Firefly Summer (6 page)

It was steep going down, and Teresa had to hold onto the branches of the bushes for balance. Once down the narrow path, she hurried along until she came to where a set of flat stones extended across the river. It was here where the peasants beat their clothes clean. The place was deserted. There were two empty baskets near some clothes drying in the sun. Could it have been Pilar? And if so, where could she have gone? If it had been Pilar, she was probably in the natural pool bathing. Teresa had been with her there before.

Teresa left the river path and turned towards the cluster of bushes that closed the entrance to the pool. She heard the waterfall long before she parted the bushes. The place was as deserted as the river. She stood watching the water drop into the hollow stone that formed the pool and go over its brim. She followed its course under the thicket on its way to the many rivulets throughout the land. She was sure that somewhere the waterfall met the river, although she did not know where.

“I have missed Pilar,” she said to herself, “but I will not miss a dip in this pool.” The water was colder than she expected and she swam below the surface to increase her circulation. A puff of wind sent a number of fruit plopping into the water. They were small, pink
pomarosas
fruit. She tried to fill her
hands with them, but the light fruit bobbed and floated always ahead of her and out of reach. Another gust of wind brought down a larger number. She jumped from the water and dressed quickly.

The
pomarosas
were all over the ground as well as on the surface of the water. She took a handful and sat on the grass to eat them, throwing the brown pits over the pool. The force of the waterfall made the fruit float faster and faster, and soon the
pomarosas
went bobbing over the brim and out under the thicket where rivulets ran. They seemed like small apricots to her, except that they were hollow inside with a small brown pit rolling around inside.

“I wish I had a basket to take some of them home,” she said, beginning to gather as many
pomarosas
as she could carry in both hands.

Teresa left the pool as the sound of her father's voice reached her. It was coming from far away, yet she heard it distinctively.

“Teresaaaaa! Teresaaaaa!” over and over he called. She began to run towards the river path, wondering if it could be noon time. She remembered she had promised to meet him at Pilar's home.

“Teresaaaaa, Teresaaaaa, Teresaaaaa!” she heard again, only this time there seemed to be more than one person calling her. She ran faster and faster, holding the
pomarosas
close in her hands. Suddenly, the bushes across the river began to
shake furiously, and she heard the sound of crushing dead branches underfoot. A stray goat or a dog, she thought. What if it was Leal, Ramón's dog? She stopped. Whatever it was had to come out into the open, for that was the end of the row of bushes. When the branches parted, she did not see Leal, nor a goat, but the face of a strange man. She dropped the
pomarosas
and ran up the path. When she reached the part where the flat stones were, she saw Felipe running towards her.

“Where were you?” he asked. “Your father and I have been looking for you everywhere. One of the prisoners working on the road has escaped, and they say he's headed for this
finca
.”

“I have been looking for Pilar,” said Teresa.

She went to town early this morning,” said Felipe. “That's why we've been worrying about you.”

As he finished talking, four civil guards came running towards them.

“Where did he go? Have you seen him?” they asked.

“I don't know,” answered Felipe. “I haven't seen anyone.”

“But I did,” said Teresa. “There is someone hiding in those bushes across the river.”

The guards leaped into the water, skipping over the flat stones until they reached the opposite side. They disappeared behind the shrubbery and had
not been gone very long when a sharp whistle blew and shouts of “Aquí, aquí” were heard.

Felipe and Teresa knew the guards had completed their mission.

“Let's go home, Teresa,” said Felipe, and the two hurried along, eager to reach the house before the guard reappeared.

When they arrived, they saw Don Rodrigo riding downhill.

“Where did you find her?” he asked, jumping off his horse.

“Running by the river path,” said Felipe. “She had just seen the prisoner across the river.”

“Seen the fugitive?” he asked, mopping his brow nervously.

It was then that he noticed her wet braids and knew she had been bathing in the pool.

Don Rodrigo seldom forbade Teresa anything, but this he now knew. She should never bathe alone in that pool again. She nodded when he told her.

“Of all the
fincas
about the place, why did he have to choose ours?” she said.

“Choose is the wrong word to use,” said her father. “It was his safety he was thinking of, just as much as I am thinking of yours. Now let us go home.”

They rode back without a word between them, although both were thinking about the same thing.

As they entered the family path, the sound of the conch shell reached them.

“Lunch,” said her father. “I can eat for two after all the riding I have done.”

But Teresa knew that the best cooking at home could not lure her to eat.

Antonio had come to the house earlier than usual to ask Teresa about her adventure the day before. So far, he had not been able to see her. Teresa was in the neck, helping the family sew the edges of a tablecloth, a present for her aunt in San Juan which she would take her when school time came again. Antonio had received the mail before coming to the door. With two letters and a catalog, he walked triumphantly, purposefully into the neck, confident of his pretext.

“The mail,” he said, handing Doña Anita the two letters and putting the catalog on Don Rodrigo's table.

One of the letters was addressed to Doña Anita, and she turned it over quickly to see whom it was from. There was no return address.

“Is it from Aunt Elvira?” Teresa asked, noticing the postmark from San Juan on the envelope.

“I wish it was,” said her mother, “but this is not her handwriting.”

She opened the envelope, pulled out the letter and glanced at the signature before she began to read its contents.

“Why, it is from Lucio.” She read on and then stopped. “I better read this aloud. The news concerns us all. Listen:

Dear friend:

The following goes to you hoping it will find the family well, and to ask a favor. Will it be possible for Mercedes to stay at the
finca
, while I go around the island on important business?

In the event that I don't hear from you to the contrary, we will be there Saturday of this week.

Your friend,

Lucio

“Mercedes is coming here at last,” Teresa said enthusiastically.

“Say it will be all right,
Mamá
. She can share my room.”

“Of course,” her mother assented, “but I don't think she will have to share your room. We can have the small one adjoining yours ready for her.”

“Answer the letter first,” suggested Grandmother. “There is time to decide about the room later on. Bring paper and ink, Teresa.”

After the letter was written and dispatched to Lucio, Teresa and her mother went to inspect the small room. Antonio, who had not forgotten his purpose, followed them.

The room was the smallest in the house, but the view from its only window was rewarding. The room was empty, except for a single bed standing in the center.

“Oh, dear,” said Doña Anita, “we will have to improvise a closet for her. This room looks as bare as a cell.”

“I saw a small cabinet with four drawers in the woodshed when Ramón and I were putting away the steps from the altar. Why couldn't we use it? Perhaps I can find other things suitable for the room.”

“Go and see, but remember the size of the room. Do not bring up any useless things. Mercedes must have some room to move around.”

“Come along with me, Antonio,” said Teresa.

“At last I will be able to ask her,” he thought as he followed her to the woodshed. Before she opened the door, he had asked his question about her adventure with the escaped convict.

Teresa broke into a loud laugh. “Where did you hear such a story, Antonio?”

“But did you really capture him?” he asked, disregarding her question.

“No, no, Antonio,” she answered impatiently.

“That's what Manolo said, but I said you did,” Antonio insisted.

Teresa laughed again. She could well picture Antonio standing up for her in front of his friend Manolo, only this time Antonio was wrong.

“Do you really want to know the truth?” she asked him. “I only saw the fugitive from across the river, and when I did, I ran from there as fast as I could.”

“Were you afraid?” he asked.

“I certainly was.”

She pushed the door of the shed open and went in. Antonio shrugged his shoulders and turned to a pile of papers in a corner. He found a discarded seed catalog and began to flip the pages. “Whoever heard of being afraid of a man across the river?” he said to himself, dismissing the entire affair from his mind.

Teresa found the cabinet and began to empty the drawers. Now and then she glanced at Antonio, glad she had put an end to his questioning. She too had tried to forget the scare she had received, promising herself not to discuss it ever again. She was certain Antonio would not be able to enlarge on her version of the incident, for there was no doubt he was disappointed. He would not even mention it to Manolo. Antonio was a poor loser.

In addition to the cabinet, there were two small stools and an oval grass rug which could be used in the room. She found a discarded table which she
would have liked to have, but was sure her mother would not approve.

“Carry this rug for me, Antonio,” she said. “There's nothing else here I want.”

When they came back to the room, Lucía had swept and scrubbed the floor and pushed the small bed near the wall. Grandmother had left one of her colorful spreads for it.

“Where shall I put the rug?” asked Antonio, holding the catalog he had brought with him.

“In front of the bed,” said Teresa. “Now you can tell Mercedes that you helped fix her room.”

“Who is Mercedes?”

“My best friend.”

“I thought Sixta was that.”

“Of course she is, but so is Mercedes.”

Antonio looked puzzled.

“Look,” said Teresa, trying to make it clear. “It's like having Esteban and Ramón for friends. Aren't they both your best friends?”

Antonio assented quickly.

“Well, so are Sixta and Mercedes, except that one lives in the city and the other on the
finca
.”

Apparently satisfied, Antonio went back to his catalog and left Teresa to her work.

At dinner time Doña Anita asked Ramón not to go to work the next day in order to help finish the work needed in the room. She wanted him to make a closet like the one he had improvised for his room.
There was the cabinet in the woodshed, which Teresa had selected and wanted painted. He and Teresa could do that while Doña Anita sewed a cretonne curtain for the closet.

So the work which had begun as soon as Lucio's letter had arrived continued all week until the small room was ready. The cabinet was painted yellow and placed under the window. A closet was improvised with blue wooden pegs for hangers and a creton curtain that rolled back and forth and would keep the dust off Mercedes' clothes. It had been hard work, but working together, as they had done, had also been a great deal of fun.

The day before Mercedes' arrival was a rainy day, and when the family awoke the next morning it was still raining.

“What a day to come to the
finca
,” said Teresa, drawing a chair close to the window. Everytime the wheels of a coach rattled on the road, she would jump to see if the coach was turning onto their private path. But the morning passed and part of the afternoon as well, and still Mercedes did not come.

“It's no use,” her grandmother said. “Who would be traveling on a day like this?”

Mercedes would, thought Teresa, and so would I if I were coming to a
finca
.

“One day is as good as another,” her mother said. “They will probably come tomorrow.”

All their remarks could not discourage Teresa, who remained at her post even after her father and Ramón had left to write up the catalog orders for things needed at the
finca
. Her mother and grandmother had gone back to the kitchen. Teresa looked out the windows. The branches of the trees hung heavy with the dripping rain. She thought of the many times when as a small child she had sung, “Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day,” and had waited for the miracle to happen, confident that it would be as she had hoped.

Was that the sound of wheels she heard? She listened closely. It was a coach. She could see it between the branches of the trees. It turned off the road and entered the path leading to the gate. The curtains were drawn and fastened, and Teresa could not see the occupants, but she was sure who they were, for the coach had stopped and Filimón had jumped off his seat to open the door.

“
Papá, Mamá
!” she cried, “they have come; they are at the gate this very minute.

Armed with umbrellas, Don Rodrigo and Ramón made their way down the slippery hill to the gate, where Filimón was busy unfastening the oilcloth curtains.

Teresa hung out of the window, waving and calling to Mercedes, who had poked her head out of the coach.

“Wait for the umbrellas,” she cried. “Don't leave the coach.”

When Ramón and Don Rodrigo arrived, Mercedes quickly got under Ramón's umbrella.