Читать книгу An Obstinate Headstrong Girl - Abigail Bok - Страница 8

In the end, the Bennets kept the brigadier general’s moving vans waiting no more than half a day before they were ready to set off, on a frozen but sunny afternoon in the last week of January. Lizzy had sold her battered work van, so the family squeezed into two cars for the journey—Mrs. Bennet’s more eye-catching than practical Chrysler and the Rabbit General Hughes had bestowed on his daughter in honor of her sixteenth birthday.

As Lizzy and John did most of the driving, they saw little of each other during the four-day trek, beyond adjudicating the family quarrels that inevitably erupted at shared diner meals each evening, or seizing a few moments before breakfast to consult on which route would be most likely to steer them away from severe winter weather. Eventually they detoured south to Arizona to avoid the treacherous passes of the Rockies and the Sierra Nevada. Keeping well south of the fleshpots of Las Vegas, they hurried across the Southern California deserts and navigated the traffic of Los Angeles to reach the Pacific Ocean at Ventura on the second day of February.

Here Lydon took the wheel of his wife’s car, so Lizzy joined her parents, John, and Mary for the final leg of the journey. A hazy sunshine warmed the coastline, and only the contrails of high-flying jets disturbed the azure of the sky. It was so warm that they were able to open the windows to enjoy the soft ocean breezes in their shirtsleeves. Mrs. Bennet was voluble in her praise of all she saw: the beachside mansions, the green hillsides, the red tile roofs of Santa Barbara, the flowers blooming on the freeway medians, all spoke to her of the new life of wealth and ease that lay within her grasp.

Lizzy took delight in pointing out to John the drama of the scenery that unfolded once they turned off the main highway. The wild peaks of Los Padres National Forest looming over Lake Cachuma were as impressive as they had seemed in her childhood, and lovelier even than her memory of them, seen now for the first time in the lush green of the rainy season, the easternmost peaks capped with snow. As they drifted down into the heart of the Santa Ynez Valley her heart became too full for speech. She was seeing it all through her aunt’s eyes and thinking of what she had gained and lost from Evelyn Bennet’s life and passing.

When they left the road at the Lambtown exit, Mrs. Bennet looked askance at the rows of dilapidated mobile homes squatting under bare-branched cottonwoods by the offramp. But she scarcely had time to exclaim, “This can’t possibly be Lambtown! Evelyn would never live in a place like this!” before the road had swept around a bend and they found themselves in a spruce village of Queen Anne structures and commodious ranch houses. The center of town, swiftly attained, consisted of cheerfully painted century-old buildings whose signs proclaimed them to be wine tasting rooms, art galleries, cafés, and boutiques.

As much as Mrs. Bennet was relieved, Lizzy was dismayed: such tourist-friendly trappings must be the development of the past few years, for they formed no part of her memory of the place. From her youthful visits she recalled a sleepy town with old-fashioned, practical shops catering mostly to ranching families, and while Aunt Evelyn had mentioned changes, she had touched on them only lightly and with her customary mix of philosophy and humor. Still, it was Lambtown, and Lizzy was happy to be back.

They found a motel on the dusty edge of town, overlooking a wide pasture, and gratified the manager by booking nearly half the rooms for an indefinite period of time. John and Lizzy left Lydon and Jenny exploring the HBO channels and Mary the Gideon Bible while they sallied forth to stretch their legs in a walk through the town before dinner.

The winter dusk was falling and the air was rapidly turning pleasantly chilly as they peered into the windows of the closing shops. A sizable cluster of people, gathered on the corners of a cross street up ahead, caught their attention, so they strolled over to see what was afoot. On closer inspection, the crowd proved to be groups of families lining the sidewalks, most dressed in the day’s work clothes but some in Sunday finery, even a few women wearing long, layered skirts and lacy blouses of the kind traditional in parts of Mexico. Fathers had hoisted small children on their shoulders and older siblings watched over youngsters, while everywhere the rhythmic syllables of Spanish fell upon the ear, along with some words in another language unfamiliar to Lizzy and John. The sound of guitars, drums, and trumpets, a trifle discordant from the distance, could be heard a few blocks away.

“It’s a parade!” cried John. At the sound of words spoken in English, some of the nearest adults turned and acknowledged his presence with a wary courtesy. They stepped aside to make room for John and Lizzy to cross the street, but after a little hesitation moved back into their positions when it became clear that the two were stopping to watch.

Lizzy looked about her with the liveliest interest, enjoying the challenge of figuring out family relationships and the drift of conversations without understanding most of the words used. She had learned some Spanish at Ohio State and spoke a casual hybrid Spanglish with a few of her landscape workers, but the swift, idiomatic exchanges going on around her were beyond her skill. John spoke no Spanish at all, but his open, happy face and silly pantomimes soon secured the trust of the children in his vicinity. Before long he had several little ones swinging off his arms with squeals of delight while others clamored to show him their own imitations of barnyard animals.

Lizzy, observing this scene with smiling indulgence, did not fail however to notice that John’s friendly overtures were regarded with some uncertainty by the parents, and with surprise and disapproval by the occasional Anglo passerby. Indeed, the mostly white shopkeepers and salespeople were hurrying to depart the commercial district, brushing past the loitering families to reach their cars. A few drivers even made some show of honking at those in the crowd who had stepped into the roadway to watch for the parade’s approach, chasing them back onto the sidewalk before roaring off.

She was curious about this display of impatience with what seemed to be a festive occasion. But her attention was soon diverted by a small group of people loitering on the opposite corner who had the well-groomed look of the wealthy, and at least one of whom seemed to be charmed by John’s games with the children. She had just drawn her brother’s attention to his admirer when the procession came into view. Young girls in white dresses appeared first, solemnly guarding the flames of candles in glass holders, followed closely by women holding up elaborately dressed dolls and men bearing wide bowls full of what appeared to be grain.

“I wonder what the story is with the dolls,” John murmured.

An older man who had been standing nearby answered him. “You’re interested in our traditions? The figures they are carrying are called Niños Dioses. They’re images of the young Jesus being brought to the temple. You can see that many of the figures are crowned to show that this is the Holy Son. They’re also dressed with sandals, huarachitos, which represent Jesus in his human incarnation.”

Lizzy turned to the gentleman eagerly. “Would you explain the rest to us? We’re new here, and we don’t even know what holiday is being celebrated.”

“It’s Día de la Candelaria, or Candlemas in English,” he said. “It’s a day of purification and blessings. The girls’ candles stand for the sun beginning to return as winter fades—that symbolism goes back to before Christianity, of course. The men are carrying seeds to be blessed by the priest before they’re planted, although in this climate some of the planting has already been done—”

At this point he was interrupted by the blare of music as a series of small bands, each not more than three to six people strong, strode by. Each band was playing a different tune, in fine disregard of its rivals; and each group wore a different outfit, some as simple as white pants and shirt with a colored sash, others very elaborate costumes with frogged and embroidered jackets, hats with tassels, and decorated boots.

“Those are different social clubs,” the gentleman raised his voice over the hubbub. “Each one has its own uniform, its own regalia and passwords and traditions. Some of the groups are of Mexican descent, and others are from Peru. Many of the sheepherders who work in this area are Peruvian, so we have a variety of traditions coming together in this parade.”

“Oh, there’s the Virgin of Guadalupe,” cried Lizzy, as a bier went by carried by six young men, carefully balancing a large statue on top. It was a tall, dark-skinned female figure in a rose-colored robe covered with a mantle spangled with stars, perched atop a sickle moon held aloft by an angel; gold waves radiated outward from all around her.

The older man looked pleased. “So you recognize la virgen. Our church in town is Our Lady of Guadalupe, so she is our patron saint here as well as for the Mexican immigrant workers.”

After a few more enthusiastic, discordant bands tramped by, the end of the procession was marked by a small cluster of shiny new pickup trucks, driven at a crawl by waving, exuberantly honking young men.

“Pickups are sacred to the Virgin as well?” remarked Lizzy, the twinkle in her eye robbing her words of any offense.

The gentleman chuckled. “Another Candelaria tradition from Peru, but one that our local boys have been eager to adopt. New vehicles are also brought to the church for blessing today.”

“That big blue Ram is very impressive—not to mention the driver,” said Lizzy, as she met the eye of the handsome youth behind the wheel. He gave a flourishing bow in their direction as he crept by, and could be seen to glance several times in the rear-view mirror as he proceeded down the street.

The older gentleman looked proudly after the departing truck. “So you have an eye for my son, George,” he said with a smile. “I’ll let him know that he’s earned the notice of the prettiest newcomer to arrive in Lambtown in many years! May I tell him the name of the young lady gracious enough to look kindly on him?”

Lizzy blushed, but John stepped in. “Sir, it’s very nice to make your acquaintance. My name is John Bennet, and this is my sister Elizabeth. Our whole family is here for a while, on family business.”

The gentleman exclaimed, “Are you Evelyn Bennet’s family, then? She was well known here, and is greatly missed. It’s doubly my pleasure to meet you in that case. My name is Frank Carrillo, and I hope we can get better acquainted. Will you be attending the Red and White Ball?”

Lizzy responded with alacrity that she had never heard of it, but any event with ball in the name was certain to be popular with her family.

By this time the bystanders were moving into the streets to follow the procession to evening Mass. Mr. Carrillo, with apologies, said he needed to be going with them; the Bennets, in turn, made their excuses as they needed to return to their family before they were missed.

As they were turning to go, Lizzy observed that the young man across the way in the group of rich-looking Anglos was still eyeing John. “I think you should wave at him,” she said mischievously. “Clearly you’ve provided more entertainment for him this evening than the parade did!”

John laughed and begged her to be serious; but as they made their way back to the motel, he could not help commenting on the young man’s seeming goodwill, his evident good manners, his appearance in general.

“I give you permission to like him, John; such a paragon of every imagined virtue indeed cries out for admiration. And it’s important to take care that we admire those who admire us already: it makes for a pleasing symmetry in our social relations.”

“Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to let us ride in the flatbed when you go cruising with your Latin George in his Ram pickup,” retorted John. “If you’re as successful in making a conquest of the son as you were with the father, I expect it won’t be long before we’re all riding out together.”

In the exchange of such nonsense they made their way back to the motel and shepherded their family off to dinner. Their tardiness was readily excused, at least on the part of their mother and Kitty, by the news they brought of a ball in the offing. Both elder siblings were happy enough that the ensuing speculation about what that event might entail led the conversation away from any mention of interesting young men.