Conquistadora (5 page)

Sometimes Ramón came alone, sometimes Inocente came as if he were Ramón, and a few times they came together, dressed unalike so that her parents could tell them apart. As she spent more time with them, she discerned that, in spite of the Argosos’ plan to make sober businessmen out of them, Ramón and Inocente were romantics, and the bravado of the Larragoity and Cubillas men, especially as presented by Ana’s hyperbolic parents, inspired them to imagine that they, too, could have an adventurous life.

“What a magnificent horse.” Ramón stopped before a portrait of Ana’s great-granduncle, the tobacco planter from Cuba, solid on a chestnut stallion, acres of fields around him and, in the background, a columned mansion and barns.

“He owned three hundred horses,” Gustavo said, “and so much land that it took him a day to ride from one end of his plantation to the other.”

“He must have needed that many horses,” Ana said.

Jesusa ignored her daughter’s remark. “It was called Nonpareil. No other could compare.”

“Yes, that’s what it means,” Ana said, but neither her parents nor the twins acknowledged her sarcasm.

She couldn’t help herself. Her parents irritated her, but at the same time, she understood that their boasts about glamorous ancestors aroused Ramón’s and Inocente’s imaginations and confirmed her stories that adventure was waiting across the ocean.

Ramón and Inocente missed the independence they enjoyed before they were apprenticed in their uncle’s business. They dreaded that Eugenio’s plan to retire to the country and turn over the business to them would mean a staid, conventional life. They didn’t want to spend their daylight hours in an office. They wanted to be outdoors amid horses and men.

“I imagine you both on stallions as beautiful as this one,” Ana said, sweetening her voice, “riding these vast fields, masters of your own world.”

Ana encouraged and flattered them, and Ramón and Inocente began to see themselves through her eyes. Yes, they were young, brave, strong, imaginative. They had learned much about how to manage a business. Why couldn’t they go to Puerto Rico and develop the land their uncle left their family? The sugar hacienda already had a workforce in place that knew what to do. Ramón and Inocente could be the saddled
señores
who oversaw the operation and reaped the profits.

“In a few years,” she said, “we can return to Spain with a fortune. And stories enough for a lifetime.”

She nurtured their swashbuckling fantasies, and they were as eager as she for a life of adventure. To them, she represented their independence. To her, they were the agents of her freedom.

Leonor and Elena were upstairs being fitted for new frocks and Eugenio had just settled in his study with the morning papers, coffee, and a cigar when his sons walked in.

“We need a word, Papá,” Inocente said.

Eugenio folded his newspaper, set it aside, and gestured for them to sit.

“We’d like to take over the farm and plantation in Puerto Rico that Tío Rodrigo left in the inheritance,” Ramón began.

“I plan to sell those properties.”

“But there’s greater potential in the hacienda,” Inocente started, “than realizing a small profit in the short term,” Ramón finished.

“We looked into the accounts.” Inocente spread some pages in front of his father. “Tío Rodrigo has owned the farm in Caguas for five years. It’s closer to the capital than the plantation, and he used it as a retreat from the city.”

“Fruits, vegetables, chickens, and pork from the farm provisioned his ships,” Ramón said. “A husband and wife do the entire planting and harvesting with three grown sons who live on the property in exchange for a small plot where they grow their own food. They cared for Tío Rodrigo’s house when he was away, and when he was there, the wife and daughter cleaned and cooked. There are expenses here for day laborers when the manager and his family can’t keep up with the bounty.”

“We’ve studied the options,” Inocente said. “Colonel George Flinter’s book has helped us understand the possibilities.”

“Colonel Flinter?” Eugenio raised his eyebrows. He tasted his coffee. Cold.

“Do you know him?” Ramón asked eagerly.

“If it’s the same man … a red-faced, squinty-eyed, bellicose Irishman. He fought for Spain against Bolívar in Spanish America, then distinguished himself here against the Carlists.”

“His book was published in 1832,” Ramón said.

“—charged to report on the conditions of Puerto Rico—,” Inocente broke in.

“—with emphasis on agriculture,” Ramón added.

“I never would’ve guessed he was a writer.” Eugenio scratched his whiskers. “Although he could talk until your ears ached.…”

“In any case”—Inocente brought his father back to their discussion—“his report is quite informative. The yields per acre in Puerto Rico are superior to any in the West Indies.” He pointed to a column of figures. “Here, for example, you can see that rice produces three crops per annum, compared to nearby islands, like Hispaniola, which only harvest two a year.”

“Are you proposing to become rice farmers?” Eugenio was still trying to conjure Colonel Flinter beyond his braggadocio and impressive ability to drink anyone under the table.

“No, Papá,” Ramón said. “This is an example of how fertile the land is known to be. Look, yams, plantains, and oranges in Puerto Rico yield four times as much as anywhere in the West Indies.”

“We propose to develop the sugar hacienda, however,” Inocente continued. “The farm in Caguas works well, but the plantation on the other side of the island has been untended and the possibilities unexploited.”

“And the figures we looked at”—Ramón riffled through the papers—“indicate that sugar yields in Puerto Rico are five times as much as on other islands. Five times, Papá!”

“All this from Flinter’s report?” Eugenio was unable to let go of the image of the swaggering colonel masquerading as an expert on agriculture.

“It was a comprehensive study,” Inocente said. “His recommendations to Europeans looking to settle in Puerto Rico are clear and well examined.”

“We expect to turn a profit in five years,” Ramón explained.

“But neither of you has ever planted so much as a daisy.”

Ramón smiled. “We’ll be managing the people who do the work.”

Eugenio looked at his sons. Their faces were bright, open, and eager. He hadn’t seen them so enthusiastic about anything in years.

“You do know that the hacienda is worked by slaves?”

“Yes, Papá, we’re aware of that,” Inocente said. “But it’s not like Cuba or Jamaica, where the
entire
operation is done by slaves. In Puerto Rico they’re supplemented by day laborers.”

“But there will still be slaves working for you.”

“We plan to free them as soon as possible. Perhaps even after the first harvest,” Inocente said.

Eugenio could tell that the thought had only just occurred to his son. Ramón exchanged a grateful look with his brother.

“And you,” Eugenio turned to Ramón, “you’re soon to be married to a
señorita
who grew up with every possible comfort. Not all women are as adaptable as your mother.”

“Ana is not only completely in agreement,” Ramón said, “she’s as enthusiastic about Puerto Rico as we are.”

“She’s the one who found the Flinter report,” Inocente said.

“She studied the history,” Ramón added. “Her ancestors—”

“She has family there?”

“Well, not anymore. Years ago.”

“Most of her family’s fortune,” Inocente broke in, “was made in the West Indies.”

“They were traders and plantation owners who returned as rich men. Ana knows what to expect,” Ramón said, with a hint of pride.

“We’ll come back to Spain with practical experience for running a business—,” Inocente continued.

“—and we’ll be much better able to manage Marítima Argoso Marín,” Ramón concluded.

“Who will run the business in the meantime?”

“You can continue to work with the managers and agents,” Inocente said.

“You’ve had a full, accomplished life,” Ramón said. “We’re young and strong but haven’t done much with our lives. Haven’t you told us so yourself? We wish to make our own way, Papá.”

“And Papá,” added Inocente, “we wish to make you proud.”
Leonor wouldn’t hear of her sons leaving Spain. “We’ll die alone,” she cried when Eugenio presented her with the proposal. “I wish to be near our sons, to be a grandmother to their children. I don’t want another outpost. I’d like a proper home. Is that too much to ask, after years of living in tents and cottages?”

A compromise was reached; they’d all go to Puerto Rico. Eugenio postponed his dream of a ranch for horses and fighting bulls in Spain. He, Leonor, and Elena would move to the house in San Juan. Eugenio would manage the shipping business from the capital and spend holidays at the
finca
in a nearby town, like Rodrigo used to do. Ramón and Inocente would take over the sugar plantation on the other side of the island. After five years, they could all return to Spain to enjoy the income with occasional visits to the island or, better yet, sell the much-improved properties. That Ramón would marry Ana, and Inocente Elena (when she came into her inheritance) meant that a potential source of strife would be avoided, since the future sisters-in-law were best friends. Eugenio congratulated his sons for their foresight.

The plans were made without looking at a detailed map. They knew that Puerto Rico was 180 kilometers long by 65 kilometers wide, and the distances seemed short in comparison with Europe. In spite of the fact that, as a soldier, Eugenio knew that even one kilometer on poor roads could take hours to traverse, he wanted to please his wife. He wanted to be near his sons. He’d always been a military man, but he agreed to retire from the cavalry to become a landowner and businessman.

He burnished his sword and saber and slid them into their polished scabbards. He pinned his medals and ribbons on a velvet cloth Leonor made for him. With the ceremony their rank deserved, he folded his uniforms, brushed his plumed hats, rolled his sashes, and stored them in a cedar chest. With a last look before he closed and locked a lifetime of memories within, Eugenio said good-bye to his career and prepared to begin a new life for himself and his family in Puerto Rico.

Over the next six months, Leonor often reminded her husband and sons that sailing to the Indies was their idea and that she agreed only because she couldn’t change their minds. To emphasize her opposition, she insisted that Eugenio accompany her to lay wreaths on their parents’ graves, and to say good-bye to living relatives in Villamartín, the village where they grew up. She had a premonition, she said, that she’d never see Spain again.

Ramón and Inocente went in the opposite direction. In mid-June 1844 they escorted Elena by steamship up the Río Guadalquivir to Sevilla, where she’d help Ana prepare her trousseau for the wedding six weeks hence.

Ana, Elena, Jesusa, and a gaggle of
comadres
, cousins, and neighbors sewed, embroidered, and packed crates, chests, and boxes for hours on the uppermost floor of the house. Ana and Elena were in a constant frenzy. Ramón and Inocente didn’t want to interrupt important business, so they left the ladies to their chores and took advantage of their leisure.

Until they moved to Sevilla to be near Ana, Ramón and Inocente hadn’t lived on their own or far from Leonor’s eye. When they were boys, she prepared them for the indoor life of gentlemen, but they grew up among soldiers, on the periphery of battles, tented along dusty roads, amid the splendid Spanish cavalry. They were educated haphazardly by tutors and by their mother, who refused to send them to boarding school while they followed Eugenio’s career. She drilled them in etiquette, dancing, and repartee while their father taught them the manly arts of chivalry, riding, fighting, drinking, and swordsmanship. They saw battles against the Carlists, led by
their father, who could kill an enemy on a bloody field but could also step lightly and gracefully to violin music around a polished floor. The ladies who danced with Ramón and Inocente at a candlelit ball the night before wouldn’t recognize them the next day, muddy and sweaty, tramping across a pasture, cursing or singing bawdy
coplas
.