Читать книгу An Obstinate Headstrong Girl - Abigail Bok - Страница 10

On returning to the motel to find the rest of the family, Lizzy was greeted with enthusiasm by her father. “You were sorely missed this afternoon,” he said. “I went to find that real estate agent the lawyer mentioned, Morris Collins. What a character! And I had nobody to share the joke with. But you’ll meet him: he’s coming by here to talk further with us after he closes his office for the day.”

“You weren’t able to determine when you met him whether he had any rental listings we could look at?”

“Not in so short a time as half an hour, as you’ll understand when he arrives.”

“I would’ve thought that five minutes would’ve sufficed for such a simple question.”

“Five minutes didn’t suffice for mutual introductions,” said Mr. Bennet, his eyes alive with laughter. “Wait and see.”

Considerably intrigued, Lizzy sought out John for enlightenment, but he said their father had been no more forthcoming with him. They had not long to wait, however, before Mr. Collins put in his appearance, in a well-polished sedan that from behind could almost be mistaken for a Lexus. Family members were duly gathered in the motel lounge, where they discovered a man of about thirty, tending slightly to corpulence, who bobbed bows to each one in turn.

“Welcome, my dear Bennet family, welcome!” he cried. “As the mayor of Lambtown—for just last month I took that title, having been selected for the office from among the ranks of the Town Council, to which I had the honor of being elected in November, though I had no expectation of being singled out from among my peers in my first term—though perhaps it was due to my position in life, and in the town—my work as a Realtor allowing me to mingle with all my constituents, but especially my membership in the Enclave providing connections to our most exalted ranching families—”

“What is the Enclave?” demanded Mrs. Bennet, the phrase “exalted ranching families” having captured her attention.

Mr. Collins looked shocked. “Surely you’ve heard of the Enclave, ma’am! Though, of course, you arrived only yesterday, but I would have thought that even in Ohio, word of—but perhaps you don’t move in circles where—well, in any case, in sum, the Enclave is the premier social organization of the Santa Ynez Valley. It was founded by the earliest families to settle here, the Fremonts (now, unhappily, all died out), along with the de Bourghs and Darcys. The Enclave owns the polo grounds out on Old Coach Road, a beautiful facility, with meeting rooms and a dining hall and stabling for over a hundred horses!”

“So it is, in fact, a physical enclave, not just a state of mind?” inquired Mr. Bennet.

“Of course! It’s a country club. Membership is by invitation only, but anyone who wishes to be a person of prominence must belong. It’s much more than just the polo team and tournaments: they host charitable events and social occasions, and support many good works in the community. I have the honor of the patronage of the greatest lady hereabouts, Catherine de Bourgh—owner of considerable property just outside town—she is much interested in land use issues, and I’ve been able to be of service to her in such matters with the Realtors’ association, so she put me up for membership in the Enclave with the idea that I could fill the post of recording secretary. And it was she who advised me to run for the Town Council, where I could assist her further in promoting the kinds of policies that will most benefit the first citizens, and, by extension of course, all the lesser inhabitants of the valley. As I said, the council voted me, among all their number, to conduct their meetings and serve as first among equals, as the mayor! So it is in that capacity, as well as in my professional position as a Realtor, that I have the honor of welcoming you to Lambtown.”

John and Lizzy were struck dumb by all this eloquence, while the younger members of the family had already wandered away. But Mr. Bennet’s greater preparation for this speech, or more tenacious mind, had allowed him to follow all the twists and turns, and now he judged it time to turn the conversation into a more fruitful channel. “I congratulate you, Mr. Collins, on achieving so fortunate a position in life, and at such a young age. We’re pleased to be settling for a time in Lambtown, where my sister Evelyn Bennet lived for many years, and are looking for a suitable house to rent. My daughter Lizzy tells me that my sister’s house would not be large enough for our whole family—”

“Ah, yes, the Evelyn Bennet residence,” interrupted Mr. Collins. “Four bedrooms, but only two baths, alas, as is frequently the case in older houses. Such a pity; the absence of modern amenities takes so much value out of our older homes. In a newly built house of that size, of course, you would see at least three full baths, plus a half-bath downstairs and maybe another in the service quarters. Should you wish to put it on the market, however, I’ll do the best I can for you. There are those who find the Craftsman style charming, and will put up with the inconvenience for the sake of curb appeal.”

Finding her voice, Lizzy thanked him politely but said her aunt’s house was not at present for sale. Mr. Collins seemed inclined to dispute the wisdom of this, but Mr. Bennet cut him off.

“It’s our present need for housing that concerns us,” he said. “We don’t expect to live here permanently, so our interest is in rentals, not houses to buy; and we hope to find something of five or six bedrooms.”

“Allow me to persuade you to reconsider,” protested Mr. Collins. “Even if your stay is not permanent—though who would not wish to remain in such a beautiful place as the Santa Ynez Valley, which, I flatter myself, has no equal anywhere in the country—as a business decision it is always to your benefit to own, not rent. Whatever norms may apply in Ohio, in California the advantages of home ownership are unequaled. The market here is almost continuously appreciating, and in this area, a small ranch on land that can be subdivided is an excellent investment, even over the short term. I could show you—”

“Thank you, Mr. Collins, but we are not equipped to take on the responsibilities of a ranch: we are city folk, and know nothing about farming or animal husbandry. And as I still own my house in Columbus, buying a second property would have tax disadvantages. We want to keep things simple, and are looking to rent, not buy.”

Mr. Collins tried to argue the point from a variety of directions, but was at last compelled to divulge that he knew of no rental houses in the area of the size desired by the Bennets, though he would let them know if anything turned up. Mrs. Bennet, who had been favorably impressed by the young mayor’s account of his social connections, now tried to redeem her family’s standing in his eyes by asking casually if they would be seeing him at the Red and White Ball.

Unfortunately, this sally backfired. “The Red and White Ball? Oh, no, Mrs. Bennet, by no means. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but allow me to give you a hint, as one who understands the local society best. It can do you no credit among those who really matter to be seen at that event. I’m sure it is all for a very good cause, and many of our Latino residents are respectable members of the community. As mayor, I naturally stay on good terms with everyone—but that doesn’t mean I would rub shoulders with them at a public event! You won’t wish to confine your acquaintance to row-crop farmers and the managers of convenience stores. To be sure, some of the best families will buy tickets, as a courtesy to their employees. Still, you should choose wisely where you go while you’re making your first impression here. I assure you, people will be watching, and if you aspire to be noticed by the leaders, you’ll be careful what company you keep.”

Fortunately for the Bennets, since Mr. Collins proved to be of no use whatever in locating accommodations for them, the client Melvin Perry had mentioned expressed her willingness to lease her house to them for a year. It was a brand-new construction in a planned community on the outskirts of town, intended eventually to face a new golf course. The golf course itself was still under construction, however, and the owner preferred not to move in until after all the sod was laid and the tractors and odors of fertilizer had dispersed.

To Mr. Bennet the noise was odious, the concatenation of architectural styles in the faux-grand mansionette even more so; but Mrs. Bennet was delighted. The pillared portico, Sub-Zero refrigerator, master shower with jets squirting from all directions, and golf course all expressed the person she wished to appear to be as she made her debut in Lambtown. By the beginning of the next week, their furniture had been delivered and they were settling in.

The Red and White Ball now became the focus of discussion in the family circle. Inquiries had uncovered the intelligence that it was so named for its dress code—red gowns for the ladies, white tie for the gentlemen—and for its Valentine’s Day theme. On hearing this, Mr. Bennet declared that no force on earth could get him tricked out in a rented monkey suit and demanded to hear no more on the subject—a command that received as much deference as his commands generally did. Mrs. Bennet was torn between concern that their attendance would give the wrong impression and fear that there was no other immediate way to make her debut in the neighborhood. The younger generation, unencumbered by worries about social standing, simply felt it would be fun to dress up and dance. Even Mary thought there was no great harm in a little amusement in the name of charity, once she heard it spoken of at church as a popular annual event. So Mr. Bennet was persuaded to buy tickets for the rest of the family, so long as they agreed not to pester him about his determination to remain at home.

After a shopping expedition to Santa Barbara to buy their dresses and rent evening clothes for John and Lydon, Lizzy set to work in good earnest on her aunt’s house, clearing out furnishings and possessions that could not be used for the library or by the family—the necessary precursor to giving the contractor recommended by Mr. Perry free rein to destroy and to build what would be required to transform the house into a library.

She had found a serviceable used pickup truck at a lot in Santa Barbara; once all the excess linens, beds, lamps, and so forth were inventoried, she was ready to deliver them wherever they might be needed. On her rounds of meeting Aunt Evelyn’s friends to deliver their bequests, she had inquired about local charities that would take such goods, but nobody seemed to know of any—Salvation Army, Disabled Veterans, and the like were all too far off to be helpful. It was impossible to drive around the valley, however, without realizing that the poor were everywhere—living in the mobile home village by the highway, working in the fields, cleaning the motel rooms the Bennets had stayed in when they arrived. She decided to call on the priest at the Catholic church, since he had a large farmworker congregation, to seek advice.

Our Lady of Guadalupe proved to be housed in a repurposed Grange hall at the less desirable end of town, a simple clapboard structure with a corrugated tin roof. The parish offices were around the back, and Lizzy explored the premises until she located Father George Austen, an elderly, fragile, and ill-tempered-looking person. She introduced herself and explained her dilemma.

Father Austen glared at her for a moment, and then invited her to sit down. “You have some household items for the needy,” he repeated in a cracked voice.

“Um, yes,” said Lizzy, wondering why he seemed confused about such a simple matter. “Roughly half the contents of my late aunt’s house, in fact. Here, I have a list.”

Father Austen looked it over, and read it again. “Do you mean you wish to sell these goods?” he barked.

“No, selling them seems like unnecessary trouble, and from what I’ve seen around here, there are plenty of people who might find them welcome.”

“That’s not what most people see when they come to the Santa Ynez Valley,” said Father Austen drily. “They see vineyards and tourist shops and beautiful scenery.”

“Well, naturally! But surely the locals know better!”

“The locals are mostly ranchers. As a group they tend to value hard work, frugality, and self-reliance; and they expect those who work for them to share those values.”

“Self-reliance and frugality mean one thing to a landowner and something very different to an immigrant farmworker, I imagine,” replied Lizzy.

“Many people don’t believe in providing assistance to illegal immigrants—and it can be hard to tell who is legal and who isn’t.”

“I’m sure it is,” said Lizzy, “but it hardly makes sense for the community as a whole to deny people basic necessities for fear that their papers are not in order.”

Father Austen’s grim frown bored into her. “You are a peculiar young woman,” he said.

Lizzy, undeceived, grinned at him brazenly. “I most certainly hope so.”

“Humph.” He picked up the phone and pressed the intercom button. “Rose, come in,” he said, and hung up again.

A nervous-looking middle-aged woman entered from another room. “Yes, Father?”

“This Miss Bennet has some things to donate. Work it out between you,” he snapped, dismissing them both.

Once out of the priest’s presence, Rose proved to be as effusive as he was laconic. She exclaimed again and again over Lizzy’s list, waving her hands and running off onto tangents about this family of parishioners and that until Lizzy was completely bewildered. “Oh, mercy me, look at all these things—five beds? And the chairs and desks—and a convertible sofa! There will certainly be competition for that item, since it takes up so little space during the daytime. I was just with the Ortiz family the other day, and their uncle Hector has arrived; his wife is already here, of course, and two of their children, we had to establish their residency so they could go to school, though they always miss the first few weeks during the grape harvest—oh, this is too much, are you sure? I’m sorry, dear, I don’t mean to cry, but—really, a computer? And eight sets of towels, six in good condition—oh, bless you, you can’t imagine!”

Finally Lizzy pieced together the intelligence that Rose managed a storeroom of donated goods at the church, and needy people could take what they needed from it on Sundays after Mass.

“That will be perfect for the linens and clothing and small items. But do you have any ideas about how to distribute the furniture?”

Indeed Rose did, though it required all Lizzy’s attention and ingenuity to understand what they consisted of, buried as they were in a rush of detail about families Rose had visited, children for whom she was seeking to obtain asthma inhalers, fathers injured in the fields, housing issues, food prices, transportation problems, and more. Eventually it was agreed that Rose would telephone Lizzy as she sorted out the particular needs of individual families, and Lizzy would load up the appropriate items in her truck for them to make deliveries together.

Lizzy was not overly confident of Rose’s ability to pursue such an organized plan of action, but it turned out that her scattered style was confined to her habits of speech; in short order they were coordinating almost daily deliveries of furnishings to households all around the valley.

For Lizzy, accustomed as she was to seeing urban poverty, it was an eye-opening experience. She had not known that anyone in the United States lived the way migrant workers did. Extended families, those lucky enough to have shelter, crowded a dozen men, women, and children into a tumbledown two-room trailer with no functional heat or plumbing; children slept on the floor; clothes or empty sacks of rice or cornmeal were used to cover holes in the windows. Women worked in the fields with the men except for a designated caregiver for several families’ children; this courageous soul tried to keep her charges from coming to serious harm while cooking, washing, hauling water, tending the sick, and nursing the youngest. Lizzy saw water supplies kept in old pesticide drums, perishable food lying unrefrigerated on open shelves, untreated gashes and sores on children playing in muddy yards. How do these people stay alive? she wondered, and the possessions she had to offer seemed pitifully inadequate.

Expecting her Spanish to be stretched to its limits, Lizzy found that many of the families didn’t even understand it: natives of remote villages in Mexico and Central America, they spoke Quechua and a variety of other ancient tongues dating back to before the Spanish conquest. It was difficult to imagine how people facing such a struggle to supply their most basic needs were able to function in modern American society.

The children seemed often more adapted to their surroundings than their parents, picking up a little English and Spanish with their secondhand clothing and toys. The bolder ones would designate themselves intermediaries between the adults in their household and the two Anglo visitors, explaining such matters as they deemed sufficiently important to transmit across the gulf.

Rose was evidently a trusted confidante to those able to communicate, and Lizzy overheard a great deal about men who provided or who drank away their earnings, women’s and babies’ health problems, older children who were good and helped out and went to school, or who ran wild and brought greater burdens on their families. The church worker took in all this information and did everything she could to provide advice, encouragement, and relief in crises.

Back at the parish office, Rose was organized and tenacious in her pursuit of elusive items such as schoolbooks, medicine, and food. Those potential donors who resisted all her persuasions were ruthlessly turned over to Father Austen, who in a few pithy words could shame or terrify merchants into generosity. Lizzy came to enjoy her visits to the simple little church, whose almost sole adornment was the striking Virgin of Guadalupe statue she had seen in the Candlemas parade. The passion of its two inhabitants lent a fierce joy to their nonstop battle to keep their poorest parishioners off the edge of the precipice.

Lizzy didn’t say much to her family about these activities: her father would have worried about her safety, her mother would have been all amazement at her wishing to mingle with Catholics and in such sordid surroundings. Mary’s religiosity took an emotional, not a practical, turn, and the younger ones were off every day in Jenny’s car seeking diversion in places more lively than Lambtown. John was trying hard to find work, with no success so far, and she didn’t want to add to his anxieties. His tender heart she feared might break if he witnessed the scenes of extremity that were revealed to her, so she referred to her expeditions only in the most general of terms, and allowed his imagination to fill in the details according to his own gentle fancy.