Esperanza Rising (4 page)

That evening, Hortensia and Alfonso sat with Mama and Abuelita discussing the problem. Esperanza paced and Miguel quietly looked on.

“Will the income from the grapes be enough to support the house and the servants?” said Mama.

“Maybe,” said Alfonso.

“Then I will stay in my home,” said Mama.

“Do you have any other money?” asked Alfonso.

“I have money in the bank,” announced Abuelita. And then more quietly she added, “Luis's bank.”

“He would prevent you from taking it out,” said Hortensia.

“If we need help, we could borrow money from our friends. From Señor Rodríguez,” said Esperanza.

“Your uncles are very powerful and corrupt,” said Alfonso. “They can make things difficult for anyone who tries to help you. Remember, they are the banker and the mayor.”

The conversation continued to go in circles. Esperanza finally excused herself. She walked out to Papa's garden and sat on a stone bench. Many of the roses had dropped their petals, leaving the stem and the rosehip, the green, grapelike fruit of the rose. Abuelita said the rosehip contained the memories of the roses and that when you drank tea made from it, you took in all the beauty that the plant had known. These roses have known Papa, she thought. She would ask Hortensia to make rosehip tea tomorrow.

Miguel found her in the garden and sat beside her. Since Papa died, he had been polite but still had not talked to her.

“Anza,” he said, using her childhood name. “Which rose is yours?” In recent years, his voice had become a deep throttle. She hadn't realized how much she missed hearing it. The sound brought tears to her eyes but she quickly blinked them away. She pointed to the miniature pink blooms with delicate stems that climbed up the trellises.

“And where is mine?” asked Miguel, nudging her like he did when they were younger and told each other everything.

Esperanza smiled and pointed to the orange sunburst next to it. They had been young children the day Papa had planted one for each of them.

“What does it all mean, Miguel?”

“There are rumors in town that Luis intends to take over the ranch, one way or another. Now that it seems true, we will probably leave for the United States to work.”

Esperanza shook her head as if to say no. She could not imagine living without Hortensia, Alfonso, and Miguel.

“My father and I have lost faith in our country. We were born servants here and no matter how hard we work we will always be servants. Your father was a good man. He gave us a small piece of land and a cabin. But your uncles … you know their reputation. They would take it all away and treat us like animals. We will not work for them. The work is hard in the United States but at least there we have a chance to be more than servants.”

“But Mama and Abuelita … they need … we need you.”

“My father says we won't leave until it is necessary.” He reached over and took her hand. “I'm sorry about your papa.”

His touch was warm and Esperanza's heart skipped. She looked at her hand in his and felt the color rushing to her face. Surprised at her own blush, she pulled away from him. She stood and stared at the roses.

An awkward silence built a wall between them.

She glanced quickly at him.

He was still looking at her, with eyes full of hurt. Before Miguel left her there, he said softly, “You were right, Esperanza. In Mexico we stand on different sides of the river.”

Esperanza went up to her room, thinking that nothing seemed right. She walked slowly around her bed, running her hand over the finely carved posts. She counted the dolls lined up on her dresser: thirteen, one for each birthday. When Papa was alive, everything was in order, like the dolls lined up in a row.

She put on a long cotton nightgown with hand-sewn lace, picked up the new doll and walked to the open window. Looking out over the valley, she wondered where they would go if they had to live somewhere else. They had no other family except Abuelita's sisters and they were nuns in a convent. “I won't ever leave here,” she whispered.

A sudden breeze carried a familiar, pungent smell. She looked down into the courtyard and saw the wooden box still sitting on the patio. It held the papayas from Señor Rodríguez, the ones that Papa had ordered, that should have been served on her birthday. Their overripe sweetness now pervaded the air with each breath of wind.

She crawled into bed beneath the linens edged with lace. Hugging the doll, she tried to sleep but her thoughts kept returning to Tío Luis. She felt sick at the thought of Mama marrying him. Of course she had told him no! She took a deep breath, still smelling the papayas and Papa's sweet intentions.

Why did Papa have to die? Why did he leave me and Mama?

She closed her eyes tight and did what she tried to do each night. She tried to find the dream, the one where Papa was singing the birthday song.

T
he wind blew hard that night and the house moaned and whistled. Instead of dreaming of birthday songs, Esperanza's sleep was filled with nightmares. An enormous bear was chasing her, getting closer and closer and finally folding her in a tight embrace. Its fur caught in her mouth, making it hard to breathe. Someone tried to pull the bear away but couldn't. The bear squeezed harder until it was smothering Esperanza. Then when she thought she would suffocate, the bear grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her until her head wagged back and forth.

Her eyes opened, then closed again. She realized she was dreaming and for an instant, she felt relieved. But the shaking began again, harder this time.

Someone was calling her.

“Esperanza!”

She opened her eyes.

“Esperanza! Wake up!” screamed Mama. “The house is on fire!”

Smoke drifted into the room.

“Mama, what's happening?”

“Get up, Esperanza! We must get Abuelita!”

Esperanza heard Alfonso's deep voice yelling from somewhere downstairs.

“Señora Ortega! Esperanza!”

“Here! We are here!” called Mama, grabbing a damp rag from the washbowl and handing it to Esperanza to put over her mouth and nose. Esperanza swung around in a circle looking for something, anything, to save. She grabbed the doll. Then she and Mama hurried down the hall toward Abuelita's room, but it was empty.

“Alfonso!” screamed Mama. “Abuelita is not here!”

“We will find her. You must come now. The stairs are beginning to burn. Hurry!”

Esperanza held the towel over her face and looked down the stairs. Curtains flamed up the walls. The house was enveloped in a fog that thickened toward the ceiling. Mama and Esperanza crouched down the stairs where Alfonso was waiting to lead them out through the kitchen.

In the courtyard, the wooden gates were open. Near the stables, the
vaqueros
were releasing the horses from the corrals. Servants scurried everywhere. Where were they going?

“Where's Abuelita? Abuelita!” cried Mama.

Esperanza felt dizzy. Nothing seemed real. Was she still dreaming? Was this her own imagination gone wild?

Miguel grabbed her. “Where's your mother and Abuelita?”

Esperanza whimpered and looked toward Mama. He left her, stopped at Mama, then ran toward the house.

The wind caught the sparks from the house and carried them to the stables. Esperanza stood in the middle of it all, watching the outline of her home silhouetted in flames against the night sky. Someone wrapped a blanket around her. Was she cold? She did not know.

Miguel ran out of the burning house carrying Abuelita in his arms. He laid her down and Hortensia screamed. The back of his shirt was on fire. Alfonso tackled him, rolling him over and over on the ground until the fire was out. Miguel stood up and slowly took off the blackened shirt. He wasn't badly burned.

Mama cradled Abuelita in her arms.

“Mama,” said Esperanza, “Is she …?”

“No, she is alive, but weak and her ankle … I don't think she can walk,” said Mama.

Esperanza knelt down.

“Abuelita, where were you?”

Her grandmother held up the cloth bag with her crocheting and after some minutes of coughing, whispered, “We must have something to do while we wait.”

The fire's anger could not be contained. It spread to the grapes. The flames ran along the deliberate rows of the vines, like long curved fingers reaching for the horizon, lighting the night sky.

Esperanza stood as if in a trance and watched El Rancho de las Rosas burn.

Mama, Abuelita, and Esperanza slept in the servants' cabins. They really didn't sleep much, but they didn't cry either. They were numb, as if encased in a thick skin that nothing could penetrate. And there was no point in talking about how it happened. They all knew that the uncles had arranged the fire.

At dawn, still in her nightgown, Esperanza went out among the rubble. Avoiding the smoldering piles, she picked through the black wood, hoping to find something to salvage. She sat on an adobe block near what used to be the front door, and looked over at Papa's rose garden. Flowerless stems were covered in soot. Dazed and hugging herself, Esperanza surveyed the surviving victims: the twisted forms of wrought-iron chairs, unharmed cast-iron skillets, and the mortars and pestles from the kitchen that were made from lava rock and refused to burn. Then she saw the remains of the trunk that used to sit at the foot of her bed, the metal straps still intact. She stood up and hurried toward it, hoping for
un milagro,
a miracle. She looked closely, but all that remained were black cinders.

There was nothing left inside, for someday.