“Mother,” Tadeo said angrily.
“Do not chide me, Tadeo,” their mother said. She was looking down at her lap. “I have concerns, that is all.”
“You don’t think I can run the farm?”
“My boy,” Luisa said, sighing. “You’re strong and capable, but you should not be saddled at your age with the responsibilities of caring for six siblings and a widowed mother. You’ll have no chance to make your own home if you must watch over us.”
“But I want to watch over you! I don’t mind the responsibilities. This is the land of the Quirogas, our land for generations. Do you think I could sell it and, what, run off to Pachuca? There’s nothing to do there.”
“In a city your younger brothers and sisters might have the opportunity for a proper education,” Arturo said. “Your mother could spend her days in comfort instead of worrying about feeding chickens.”
“A proper education, you mean like you?” Tadeo retorted. “What did you learn at that fancy school you attended?”
“French, Latin, poetry—”
“Poetry, yes. You’ve published three poems, Uncle,” Tadeo said, raising that number of fingers and taking that many steps toward Arturo. “What else have you done? You play cards and bet on horses. You promenade with women down the avenues of Mexico City. Those are not accomplishments. When have you ever made your own supper? Chopped wood for a fire or fed chickens?”
“I am a gentleman.”
“You’re a useless fop,” Tadeo said, his hands closing into fists.
Arturo’s face looked flushed, as if he were suffering from a highfever. “How dare you talk to me like that, you insolent child,” he said.
“Better a child than a leech.”
Arturo’s eyes narrowed like those of an animal preparing to strike. “I ought to teach you some manners.”
They would come to blows, yes, they would. When Tadeo ran hot, he spoke nonsense and wouldn’t think twice about breaking a fellow’s nose. As for her uncle, she hadn’t seen him pick a fight before, but she didn’t doubt he could throw a punch.
“Stop it, you two,” Alba said, stepping between the men and placing a hand on her brother’s shoulder.
Tadeo opened his mouth but held his tongue. He threw his uncle one last furious look before turning around and stomping out of the room.
“My goodness!” Luisa said, wringing a handkerchief between her hands. “The way you boys talk! You’ll give me a heart attack.”
“He’s foolish and pigheaded and prideful. Luisa, you know as much.”
The noise of something crashing on the floor above their heads made Alba’s mother wring the handkerchief even more. “Alba, go see what the children are up to. I’ll be upstairs in a minute,” Luisa said, waving her away.
Alba hurried up the stairs and slipped into the nursery where the children played together. Poor Fernanda had a mutiny on her hands. The twins were refusing to read in silence, and Magdalena had sided with them. Alba had to separate them, sending one twin to his room, the other to a corner of the nursery. It was only then that peace and quiet reigned in the house.
Uncle Arturo did have a point. At Piedras Quebradas, the children would never receive a proper education. Alba was no teacher, despite her best efforts. Besides, what would happen if she married and left the farm? Who would help look after the children then? Or would she be doomed to remain at home, watching her siblings struggle to thrive because no governess could be had?
Later, after the younger ones were tucked in for their naps, Alba ventured outside. She stood with her back to the house, surveyingthe land. It wasn’t an easy, kind land for farming. Sudden frosts tended to stab the corn on their side of the mountain, and thus they depended on their barley, their pigs and goats. Her father had been neither a wealthy hacendado nor a poor peasant, but a ranchero, old-fashioned in many ways. He might have done better if he’d tried his hand at cultivating coffee, even sesame, or expanded his holdings by buying plots of land and having sharecroppers tend them, like Mr. Molina did.
Tadeo wanted to become their father, walking around the fields in his wide-brimmed hat, yet was that wise? On a previous occasion when Arturo had visited them, he’d said they were “petit bourgeois farmers.” Alba didn’t think he’d meant it as a compliment, but Tadeo had taken it as such. At least the farmer part. She imagined he didn’t much care about the “bourgeois.”
Perhaps her brother was being stupid and, like their uncle said, they’d be forced to sell anyway.
Alba walked back inside, into the deserted parlor. She heard footsteps, then Arturo’s voice behind her.
“Did you wear the necklace after all? I didn’t have a chance to ask,” Arturo said.
“Of course I did.” Alba whirled around and pressed a palm against her chest. “Discreetly, so my mother wouldn’t chide me.”
“Good.”
He smiled at her, but she didn’t return the smile, remembering the confrontation that had taken place before. “You shouldn’t have quarreled with Tadeo,” she said, her hand trailing down her dress, brushing the row of tiny buttons.
