wanted to say: 'Your Amalia is a busybody.'

'The man stopped there first, asking about rooms and saying he had letters from Rene-Claude.'

'From his family.'

'It's all the same,' and she jumped up and down, hands out, begging for the letters.

'Stop that! You're a young woman now, not a child. And besides, the letters are for me, not you.'

'It's all the same,' she repeated, and she meant it. Rene-Claude and his parents, she and hers, all were united by love, so that a letter from his father was indeed a letter from Rene-Claude to her.

When she sensed that her grandfather was prepared to surrender the letters her boisterousness stopped; she moved away from him and began to weep, her lovable little face doubly distorted, and in total desolation of spirit she fell dejectedly onto a heavy wooden settee. 'Oh, Grandfather, I loved him so much. Life is so empty when I think of what it could have been.'

Her grandfather sat down beside her, placing his arms about her trembling shoulders: 'I've lost seven sons and a loving wife. I know how terrible pain can be.' They sat there for some time, each unable to speak further, then, with a tightening of her shoulders which Don Ramon could feel, she asked, as if she were a child again: 'May I see the letters, Grandfather, please?'

'Of course,' he said gently, and before she began to read them he rose and wandered into another room.

She had the same reactions that he had had, for the D'Ambreuze parents had written with such obvious pride in their son and such hopes that he had found a good wife that she felt as if they were standing there in the flower-filled room, on the dark-red tiles, and after a long while she sought her grandfather and returned the letters: 'You and I lost a good second family. I'll write in your office.'

'Write what?'

'I want to send them our love. Tell them what good people you and my mother are.' Her voice shook, but she finished her thought: They must want to hear as much as I did.' And she wrote a long detailed letter, telling them first of her experiences with their son in Saltillo, which she described lovingly so that they might hear the bells and see the movement of people in the plaza, and ending with what Rene-Claude's business companions had reported about his strong reputation. It was her hope that the letter conveyed a sense of Bejar and Saltillo and the Spanish family of which their son had been for a brief few weeks a member.

Later, when she went to see Amalia, a year older and two inches taller, she felt as if she, Trinidad, were the more mature, and she spoke like some adult addressing an eager child: 'I'm so glad you told me about the letters. Because I think perhaps Grandfather was going to hide them from me. Afraid they might upset me.' She laughed nervously.

'Can you still see him 7 I mean . . in your mind?'

'He's standing behind every corner. I expect to see him in your kitchen when we go in.'

'Will you always feel that way?'

'Forever.'

'But you'll marry, won't you?'

'Grandfather says I'll have to. When he dies I'll own the house, the ranch.' She became very serious and asked Amalia to sit with her under the trees in the Yeramendi garden. 'I've been thinking about becoming a nun.'

'That would be wonderful! A bride of Christ!'

'And I have a very serious disposition toward it, really I do.'

'You would be wonderful as a nun, and some day, with your brains, Mother Superior Trinidad.'

Later, when things had gone terribly wrong, Trinidad would remember this conversation and particularly this sentence. Amalia had said 'with your brains,' and her tone had betrayed how envious she had become of her good friend.

Even now, perplexed by this change in Amalia, Trinidad went to her mother to discuss it, and Dona Engracia sat her down beside the silent fountain and clarified the situation: 'Don't you see? She's jealous of you. You've been to Mexico City, and she hasn't. You've known a fine young man, and she hasn't You read many books, and this makes her fear that you're more clever. And I suppose, Trinidad, that she thinks you're prettier.'

'But that's all suppose,' the bewildered girl protested. 'Why would that make her change 7 '

'Because that's the way of the world,' her mother replied. 'You be careful what you tell that young lady.'

But Trinidad had to confide in someone, and in subsequent meetings with Amalia she returned to the possibility of becoming a nun, and she would picture the entire progression from novice to head of some great religious establishment in Spain, or maybe Peru 'But the other night when I was thinking quite seriously about this, it occurred to me that to become a nun, I would have to gain approval from Father Ybarra, or from someone like him . . .'

Both girls shuddered, and Amalia said: 'Father Ybarra drives

people away from religion. Who could ask his approval for anything 7 ' When the dour priest heard this comment repeated he attributed it to Trinidad, and his antipathy toward her deepened.

On several occasions the two young women pondered why the church would promote such a vain, self-centered man to a position of power, and Trinidad drew the sensible conclusion: '1 suppose all towns get some man like Father Ybarra, sooner or later. The only good thing about him is, he's finishing his report on the missions and will soon be leaving.' She kicked the dust. 'Good riddance, too.'

Now Amalia opened the important topic: 'I was home when he arrived.'

'Father Ybarra! 5 '

'No. The americano. I didn't actually open the door when he knocked, but I could have, and there he was.'

'What did he look like 7 '

Td never seen an americano, of course.'

'Nor I'

'But he was just what we'd been told. He was taller than usual. White. No mestizo. Lot of matted hair on his head. Blue-eyed. A tooth missing in front. A deep voice. To tell you the truth, Trinidad, he was really rather frightening.'

'How did you speak to him? I mean, if he didn't know Spanish 7 '

'Oh, but he did! He spoke it hesitatingly and very slowly, like a little boy just learning big words.' Amalia went on: 'He smelled. Yes, like a horse after a hard ride in the sun, and he must have known it because he asked Don Lazaro where he might find lodging and a bath."

'Where is he now?'

'You know the Canary Islanders beyond the plaza, that nice family with the large house? Grandfather sent him over there, and I believe they took him in.'

The two young women left the Yeramendi garden, casually walked south to the big church, past the Saldana house and the low, handsome governor's palace, and there on the western edge of town they studied from a safe distance the adobe house of one of the capable Canary Island families, but they could detect no sign of the stranger.

Two days later, however, Trinidad and her grandfather were

surprised to see that Mr. Marr had somehow got hold of a small

ibuilding on the opposite side of the plaza, right in the shadow of

the church. 'What does he intend doing there 7 ' citizens asked. 'Is

this to be a store?'

No, it was a warehouse for the holding of his trade goods prior

to shipment onward to Saltillo or distant Chihuahua, but when the goods were stowed and the people of Bejar learned about their excellent quality, they began to pester the americano for a right to buy, and slowly, almost surreptitiously, he sold a copper kettle here, a swatch of fine cloth there, until he was operating a kind of informal shop.

'I wonder if he has a permit?' Don Ramon asked as he observed operations from across the plaza, and apparently others had raised the same question, for when the quasi-store had been in operation only four days, the captain from the presidio and the town's judge appeared at the warehouse to inquire as to Mr. Marr's papers.

Without hesitation he produced them, documents signed in both New Orleans and Mexico City granting Mordecai Marr the right to trade in the provinces of Tejas and Coahuila. 'We'll take these and study them,' the judge said, but with a quick motion Mr. Marr recovered his papers and said: 'These do not leave my possession.' The fact that he spoke slowly and in a deep voice intensified the gravity of his declaration, and the visitors acceded.

But he was not rude, for as soon as he was satisfied that the papers would remain with him he became almost subservient, asking the good captain and the respected judge whether they would consider taking to their ladies a trivial sample of his wares as thanks for the courtesies their husbands had extended. And he cut off generous lengths of cloth from his best bolt.

When the men had their gifts under their arms and were out on the plaza, he followed them and asked almost conspiratorily, as if they were his business partners: 'Where do you think I might find a house to buy in your town 7 It's so very pleasant, I need go no farther.'

They thought there might be one available at the far end of the plaza, and with that, they exchanged the most cordial goodbyes, but the two officials did not return to their places of business; they walked across the plaza and knocked on the door of Don Ramon de Saldana, an elder in such matters, and asked him to send his slave Natan to fetch Don Lazaro de Veramendi, and when the four were assembled in Don Ramon's most pleasant garden, Trinidad, passing to and fro with drinks and sweetmeats, overheard bits of the discussion.

'His papers said he came from Philadelphia. What do we know about Philadelphia?' The four men had considerable if sometimes garbled knowledge on most topics likely to be discussed, for all could read, and their pooled information was that Philadelphia was reported to be the largest city in the new nation to the north. It had been the principal site of the recent revolution against En-

gland. It had an excellent seaport, but not directly on the sea. And it had once been the capital but had lost that distinction to New York, another fine seaport but also not on the sea.

in fact, what do we know about los Estados Unidos, which seem to be pressing so hard upon us?' They knew that there were thirteen states, maybe more in recent years; one man said he was almost certain that there was also a new state called Kentucky. Another claimed to have special information: 'I've been told that they're Protestants, with many states forbidding Catholics to enter.' One good thing about los Estados Unidos, some years back, when they were still English, they had fought France and won, but that was in Canada. It was a trading nation, but already showing signs of belligerence. The four men deemed it quite probable that sooner or later Spain would have to teach the americanos a military lesson.

'And most important of all, what do we know about this Mr Marr?' He was a big man who had just shown in the matter of the papers his willingness to fight. He spoke Spanish, but in a way that indicated he had learned it in a hurry, as if he wished to use it for some specific purpose. He was armed. He had come down El Camino Real by himself, a daring feat, and he seemed to be in good funds, as witnessed by the gifts he had just made. But he was not a pleasant man, on this all four agreed.

'He is our first breath of los Estados Unidos,' the judge said, 'and not a reassuring one.'

'I think we must conclude he is a spy,' the captain said.

'For what? To what purpose?' Don Ramon asked.

'For the general intelligence that all armies need,' the captain replied. 'Else, why was he spying out all the streets of our town 7 '

'He was looking for a place to lodge,' Don Lazaro explained, and it was strange that though the two older men were willing to accept the newcomer, the two younger ones were prepared to throw him out of town. The difference was that the older men had fought their battles long ago and were now free to agitate for new ones, assured that they would not have to do the fighting, while the younger men knew that if trouble came in this stranger's wake, they would be the ones to bear the brunt.

'I think,' said the judge, 'that we have a very dangerous man amongst us,' and he was about to propose certain protective steps when Father Ybarra burst into the room, flushed and obviously distressed at not having been summoned to a meeting of such importance.

'Why was I not told 7 ' he demanded, and after Trinidad had brought him a glass of wine, which he took contemptuously, he

added: 'At a meeting like this I must be represented. After all, it is I who shall be reporting to the viceroy on affairs up here.'

'We met by accident,' the captain lied. 'The judge and I were inspecting his papers, as our duty required, and we assembled quite by chance.'

'What papers has he?'

'Impeccable. Authorized by Mexico City to trade in our prov-1| ince. Customs duties properly paid.'

'How could they be?' Ybarra snapped. 'He came in overland.'

'Nacogdoches,' the judge replied almost wearily, and in that moment the four original members of this meeting combined against the priest in defending the American. For half a year they had watched Ybarra and had recognized him as one of those petty, officious tyrants, adrift in all lands and in all religions, who assumed mantles of superiority in whatever affairs they touched. He was an impossible man, and if he opposed the American, they had to support the stranger.