The Butterfly’s Daughter (17 page)

“I'm scared.”

“About what?”

Ofelia flipped her hands up in exasperation. “About what? Everything!” Then she added, more softly, “Seeing my aunt again after all this time—like this.” She indicated her belly with her hand.

“She'll understand.”

“This is a small town. It's not like Chicago. Here, this is a big scandal.”

“Well,” Luz sighed, her mind void of any bright new suggestions. They'd come to the end of the road. “Abuela told me that true courage comes from the heart. You're one of the bravest women I know. And your baby needs you now. So here we are.”

“Here we are,” Ofelia repeated, accepting that reality. “For now. Right?”

“Right.”

Ofelia grimaced and put her hand on her back. Shaking her head, she said through clenched teeth, “And I'm glad we're here. The backaches are getting so bad.”

“But I thought you said they'd gone away.”

“I lied.” Ofelia looked at Luz's face and rolled her eyes in acknowledgment of the frustration she saw there. “
Again.
I didn't want you to worry while you were driving.”

“Ofelia!” Luz blurted out in frustration. When she thought of what could have happened! Luz realized there was no point in berating Ofelia now; she needed encouragement. Luz shook her head and held out her hands to stop any further pointless argument. “We're here now—thank God. That's all that matters. Let's find your aunt.”

“This way,” Ofelia said, leading toward a path that led through one of the gardens.

It was surreal following Ofelia, who moved as slow as an old crone, through this fairy-tale garden. All Luz could think was how much Abuela would've loved this place. She'd be out there now, looking for migrating monarchs. A small white Victorian house with a mother lode of gingerbread bric-a-brac was nestled in a
prime spot in front of the lake. Ofelia told Luz this was where Mrs. Penfold, the owner, lived. But the house also served as the garden center's office. Luz followed Ofelia until they reached the stairs, then stood back. She was tired, wrinkled, and smelled of fast food. She didn't want to meet anyone.

Ofelia peeked in the front window to scope things out. She looked over her shoulder and said in a loud whisper, “I don't recognize the lady at the desk.”

“What did you expect? It's been a few years. Go on. I got your back.”

Ofelia reached up to tie back her wild hair. Her numerous colored bracelets jangled as she looped the elastic. Then she smoothed out her maternity top and took a breath to gather her confidence. She looked back at Luz. “Do I look okay? Maybe a little more lipstick?”

Luz didn't think a little lipstick was going to deflect from her obvious pregnancy. “You look fine.”

“Okay.” Then realizing that Luz was still standing at the bottom of the stairs, she made a furtive wave. “Well, come on!”

Luz groaned inwardly, then hurried up the stairs.

Inside, the house had the homeyness of an old Victorian, with its dark polished floors and tall ceilings with white, filigreed arches. The windows had elaborate floral curtains, complete with swags and jabots. The sweet scent of the beautiful arrangement of seasonal flowers on the front table mingled with the citrus smell of furniture polish. Like the gardens, the interior was immaculate and well maintained. The front rooms had been converted into offices with desks, computers, and filing cabinets.

A woman sitting at a polished desk glanced up when she heard
them approach, her hands going still on the keyboard. Her hazel eyes narrowed, mildly surprised, maybe even a little annoyed at the interruption.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

They shuffled closer, feeling unsure. Luz figured the woman at the desk must never get out of the office, because her face was so pale. It was also devoid of any makeup. Her hair was sandy blond and fell in a blunt cut to her shoulders. Even her eyelashes were blond. Luz guessed she was somewhere in her thirties. She was dressed completely in beige, from her khakis to the crisply ironed long-sleeved shirt that bore the green insignia
Hidden Ponds Nursery
.

Ofelia nervously smoothed out her blouse again as she approached. “Uh, hi. I'm Ofelia Alvarez?” She said it like a question, maybe hoping the name would ring a bell. It didn't. The woman's gaze was impassive. “I'm looking for my aunt. She works here.”

The woman reached for a black ledger and opened it with a crisp movement. “All right. What's her name?”

“Louisa Alvarez.”

She frowned and began going through the names in the book, muttering, “Alvarez . . . Alvarez . . . Alvarez.” When she looked up again, her face was blank. “Sorry, there is no Louisa Alvarez on our payroll.”

Luz knew the tone of the “sorry” so well. It was the same tone used by the woman at the college admissions office who told her there was no scholarship money available. It was the same nuance of the bank loan officer when she went for a car loan. They said the word, but they weren't sorry at all.

Ofelia was stunned. “But she has to be!” She rushed closer to the woman's desk and began speaking louder, as if somehow that
would make the woman understand better. “Her name's gotta be there. I spoke to her just six months ago. She's been working here for, I dunno, at least twenty years!”

“I've only been here since May,” the woman replied, “and I don't know anyone by that name. She must've left just before I got here. Did you try her at home?”

Ofelia's face contorted like she was about to cry. “Where's Mrs. P?
She
knows her.”

The woman tilted her head, her interest captured by the nickname. “Mrs. P?”

“Yeah. Mrs. Penfold. She owns the place.”

“I know who Mrs. Penfold is. How do you know her?”

“I used to work here, too. My name's Ofelia Alvarez,” she said again. “She'll know who I am.”

The woman closed the ledger and folded her hands over it. “I'm Margaret Johnson, the general manager here. I replaced Lucinda Pfizer.”

“Yeah, I knew Lucinda.”

“I know the name of everyone who is currently working at the nursery and I don't know a Louisa Alvarez.” She looked at Ofelia's crestfallen face and revealed a modicum of empathy. “But let me see if I can find Mrs. Penfold for you. Take a seat, please,” she said, indicating the sofa as she rose. “I'll be right back.”

Luz watched the slender young woman walk with straight-shouldered grace into the next room.

In contrast, Ofelia paced the floor, chewing her nails. “Ten to one she was a debutante somewhere,” she muttered. “You could iron a shirt on her ass.”

“How long do you think she'll be?”

Ofelia grimaced and rubbed her back. “Not long, I hope.”

Luz's gaze moved to the plush burgundy sofa; she knew she'd fall asleep if she sat on it so she remained standing, staring in a blurry daze out the window. A few minutes later, the door opened and a heavyset, elderly woman in the same beige uniform strode in, wiping her hands with the dark green apron that she wore over generous hips. With her short, white, permed hair and glasses, Luz thought she looked like somebody's grandmother. She walked with the air of authority, and as she crossed the room her pale blue eyes were like searchlights. If she was a grandma, Luz amended, no kids pulled tricks on her.

Mrs. Penfold spotted Ofelia and her eyes widened with recognition. “My goodness! Ofelia . . . is that you?”

Ofelia seemed to fold into herself. “Hello, Mrs. Penfold. It's nice to see you again.”

“My, my, my,” Mrs. Penfold clucked, crossing the distance between them. She took hold of Ofelia's hands while her sharp gaze swept over her face. The cheeriness ebbed from her voice, filled now with compassion. “Dear girl, what's happened to your pretty face?”

Ofelia's face colored and she looked downward. “Oh, nothing. I just fell.”

Mrs. Penfold's eyes narrowed and Luz could see she didn't buy it for a minute. She cast a quick glance at Margaret, who promptly retreated to her desk. Then she studied Luz and she smiled a quick acknowledgment.

“Come, sit down,” she told Ofelia, taking her arm and guiding her to the sofa. To Luz she said over her shoulder, “Please, sit anywhere you like.” Turning to face Ofelia, she said, “So, you're going to be a mother.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Luz put her hands in her pockets and took a few steps closer, listening carefully.

“Does your aunt Louisa know?”

“Uh, no, ma'am. That's why I'm here. To tell her.”

Confusion flickered across Mrs. Penfold's face. “But she doesn't work here anymore. I thought you'd know that. She got married, Ofelia. We had the wedding here; it was a lovely affair. Your aunt was closemouthed about your whereabouts and I have to admit, I was surprised that you didn't come.”

“That's because I didn't know!” Ofelia brought her hand to her back and began rubbing it while shaking her head in consternation. “Oh, it's not her fault. It's my fault. I should've told her my address when I got to Chicago. I always meant to but I guess I never figured she'd ever leave here.”

“Your aunt is a good woman. She deserves her bit of happiness and I don't begrudge her moving to Florida with her husband, though I miss her. She's in Jacksonville now.” Mrs. Penfold looked across the room to Margaret, who was still listening from her desk. “Could you get that address for Ofelia?”

Luz brought her fingers up to rub her tired eyes as her stomach fell. Her address? God help her, what was she going to do now? Ofelia's aunt wasn't here anymore and it seemed she was being set up to drive Ofelia to Florida.

“Speaking of marriage, when did you get married, dear?”

“I, uh . . .” Her gaze shot to Luz in helpless appeal: What should I say? Luz couldn't help her on this one. She shrugged and her gaze replied,
You might as well tell her the truth. What have you got to lose now?
Ofelia mumbled, “I'm not married.”

“Oh. I see.” Mrs. Penfold's icy tone made it clear that she did, indeed, see the picture clearly and didn't approve. “Did you
know the young man? You weren't, well, taken advantage of, were you?”

“What? Oh, no, nothing like that.”

Mrs. Penfold tilted her head and looked at the bruises on Ofelia's face, her expression curious.

“He was my
novio
. We were supposed to get married,” Ofelia confessed, shamefaced.

“But you left him.”

Ofelia nodded.

Mrs. Penfold drew back and considered this, furrowing her brow. Then she straightened her shoulders and looked at Ofelia, mustering a sanctimonious air. “You know I don't approve of living in sin. The Bible is clear that even when the partners feel themselves united by a deep bond of love and intend to be married at some point in the future, it is forbidden.”

Ofelia's eyes shot lightning bolts, but she held her lips as tight as her clenched hands in her lap. Then the older woman's face softened and a flicker of compassion glowed in her eyes.

“But if that man did to your face what I think he did, then I'm glad you did not marry him.”

Ofelia's surprise turned into a choked cry and she slapped her hand over her mouth. Tears filled her eyes and she struggled to compose herself.

Mrs. Penfold appeared flustered by the spike in emotion but she rallied. Putting her hand on Ofelia's shoulder, she said, “You were just a teen when you left here. So young.” She tsked. “You still are! And now you're going to be a mother.” She raised her hand to gently graze Ofelia's bruised face. Hers was a gardener's hand, with short nails rimmed with dirt that wouldn't come out even after several scrubbings. “Are you okay, child? Have you seen a doctor?”

As though on cue, Ofelia bent over, her face grimacing in pain.

“What's the matter?” Mrs. Penfold said in alarm.

“Oy, these pains!” Ofelia cried, clutching Mrs. Penfold's forearms. “They're so bad!”

“Where are the pains?” Mrs. Penfold's voice became matter-of-fact and calm.

“In my back, down here,” Ofelia answered, pointing to her lower back. “Then they move to the front, kinda like cramps.”

“How long have you had them?”

“Since early this morning. They weren't so bad then, so Luz and I kept going, but that's why I came to see my aunt instead of going to Mexico, because we were worried that maybe the baby would come early and I needed someplace to go!” Ofelia was babbling hysterically.

“Since early this morning?” repeated Mrs. Penfold, and she showed her first real sign of emotion. “Good Lord, when is the baby due?”

Ofelia grimaced in another burst of pain.

Luz stepped closer. “She's not due for another month.”

“Another month? We'll see about that,” Mrs. Penfold said. “If these aren't labor pains I'll eat my hat. Margaret,” she called out, all business again. “Call Tommy for my car. We've got to get this girl to the hospital.”

“No!” exclaimed Ofelia. She panted heavily but her eyes were wild. “I don't have no insurance or money. I can't go there.” Ofelia looked to Luz. “Do you think we could make it to Florida?”

Luz's mouth dropped open but no sound came out.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Mrs. Penfold said. “You're not in a condition to go anywhere.”

“But . . .”

“Child, you're one of the Hidden Ponds family and we take care of our own. Don't you worry one bit about money. You have more important things to worry about, like having that baby! If you are early and this baby wants to come, you need a doctor.” She rose and took Ofelia's arm. “A young girl like you,” she clucked. “Come along.”

“I'm coming, too,” Luz said, digging in her pockets for her keys.

Mrs. Penfold held out her hand. “You wait here, dear. It could be a while and you'll be more comfortable here than in some waiting room.” Seeing the doubt in Luz's eyes, Mrs. Penfold smiled with motherly compassion. “Now, don't you worry about your friend. I've known Ofelia since she was a little girl. I'm very fond of her and will take good care of her. I'll call you just as soon as we know anything. Besides, you look exhausted. Margaret will make you comfortable.” Mrs. Penfold looked across the room. “Won't you, Margaret?” She put her arm around Ofelia, the discussion settled. “Ready?”